Ove didn’t answer. Parvaneh shook him as if trying to dislodge some coconuts. “OVE!”
“Yes, yes. But I didn’t do it on purpose, for God’s sake,” he muttered and wriggled out of her grip.
Parvaneh shook her head. “Not on purpose?” “No, not on purpose,” said Ove, as if this should wrap up the discussion.
When he noticed that Parvaneh was obviously expecting some sort of clarification, he scratched his head and sighed.
“Her. Well. She’s one of those journalist people. It wasn’t bloody me who locked her in.
I was going to lock myself and the cat in there. But then she followed us. And, you know. Things took their course.”
Parvaneh started massaging her temples. “I can’t deal with this...” “Naughty,” said the three-year-old and shook her finger at Ove.
“Hello?” said the garage door. “There’s no one here!” Ove hissed back.
“But I can hear you!” said the garage door. Ove sighed and looked despondently at Parvaneh.
As if he was about to exclaim: “You hear that, even garage doors are talking to me these days?”
Parvaneh waved him aside, walked up to the door, leaned her face up close, and knocked tentatively.
The door knocked back. As if it expected to communicate by Morse code from now on.
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