Despite the moon’s cold light, it was a warm evening, but his body shook uncontrollably. He lay petrified. The pocketknife in the boy’s right hand prevented him from glancing at Nikolaj. They had been ambushed. Caught in the act. Now he was lying helpless on the gravel. Nikolaj had given away their rendezvous in order to get cigarettes from the older boys. What an idiot! How could he do it? Had they not spent months professing their love for each other and confirming that it was not impure? It was beyond his wildest imagination that some of those bastard older boys had set a trap for them. Probably, because he was Jewish. The pocketknife’s blade glinted in the moonlight as he tried to struggle free. The older boys were much stronger. He lay prostrate in the pale moonlight. Everything seemed to take place in slow-motion. As if he were rewatching the scene from somewhere outside his own body. The next moment, his belt was cut, and his trousers and underpants were ripped off. ‘Squeal…. Squeal… squeal like a pig,’ chanted the circle of boys around him. Rhythmically and ominously. Brutally, he was turned around and forced onto his knees. Nikolaj was crying. For a moment, Josefsen felt sorry for him as he was thrust into the circle of boys. Nikolaj’s wheezy breathing sounded like a 430pair of punctured bellows. The boy’s limp member could not penetrate Josefsen, and after several unsuccessful attempts Nikolaj was let go. Josefsen knew the older boys wouldn’t let them get away that easily. One picked up a broken branch from the floor and forced it between his cold buttocks. The humiliation made every sinew in his body go stiff. They enjoyed it! ‘Squeal… squeal like a pig…’ His eyes darkened, and he slipped into a trance. Repressed everything. Adam – a much-feared prefect – turned up out of the blue, and the older boys scattered into the night as sand in the wind. He barely noticed as Adam shook him out of the daze.
Nikolaj had also vanished. Slowly, Josefsen got his trousers back on, and despite the pain in his rectum, he managed to run. Slow pace to begin with. Then faster. No destination. No direction. One step at a time. Just getting away. Far away. As he reached the stream, he threw up. Adam found him. Ordered him to wipe the vomit off his shirt. Forget everything that had happened. ‘The school did not need scandals,’ he said. As prefect, he would make sure that they would be punished. But Nikolaj was a day boy and would have to leave the school. ‘And that’s your job, Josefsen. Make sure that this happens. Tell the headmaster how Nikolaj approached you and attempted to rape you. The headmaster is fully aware of the uncomfortable undertones of you being Jewish,’ he had said. Any talk that he had been part of it was covered up. Adam had backed him up regardless of what Nikolaj had said in his defence. Nikolaj was sacrificed. He had done what he had been told to do. Like a machine. Paralysed, still out of his mind following the degrading rape. Even then, Adam had been an ice-cold bastard, thought Josefsen despondently.
He had spent his entire adult life suppressing that part of his 431past. And it had worked. Until the Prime Minister had phoned him. Josefsen suddenly felt an overpowering sense of fatigue and had to sit down as he considered the Prime Minister’s threat for the umpteenth time. He could not think of him as Adam, but that was the result of too many years trying to forget it. Josefsen glanced at his watch. Two minutes until the editorial meeting. How hard could it be? he thought as the door opened and a smiling Jan Bundgaard entered his office.
‘What’s so important that I have to come in now? You know I work best after lunchtime.’
‘Take a seat,’ said Josefsen, straining to return the smile. ‘Shut the door; I have a new assignment for you.’
‘A new assignment? The Kaare Strand affair is more than I can cope with right now.’
‘That story is of no importance to us. Concentrate on the election. I have arranged an exclusive interview with the Prime Minister tomorrow morning. You can call and set a time tomorrow morning,’ said Josefsen drily.
‘The election? There are already three covering that. And what do you mean by the Kaare Strand affair no longer being of importance to us?’
Josefsen had rehearsed the conversation countless times in his head since the exchange with the Prime Minister, but suddenly he was lost for words. He held a deep respect for Jan Bundgaard. What he was proposing went against all his journalistic principles. As the editor-in-chief, he had fought hard for those. It’s simply both dishonest and dishonourable.
‘You put me on to this story, so who exactly has decided that it’s no longer of interest?’ Jan Bundgaard asked with a hint of aggression.432
‘Dagbladet. The readers. What difference does it make? I am the editor-in-chief, and I have made the decision. You’ll no longer focus on that story but devote your resources towards the election campaign. It’s now in full swing, and we need all our best people to cover it. And I’ve secured an exclusive interview with the PM.’
‘How convenient! Suddenly, you offer me an exclusive interview with the Prime Minister, and I need to drop the Kaare Strand story. A story that has the government up to its eyeballs in shit. What an appropriate arrangement that is!’
‘No, no, it’s not like that,’ protested Josefsen, fully aware of how feeble it sounded.
‘Then what the hell is it like? I never thought I’d hear this coming from you. What the hell does he have on Dagbladet that makes you accept a bum rap like this one?’
Josefsen did not answer but got up and walked to the window.
‘Answer me, damn it! And look me in the eye when you do!’ Jan Bundgaard continued angrily.
‘Just do it. For my sake,’ replied Josefsen and let the sharp light of the morning sun drown his guilt.
‘For your sake? Where’s your journalistic pride? I’m not going to compromise my principles. It’s not Dagbladet he has something on, it’s you, isn’t it? The Kaare Strand story must come out, and if you want to take me off the story, you’re going to have to fire me!’ shouted Jan Bundgaard, agitated, and left the room.
Josefsen jumped at the noise of the door slamming shut, sighed out loud, and realised his shirt was soaked with sweat. You handled that one brilliantly, he thought bitterly. That story must be stopped – at any cost!