“GRAB HOLD HERE WILL YOU!” he calls out to one of the backpackers on the platform.
The stultified youth drags himself slowly to the edge.
Ove hoists up the suit-wearing man in a way that men who have never put their foot in a gym
yet have spent their entire lives carrying a concrete plinth under each arm tend to be able to do.
He heaves up the body into the backpacker’s arms in a way that Audi-driving men wearing neon-bright jogging pants are often incapable of doing.
He can’t stay here in the path of the train, you get that, don’t you?!
The backpackers nod in confusion, and finally by their collective efforts manage to drag the suit-wearing body onto the platform.
The county council women are still screaming, as if they sincerely believe this is a constructive approach under the circumstances.
The man appears to be breathing, but Ove stays down there on the track. He hears the train coming.
It’s not quite the way he planned it, but it’ll have to do.
Then he calmly goes into the middle of the track, puts his hands in his pockets, and stares into the headlights.
He hears the warning whistle like a foghorn, and feels the track shaking powerfully under his feet, as if a bull were trying to charge him.
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