Ove cast his evaluating eye on the spectacle and finally drew the conclusion that this smoking Spanish-manufactured car must be known as a “hospital.”
He leaned over the engine and peered down. It didn’t look so complicated, he thought.
“Hospital,” Schosse said again and nodded several times and looked quite worried.
Ove didn’t know what he was expected to say to that;
clearly the whole matter of car makes was considered quite important in Spain, and certainly Ove could empathize with that.
“Saaaab,” he said, therefore, pointing demonstratively at his chest.
Schosse stared in puzzlement at him for a moment. Then he pointed at himself. “Schosse!”
“I wasn’t bloody asking for your name, I was only sayi—” Ove started saying,
but he stopped himself when he was met on the other side of the hood by a stare as glazed as an inland lake.
Obviously this Schosse’s grasp of Swedish was even worse than Ove’s Spanish.
Ove sighed and looked with some concern at the children in the backseat.
They were holding the old woman’s hands and looked quite terrified.
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