The Countess was quickest. “Of course we do.”
Pedersen continued: “The lead story was a long piece from outside the Christiansborg parliamentary building where people have started to gather for a protest, and apparently there is a strange kind of muteness over the whole thing. There are no speeches, songs, or chants. Apart from a banner that urges tightening the law and stopping the violence. The reporter found the expression dignified and couldn’t get past it, whatever that means. And the report came from the same place where there is hectic activity right now. An antipedophile gang is on its way and the politicians are grappling with the three main demands that were listed in today’s newspapers but there are other things in play. Great increases in the severity of punishments and abolishing the limitations protecting parents in relation to sexual abuse of children. Support for the victims in the form of state-subsidized psychological or psychiatric help as long and as much as is necessary. Abolishment of pedophile associations and strengthened abilities for us to trace child pornography on the Internet. In this capacity an upgrade of our resources as well as the possibility of, certain cases, punishing the monetary bodies that allow for the payment of the material. Also travel agents whose customers who go after foreign children.”
Simonsen interrupted, “Keep to the point. I have a highly developed sense of smell.”
Pedersen was bewildered. “The point, sure. I didn’t get that last part.”
“I understood it very well,” the Countess commented. “You frighten me, Simon.”
There was a pause. No one knew who should speak next, so everyone was silent. After a while, Pedersen wrapped it up: “Some say it is the nation’s constitution that’s the problem. The freedom of association applies to everyone, as we know, and the responsibilities of banks and travel agents are under discussion. Those are business interests and, well … thus somewhat tricky.”
The Countess took over. “I can’t say I don’t agree, but I would definitely have wished that the organizers had found a more orthodox way of breaking into the public stream of information.”
Neither of the men answered. It was clear that she was speaking mainly because Simonsen had asked for silence. Shortly thereafter she was more direct.
“Oh, I don’t care for this. Are you armed, Simon?”
“No.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Support for Simonsen came from an unexpected source—an unfamiliar voice interjected itself. It came through clearly and needed no further explanation.
“Please, this is a reading room, not a fish seller’s market.”
The Countess stopped speaking and Simon patiently continued his vigil. After a while he recognized each silhouette and all the trees in his line of vision and knew what would come into his binoculars before it appeared. The relentless repetition, where he scrutinized the same hundred meters of tree line again and again, destroyed his sense of time, and Pedersen’s sporadic reports about his position struck Simon as unreal. Only the hunt carried meaning—the narrow cone of his field of vision, which panned systematically across the terrain, back and forth, again and again, without deviation. A battle of stamina and concentration in which he never doubted his superiority or allowed the least bit of uncertainty to shake his confidence that the Climber was hiding somewhere in the faded damp foliage.
Suddenly a flock of blackbirds took flight over a collection of treetops, the outline of which resembled a fist. They circled over the forest for a while before they landed again. They looked like rooks. He could not see what had startled them but it had to have been something so he kept his gaze trained on that place for a long time, without discovering anything. Finally he gave up and again resumed his scanning in the old familiar pattern.
And then disaster struck.
The Countess was the first to comment and this time in a full voice, without giving any consideration to the library rules.
“Oh no, this isn’t true!”
Simonsen turned his binoculars to the main street and his exclamation was of a different order. In front of the bakery was a patrol car and three uniformed officers were on their way inside. Shortly thereafter, a cacophony of voices streamed through the cell phone like a ridiculous radio play.
“You can blame the neighbor, the bank, the merchant, it’s all the same because debtor’s prison has been abolished, but don’t blame the government and if you do, at least communicate with them. You can’t ignore their requests however wrong it’s gone and you should know that, Bolette.”