“I do actually believe they’re trying their hardest—up to a point—and some level of self-promotion is unavoidable. Let me give you an example: take the Natural History Museum’s beetle collection. We have one of the most impressive collections in the world, and it’s left to rot. There’s no one to look after it, and no research happens within that field. Beetles are low status, they’re not ‘sexy.’ The Faculty Council shut down the department of Coleoptera Systematics, which used to be in this building. From an outside perspective, it seemed a small sacrifice, the department had only two staff, Professor Helge Mathiesen, who was about to retire anyway, and a very young scientist, Asger . . .” Hanne shook her head, as if she had forgotten his surname. “He went into a total tailspin. Before the summer break, he had a promising academic career ahead of him, after the summer break, his department had been closed. For a scientist who has micro-specialized within a specific field . . .” Again she shook her head. “He’s finished. It’s the end of his science career. That’s the way it is. Certain areas of research are high status because they reflect what’s happening globally, others have high status because they’re areas of interest to members of the council, whose decisions have huge consequences for all of us, depending on whether or not we work in a field that happens to be flavor of the month. Up until this year, I had never been directly affected by the council’s priorities and have always been given my fair share. However, this spring, it was finally our turn. My turn. The department will be closing.” Her voice rang hollow.
“They dropped the bombshell on the first day after Easter break. We have three years to finish our work. Research, which has already cost the Danish tax payer millions of kroner, and projects that—were we allowed to complete them—could save the lives of hundreds of thousands of people in the Third World where parasites kill people every day. Three years. That may not sound unreasonable to you, but it’s the equivalent of building the Great Wall of China in an afternoon. It’s a preposterous timetable.” Hanne gave Anna a dark look. “My research is my life, Anna,” she said. “I’m forty-eight, and I have devoted my life to my academic career.”
Slowly Anna began to grasp the implications.
“And now you’re scared you’ll be fired on the spot if the material found in Helland is traced back to your department?”
“Yes,” Hanne said.
“What do you want from me?” Anna asked.
Hanne shook her head softly. “Sorry, I was ranting. Listen, I can’t start asking questions around your department. Not now, after what’s happened. At worst, it will look suspicious; at best, it would be inappropriate. But I need to know about the investigation and, more importantly, in which direction it’s moving.” She looked almost beseechingly at Anna. “Will you help me, please?”
Anna placed her hands on her knees. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you want me to do?” she said.
“Keep your ears open. What are Svend and Elisabeth saying? What about the police? I know your chances will be limited, but just try to pay attention, please? And if you hear any rumors suggesting the parasites came from my stock”—for a moment she looked anxious—“please contact me immediately. It’s important, Anna. I only have three years; after that the completion of our research projects will depend on outside funding, and I can promise you that if we are labeled as careless with potentially fatal material, we can forget about outside funding. The Tuborg Foundation is currently our main sponsor, and they only touch projects that are squeaky clean. I need to know if the ax is about to fall.” She let go of the string of pearls, and it fell against her skin. “I need to be prepared.”
Anna nodded slowly, and Hanne crumpled into the elegant sofa. She ran her hand through her hair and closed her eyes.
“I’m absolutely exhausted,” she sighed.
Anna started wrapping her scarf around her neck and pulled up the hood of her jacket. Hanne kept her eyes closed and rested the back of her head against the wall.
“I need to pick up my daughter,” Anna said.
Lily was kneeling on the ground, mesmerized by a polystyrene box full of seedlings, when Anna arrived to collect her. Her daughter held a watering can in her hand and listened dutifully as the nursery school teacher gave her instructions on how to water the seedlings. Anna sat down and watched her little girl from a distance. They had seen so little of each other and, for a moment, Lily seemed almost a stranger to her. She was her child. Hers.