The Dinosaur Feather (47 page)

Chapter 18

“Asger’s a good boy,” she said and didn’t seem to have heard his question. “Please don’t hurt him. He didn’t mean to kill Lars. . . . The silly boy thought he had given his father a tapeworm. A tapeworm! He just wanted to annoy him a little, but he didn’t mean to kill him, of course he didn’t. But you don’t get a tapeworm from eating a piece of one! And you don’t get a tapeworm infection from eating its eggs, either! Stupid boy.” Her voice became shrill. “I’m a parasitologist, and my own son commits such a howler. And he’s a biologist, too.” Professor Moritzen looked mortified.

“At least you know where the 2,600 cysticerci came from,” she added, dryly. “From my silly boy. Of course, I wondered how Asger got ahold of the material, and I’ve discovered that. . . . There was one weekend in May when my keys went missing and I had to use my spare set. My keys reappeared and I thought nothing of it. Asger had let himself into my lab and took the tapeworm from the in-vitro supply. I honestly believed I knew precisely how many specimens I have. After all, I count them. But he had only taken one and when I checked, it seemed to add up to me.” She gestured apologetically. “I have samples in cold storage, for dissection, and I have living specimens, which are kept in artificial conditions, like the ones found in the small intestines. At least he had been smart enough to take a living specimen, but his knowledge stopped there,” she said bitterly. “That Monday he went to the department of Cell Biology and Comparative Zoology to have lunch with Professor Ewald in her office across from the senior common room. They know each other from a project when Asger was still an undergraduate. At some point, Asger went to fetch some salt, and while he was in the senior common room he opened the fridge and placed the tapeworm segment in Lars’s lunch.”

“How did he know the food belonged to Lars Helland?” Søren interjected.

Professor Moritzen sighed.

“The stupid idiot had planned it all down to the last detail. He had gone to the senior common room twice the previous week. On both occasions, he had found an empty cool bag with the initials L.H. and once when Asger passed the senior common room, he had seen Lars eat leftovers from it. He was very careful. He certainly didn’t want to infect Professor Jørgensen or Professor Ewald. Asger was angry. I told him Lars Helland was his father shortly after I was told I would be laid off. I had always told Asger he was the result of a one-night stand and that I knew nothing about his father. But I was in love with Lars and got pregnant by him during my second year as an undergraduate. Lars was already married to Birgit, and he was shocked when I confronted him. He told me he didn’t believe the child was his. But I knew it was. We reached an impasse and people started talking. Someone had seen us together, and now I was pregnant. Lars got completely paranoid and offered me money. He would have been fired on the spot had it become known that he had got an undergraduate pregnant. I accepted his offer. I moved to Århus and had Asger. Lars bought us an apartment on the condition that I signed a document stating he wasn’t Asger’s father. I listed my son’s father as ‘unknown,’ and, to be honest, I forgot all about him. I was twenty years old, I lived in Århus, and was busy with my studies and my little boy. I met other men. Do you want some tea?”

Søren nodded and Professor Moritzen disappeared into the kitchen. Shortly afterward, she returned with a small bowl with steaming contents, which she handed to Søren. She sat down on the sofa and blew carefully into her own bowl.

“After all those years why did you decide to tell Asger that Professor Helland was his father?”

Professor Moritzen heaved another sigh.

“Asger grew up without a father, but it was never a problem. When he turned nineteen, he decided he wanted to study biology. To begin with, I was dead set against it. An academic career isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s one long uphill struggle. For money, for recognition, for elbow room. I genuinely doubted if Asger was cut out for it. He’s a loner, wary and ultra-sensitive. But he was adamant. He had followed my work his whole life, and when he wanted a butterfly net for Christmas and an aquarium for his birthday that’s what he got. I don’t know why I expected anything else.” She shook her head. “In 1998 I applied for the post of professor of parasitology at the University of Copenhagen, never thinking for one minute I would get it. But halfway through the summer break, I got a phone call. The job was mine. Less than a week later Asger got a letter. He was offered a place to read biology at the University of Copenhagen. That summer we moved. I sold the apartment in Århus and bought two apartments with the money; this one and the one Asger lives in, on Glasvej.

“Asger began his studies and the same week, I spotted Lars. Of course, it had crossed my mind he might still be working there, and yet I was genuinely shocked. It was nineteen years since we had last met, and there had been no contact in between. It was almost four months before we met. Odd, really, given his office was only two floors above mine. It happened just before Christmas. The strange thing was that he appeared pleased to see me. He ran up to me from behind, twirled me around, and kept saying how marvelous it was. He had no idea what had become of me, if I had even graduated. Oh yes, I replied. From the University of Århus. He never mentioned our son, as though he had truly wiped from his memory that he had gotten me pregnant. At that moment, Asger appeared and Lars shook his hand.

“‘This is Asger, my son,’ I said. ‘He’s in his first year.’ I stared at Lars, but his face gave nothing away. He simply pressed Asger’s hand and welcomed him.

“Professionally, I got very busy. The field of parasitology was growing rapidly due to a government increase in foreign aid. The focus of public attention turned to bilharziasis, and I was made responsible for three huge research projects, two of which took place in Central Africa. Asger was happy. He cruised through his studies. I was pleased for him, but also rather concerned. He had no friends, and he never went out. It was all about studying and preparing for the next exam, and when he finally had time off he would tinker with his growing number of tanks, attend conferences, read, or collect insects. I tried encouraging him, but every time he smiled his silly smile. “People don’t interest me, Mom,” he said. “I’m a scientist like you.” What troubled me the most was that he always said it with an element of complicity, as though he and I were the same. I didn’t want to be someone with no friends because my work took up all my time. But the truth was this was precisely who I was.

“One day, Asger finally made a friend. Erik Tybjerg, Anna’s external supervisor, would you believe it? Yes, you’re thinking we’re all as thick as thieves, and I suppose you’re right.” She laughed briefly. “Asger was writing his dissertation, and the two boys spent a lot of time together. Their friendship revolved around science, but all the same, it looked like a genuine friendship. Asger remained strangely content in the way he always was. Nothing upset him. If it hadn’t been for all those As he got, I would have started thinking there was something wrong with him.” She smiled. “But he’s bright and knows everything about natural history. He knows practically nothing about anything else. I consoled myself that at least he seemed happy.” She sighed, deeply, once more.

“One day I dropped by unannounced. I knew he was recovering from flu, I had bought some cakes and I wanted to surprise him. As I walked down the street, I tried to recall when I last visited him. One thing was for sure: it was too long ago, and in that moment, I felt so bad for not visiting him more often. Asger used to tease me and say ‘My biologist mom is scared of bugs’—he thought it was hilarious. Of course I wasn’t. But I didn’t like them or what they represented.”

“Which was?” Søren probed.

“Only nerds have tanks,” Hanne said, bluntly. “You don’t live with snakes and scorpions!” she scoffed. “I don’t share my home with the parasites I work with, do I?”

Søren glanced around the austere apartment and suddenly he couldn’t decide which was worse: bugs or loneliness?

“And every time I was confronted with that side of my son, I felt guilty. I desperately wanted him to have friends. Other young men he could go out with, run a half-marathon with, whatever, what do I know? And I wanted him to have a girlfriend. Live with her, so I could visit them on Sundays, and he could start a family one day. But if he managed to persuade a girl to come home with him, she would surely leave the moment she saw all his bugs and reptiles. At the time, I knew he kept a small nonpoisonous snake, four bird spiders, and some mysterious-looking, over-dimensioned stick insects. I made no attempt to disguise my disgust, but Asger merely laughed and said that was why children left home. I stopped bringing it up; we met mostly in my apartment and that’s why so much time had passed.

“He was delighted to see me. He was wearing his dressing gown over his pajamas, his hair was tousled, and he was grinning from ear to ear. Everything was fine. I entered the hall and took off my coat. The air was stuffy, but that was understandable. He had been ill for three or four days. It was also a little dark, but I presumed he had just been asleep.

“Asger took my coat, put it on a hanger, and opened a built-in closet to put it away, when something fell out and hit his head. It was a bundle held together with string, and it appeared to contain clothing and shoes. Asger asked me to hold the hanger while he struggled to push the bundle back in the cupboard. When he managed to close it, he hung my jacket on a door handle instead and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I stayed in the hall and called out to ask him why it was so dark, but the water was running and if he replied, I didn’t hear him. I switched on the hall light, and as the door to his bedroom was wide open, I entered and turned on the light.

“It took five seconds before I realized what I was looking at. He had three tanks. I was almost relieved, three isn’t excessive and, at first glance, they appeared to be empty. Then the shock came: there were bundles of clothes everywhere. The first bundle had merely seemed strange, but this obsession with bundles worried me.” Professor Moritzen looked hesitantly at Søren. He forgot to drink his tea. “His comforter, his pillow, and sheets were rolled into a bundle on his bed, and the bundle was held together with,” she gulped, “the cord from my dressing gown I had been looking for for ages. Along the wall facing the street were another three bundles, one with books, two apparently stuffed with Asger’s clothes—one was slightly open and over the buckle of a belt I could see the pair of expensive Fjällräven trousers I had given him for Christmas. Shoved under the bed was a bundle with what looked like a bathroom scale I had given him, and on a small desk in the corner, to the right of the window, was a bundle that appeared to contain an open laptop and next to it, smaller bundles. I was staring at them when I suddenly became convinced there was someone behind me. I could hear Asger whistle in the kitchen, hear cups clattering, so I knew it wasn’t him. I spun around and, on the wall in front of me, Asger had mounted three shelves, as wide as floorboards, and they were filled with jars of insects in ethanol, small tanks with live bugs, Styrofoam sheets with skewered insects and butterflies, and numerous reference books on the anatomy and physiology of insects.

“I left the bedroom and went into the living room, which was pitch black. I sensed the window must be covered with a heavy curtain, and I hoped desperately it was because he had been napping. I yanked the curtain open, but the room stayed dark. That was when it dawned on me that the room was alive: Asger had transformed his living room into a terrarium.

“‘I painted the window black recently,’ he casually told me when he returned with the tea. ‘The plumber came and he opened the curtains though I had expressly told him not to. My South Chilean tarantula was about to lay her eggs, and she can’t tolerate daylight when she does that. Not at all. In their natural habitat, the female buries herself in the ground so the eggs are exposed only to moisture, cold, and darkness. That plumber ruined it.’ He was angry. ‘I haven’t been able to make her lay eggs since.’ He put the teapot and the cakes on a coffee table that I could only just detect the outlines of.

“‘But I can switch on the light, if you want me to,’ he said, and before I had time to reply he flicked the switch. He explained it was a special light that filtered out all the red beams. You can’t read in it, but you can find your way around. He asked me if it was all right or whether I would rather sit in the kitchen.

“The living room now looked as if it was lit by twilight. The walls were covered with tanks from floor to ceiling.

“‘Spiders?’ I whispered.

“It turned out that he had seventy-two spiders, of which thirty-four were lethal, thirty-nine scorpions, all lethal, four venomous snakes, as well as cockroaches, mice, and crickets for food. He explained it all very cheerfully. Along the wall to the left were more bundles. Books, binders, science journals, and CDs would be my guess.

“I asked him why he kept his possessions like this, and he replied it was nature’s way of storing her possessions. Eggs and food, always packed in clusters, piles, and heaps. He was merely emulating nature.

“He told me it was just an experiment and it was just for fun, but he hesitated.” Professor Moritzen stopped and stared at Søren.

“I don’t really know why I’m telling you all this.”

Søren cleared his throat.

“Please go on. It’s important.” Søren gazed straight at Professor Moritzen who briefly looked as if she had lost the thread.

“I don’t know . . . I left . . .” she shuddered. “And I was sad . . . but also angry with myself. It’s not like I had found child porn or funding. I wondered what was troubling him, but I didn’t know him very well anymore. I concluded his usual invincibility had vanished or was weakened, and I spotted an opportunity to stick the knife in.” Professor Moritzen looked straight at Søren. “After the meeting I caught up with him. I told him I had decided it was time to tell Asger the truth. He replied he had no idea what I was talking about.