It was a theatrical tactic and Anita was the one who told him what they were all thinking: “Sometimes you are so smug. Of course we want to hear it.”
Planck did not address the criticism. Instead he turned to his guests, starting with the first: “Anita, you have to forget everything about your journalist ethics, not to speak of your loyalty to your employer. I’m going to force a boyfriend on you, if only temporarily. Arne, you’ll have to be prepared to lead astray that voluptuous girlfriend of yours from the Dagbladet. And while I’m at it, I’m going to give you some good advice from an old man. You should get some professional help with your gambling before it gets out of control and you would also do well to get your private life in order.”
Pedersen’s face went beet red; he said nothing, but wiped his forehead with his tie. They had never seen that before.
Planck turned to Simonsen. “Simon, you get the hard part. First, you can’t take the rules too seriously the next couple of days. Many of the methods that I will suggest are illegal. Second, you’re going to give an interview with Anni Staal, and third, you’re going to have to keep Helmer Hammer and everyone at HS in the dark about our plans.”
Simonsen nodded cautiously.
Planck addressed them alclass="underline" “Perhaps you should take a couple of minutes to think it over before I proceed. If you want to hear my proposition.” Anita did not need to think it over.
“Fuck my workplace, and as far as my reporter ethics go, they’re pretty much nonexistent. I think it sounds exciting. Is my boyfriend cute?”
The two men also agreed but with a little less enthusiasm.
Chapter 62
Planck’s dinner party ended abruptly and unpleasantly for Simonsen. As soon as the arrangements for a media campaign had been discussed and everyone was able to relax and enjoy himself, he received a call from Herlev Hospital, where a nurse in the orthopedic-surgery division had found his card. He excused himself and left at once.
A good half hour later he arrived there. The patient, who was not a friend of his, was sleeping fitfully. Simonsen studied him and shook his head as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light in the room. The light-blue duvet was pulled up over the sleeping man’s body and the upper part of the bed was raised so that the upper body was slightly elevated. A set of tubes had been inserted into the man’s nose and were connected to an electrical outlet in the wall, from which a faint sighing sound bore witness to a connection. He had a turban of white gauze around his forehead and a thick bandage across his broken nose, giving him a macabre appearance.
“Do you want to hear what happened?”
Simonsen turned in astonishment. A man was sitting on a chair pushed away from the bed. Without waiting for an answer, the man launched into the story.
“There were seven or eight of them, waiting for him in the stairwell. Some of them had clubs, all of them with boots. They held me back and went after him. He didn’t have a chance. They kicked and hit without stopping and in under a minute he had collapsed bleeding and unconscious on the floor.”
Simonsen answered in a low voice, “That’s terrible, and he isn’t the only one. The same thing has happened in several places all over the country.”
“You haven’t heard the worst of it. One of them cut his forehead with a penknife. For your abominable desires, for the childhood you ruined, for the pain you caused, he said. Like a perverted ritual. The others even seemed like they thought it was too much but did nothing to stop it.”
“What are those phrases? I don’t understand.”
“It’s from a grandiloquent hate poem on one of those antipedophilia sites. I can’t remember which one but I remember the stanzas. They were recited six times, corresponding to five numbers and an ellipsis: five, six… seven, ten, twenty! His whole forehead is carved up.” The man’s voice broke. “I can’t bear to think about it. Let me sit for a moment.”
Simonsen turned his back to the voice. Some time went by, then the man said out of the dark, “I’m okay again.”
“Would you remember the one who did the cutting?”
“It was a woman. Well, she wasn’t more than a girl. I’ve never seen anything so terrible, not even in a movie, and the men just stood there. They seemed to think she was going overboard and it was almost as if they were afraid of her.”
The man stared helplessly into the dark room. The faint light from the night-light fell over his face, which was set in a kind of bleak melancholy. Then he added in wonderment, “There have been women all day. When he was sacked, the knife, and now here.”
“Oh no, has he also been fired?”
“He was let go this afternoon. That was why I took him home. I didn’t want him to be alone. They called it a restructuring, but everyone knew that was a lie. A young bitch from human resources had the pleasure and I promise you she enjoyed it. Good God, she was awful. Like hatched from the business school in their brand-new fall collection of polished arrogance and powdery morals. She even brought flowers with her, and do you know what she talked about?”
Simonsen shook his head.
“Envy.”
“Envy?”
“In a long, self-indulgent monologue. She was envious of the new freedom he was getting, envious of all the possibilities he had for choosing a new life, envious of the fact that he would now be able to sleep in in the mornings, envious of his severance pay, envious of all kinds of other things, all the time as her victim abased himself. He talked about his Androcur treatment, about how he sends most of his salary to his sons each month without ever hearing from them, about his remorse, yes he pleaded and cried but that didn’t help in the least. The witch was oh so sympathetic and also envious of his courage to show emotions. People enjoyed and smiled at her scornful remarks. He had known some of them for fifteen years. I don’t know what to say other than that those people…”
He came to a halt, at a loss for words. Simonsen also said nothing, and only the soft hum of the electricity could be heard. After a while he tried again.
“Those people and the ones who started this… it’s just wrong. Evil and horrible, I can’t find any other words for it.”
The patient moaned, as if he wanted to indicate his agreement. The man didn’t reply.
Simonsen felt exhaustion creep over him. If he sat there much longer he would fall asleep. He said, “What did you mean by ‘now here’? Are there more?”
“You’ll experience her soon enough. She’s almost the worst.”
Simonsen did not have to wait long. Suddenly, hair-raising laughter filled the room and a woman’s voice screeched through the loudspeakers, like high-pitched screams from another world. The patient woke up and began to sob briefly but soon fell asleep again, as full of medicine as he was. Simonsen had jerked up like a spring and calm returned only slowly. He felt a nauseating disgust.
“What in the world was that?”
“A devil who doesn’t think that he deserves to sleep, I think.”
“What is she shouting?”
“I don’t know exactly. Something about being the daughter of the night, the one who never rests, and that she has an eternal rage. I don’t understand the rest.”
“That’s madness. Why don’t the hospital staff put an end to it?”
“I’ve been to see the nurse on duty and told her off four times but no one knows where the voice is coming from or else they don’t care. Maybe they’re even in on it, I don’t know, but it’s hard to take.”
Simonsen noticed an unfamiliar-even foreign-desire to hit not something but someone. To go after the nurse with a couple of jabs first to one and then the other side of the head and to see her flee down the corridor in her ugly dust-yellow clogs. This only for starters. At once he realized that he was afraid. Afraid of the hidden society he was unable to uncover. The conspiracy without a face, the public mood, which followed its own unwritten laws-frightening in its hatred and worse in its indifference. In the absence of anything better, he kicked the wall in frustration and banged a heating pipe so that it rang out through the room. The man on the bed shivered nervously.