The Dinosaur Feather

glowing skin which almost made him look normal. It was an illusion. Underneath it Asger was what he always had been: a nerd. Someone who couldn’t cope with the world and it was all my fault. I had worked too much and he didn’t have a father. In the end, I called a locksmith and broke in. Asger lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. I sat beside him, stroking his arm.’ Professor Moritzen looked at Søren.
    ‘I promised him it would be all right. I said I would make sure that he didn’t become unemployed. Thanks to Helland, my department had enough money and I hired Asger as an assistant in the Department of Parasitology. I twisted Lars’s arm further – I told him to get a grant for Asger for two annual trips to South East Asia to collect samples, and offerhim three lectures a year in Lecture Hall A. To a full house. Or I would start talking.
    ‘Needless to say, Asger was far from content. He languished. His life had changed for the worse. He travelled regularly to South East Asia, he classified animals, wrote papers and helped out in my department. But it wasn’t what he really wanted to do. He didn’t want to be a gofer at the University of Copenhagen. He wanted tenure, his own office, to teach, to contribute to growth and debate in the world of research. He didn’t want to be an ultimately insignificant freelance. I asked him if he still saw Erik Tybjerg, though I knew he didn’t.
    ‘In the end I hated Lars Helland.’ Professor Moritzen suddenly looked straight at Søren. ‘Hated him because . . .’
    ‘He refused to be Asger’s father,’ Søren said.
    ‘He was Asger’s father,’ Professor Moritzen said, defiantly. ‘And I hated him for not acknowledging it. But the person I truly despised was myself. Research grants are to us what drugs are to athletes. Whoever gets the most, gets the furthest. And I made sure I got plenty for myself.’ She gave Søren a remorseful look.
    ‘Last April I was made redundant and given three years to conclude my research. The Department of Parasitology at the University of Copenhagen will be shut, and the Serum Institute will take over our work. It happened during the Easter break. In contrast to Asger, I received a letter and a telephone call from the head of the institute. He apologised profusely. They had to make cuts. The government had the knife to the institute’s throat. When I returned after the break, I went looking for Lars. He seemed to have vanishedand his door was locked. I called, I e-mailed, but he didn’t reply. Finally, I called him at home and his daughter answered the telephone. Her voice was bright and happy. She was Asger’s sister, they shared genes, how could she sound so happy? My dad’s abroad, she said. At a dig. He wouldn’t be back for another ten days. That weekend I told Asger. After years of deliberation, when I had sworn to myself I would never tell him in anger, I told Asger that Lars was his father. Because I was hurting. Because I had been sacked. Because the money had run out. Because it would no longer trickle down to Asger. Because I was bitter that Lars’s daughter sounded so happy. For all the wrong reasons,’ she said, wearily. She fell silent and stared at her hands.
    ‘Why didn’t Anna know that you had a son?’
    Professor Moritzen looked up.
    ‘She asked me the same question a few hours ago.’ She smiled weakly and fidgeted with her clothes. ‘She was angry with me because I had kept it a secret. She shouted at me, in fact.’ Another feeble smile. ‘But we didn’t see each other outside work. We met at a summer course where I taught terrestrial ecology. We got talking and I was fascinated by her. She was so different from Asger, from my own child, and she reminded me of me, when I was a young biologist and a single parent. We had lunch together, maybe five times. It was lovely sitting in the refectory with her. It made sense. Anna’s life isn’t easy, is it? Living on a student grant with a young child. She never told me her story outright, but today she admitted she felt ashamed because her boyfriend had left them. And do you know something?’ She looked up at Søren. ‘I, too, felt ashamed. I was ashamed of Asger.’
    Søren tried to get his thoughts in order. ‘And then, last Thursday, Asger told you he had infected Professor Helland with parasites?’
    ‘Yes.’ She looked wretched. ‘But it’s my fault. I should never have told him Helland was his father. But I did. The night I told