sent her a tape, you know, like they do in Iraq, when theyâve kidnapped someone.â
He froze. His voice sounded tense as if his vocal cords might snap. âWhatâs on the tape?â
âA beheading. The story is about how Muslim terrorism has come to Denmark.â
For a moment he sat still. Then his whole body was transformed. He jumped up as though someone had pressed a button. He automatically began stuffing things into the backpack.
âShit. Shit. Shit.â His anger was channelled into rough, rapid movements. âWhen will it ever end?â he blurted. âWhen will we ever be allowed to live a normal life?â
She knew that his anger had all sorts of targets. The criminals, obviously, because they violated their religion and made people suspect all Muslims; the newspaper and her mother because they spread the story and very possibly gave it an extra twist; native Danes who would now be given a pretext to go after immigrants. But most of all he was angry with himself because there was nothing he could do, and because he had his feet on both sides of a fence which was growing higher and higher. He wanted to be Danish, he had said. He wanted to love her until the end of time and he didnât want to live in an arranged marriage with a woman he didnât know. He went to the Police Academy and would soon be one of those on whose shoulders the community rested. He had a love of old Danish movies and treasured his collection of videos and DVDs.
Yet he was and always would be a foreigner. Someone you couldnât trust.
âWhen will it end?â he almost screamed, slumping down onto the beer crate. âCan you tell me that?â
She had no answer to give him.
11
â⦠have confiscated the film. Aarhus Crime Squad say theyâre treating the incident as murder, but have no further comment to make. The Intelligence Services have battened down the hatches and no one was prepared to make a statement as to whether they are even part of the picture. However, expert opinion suggests that anything else would be unthinkable.â
The TV2 reporter performed a half-turn. The camera followed and panned around the newspaper office. Dicte looked briefly into the lens, hoping Kaiser was sitting in the Copenhagen office and could sense the curses she was sending in his direction. She also hoped that no one had noticed her gigantic hangover following the excesses of the night before.
â⦠And so now here with us in the newspaperâs office in Aarhus is journalist Dicte Svendsen, wondering why she should have been chosen to open the envelope containing this macabre film last Thursday, a film which very strongly suggests that international terrorism must now be considered part of Danish life.â
For a brief second viewers were led to believe that the feature would end on this abrupt note, but then a disclaimer followed, intended to place the story in perspective.
â⦠In the interest of balanced reporting, however, it must be stressed that no one has yet claimed responsibility for this grotesque action and hence there is nothing to confirm that the motivation behind this is of a religious nature.â
The reporter held his microphone close to his lips like a seductive American crooner. There was just enough time for a small breather and a dramatic break before he rounded off with sombre theatricality in his voice:
âAn isolated incident? An ordinary murder inspired by practices seen in Iraq and other places? Or something quite, quite different? For the time being the answer is blowing in the wind. Jens Rosenberg, TV2, Aarhus.â
A short pause followed. The reporter continued to meet the camera with a firm, authoritative gaze until someone said âOkay. Itâs a take.â
Muttering among themselves, the TV crew started packing their equipment. Lights and cables were gathered up and coiled into crates. The two cameras were transported out on
He froze. His voice sounded tense as if his vocal cords might snap. âWhatâs on the tape?â
âA beheading. The story is about how Muslim terrorism has come to Denmark.â
For a moment he sat still. Then his whole body was transformed. He jumped up as though someone had pressed a button. He automatically began stuffing things into the backpack.
âShit. Shit. Shit.â His anger was channelled into rough, rapid movements. âWhen will it ever end?â he blurted. âWhen will we ever be allowed to live a normal life?â
She knew that his anger had all sorts of targets. The criminals, obviously, because they violated their religion and made people suspect all Muslims; the newspaper and her mother because they spread the story and very possibly gave it an extra twist; native Danes who would now be given a pretext to go after immigrants. But most of all he was angry with himself because there was nothing he could do, and because he had his feet on both sides of a fence which was growing higher and higher. He wanted to be Danish, he had said. He wanted to love her until the end of time and he didnât want to live in an arranged marriage with a woman he didnât know. He went to the Police Academy and would soon be one of those on whose shoulders the community rested. He had a love of old Danish movies and treasured his collection of videos and DVDs.
Yet he was and always would be a foreigner. Someone you couldnât trust.
âWhen will it end?â he almost screamed, slumping down onto the beer crate. âCan you tell me that?â
She had no answer to give him.
11
â⦠have confiscated the film. Aarhus Crime Squad say theyâre treating the incident as murder, but have no further comment to make. The Intelligence Services have battened down the hatches and no one was prepared to make a statement as to whether they are even part of the picture. However, expert opinion suggests that anything else would be unthinkable.â
The TV2 reporter performed a half-turn. The camera followed and panned around the newspaper office. Dicte looked briefly into the lens, hoping Kaiser was sitting in the Copenhagen office and could sense the curses she was sending in his direction. She also hoped that no one had noticed her gigantic hangover following the excesses of the night before.
â⦠And so now here with us in the newspaperâs office in Aarhus is journalist Dicte Svendsen, wondering why she should have been chosen to open the envelope containing this macabre film last Thursday, a film which very strongly suggests that international terrorism must now be considered part of Danish life.â
For a brief second viewers were led to believe that the feature would end on this abrupt note, but then a disclaimer followed, intended to place the story in perspective.
â⦠In the interest of balanced reporting, however, it must be stressed that no one has yet claimed responsibility for this grotesque action and hence there is nothing to confirm that the motivation behind this is of a religious nature.â
The reporter held his microphone close to his lips like a seductive American crooner. There was just enough time for a small breather and a dramatic break before he rounded off with sombre theatricality in his voice:
âAn isolated incident? An ordinary murder inspired by practices seen in Iraq and other places? Or something quite, quite different? For the time being the answer is blowing in the wind. Jens Rosenberg, TV2, Aarhus.â
A short pause followed. The reporter continued to meet the camera with a firm, authoritative gaze until someone said âOkay. Itâs a take.â
Muttering among themselves, the TV crew started packing their equipment. Lights and cables were gathered up and coiled into crates. The two cameras were transported out on
Similar Books
