His bare upper body and the hammer swinging in his clenched right fist
made the group gathered in the street momentarily take their eyes off the fire, and instinctively take a step back.
And that was when Ove realized that it was not his house that was burning, but his neighbor’s.
The suits stood in the street, staring like deer into headlights.
The elderly man emerged out of the smoke, his wife leaning on his arm. She was coughing terribly.
When the elderly man handed her over to one of the suits’ wives, and then turned back towards the fire,
several of the suits cried out to him, telling him to leave it. “It’s too late! Wait for the fire brigade!” they roared.
The elderly man didn’t listen. Burning material fell over the threshold as he tried to step inside into a sea of fire.
Ove stood in the face of the wind by his gate and saw how scattered glowing balls
had already set the dry grass alight between his house and the neighbor’s.
For a few long-drawn-out seconds he evaluated the situation as best he could:
the fire would be all over his house in a few minutes if he didn’t charge off to get the water hose at once.
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