Parvaneh cleared her throat. “Why do you want to talk to Ove?” she said, relying on the conventional alphabet.
“He’s a hero!” “A... what?” “Okay, sorry. So: my name is Lena; I work at the local newspaper, and I want to intervie—”
Parvaneh looked at Ove in shock. “What does she mean, a hero?” “She’s just prattling on!” Ove protested.
“He saved a man’s life; he’d fallen on the track!” yelled the garage door. “Are you sure you’ve got the right Ove?” said Parvaneh.
Ove looked insulted. “I see. So now it’s out of the question that I could be a hero, is it?” he muttered.
Parvaneh peered at him suspiciously. The three-year-old tried to grab hold of what was left of the cat’s tail, with an excitable “Kitty!”
“Kitty” did not look particularly impressed by this and tried to hide behind Ove’s legs.
“What have you done, Ove?” said Parvaneh in a low, confidential voice, taking two steps away from the garage door.
The three-year-old chased the cat around his feet. Ove tried to figure out what he should do with his hands.
“Ah, so I hauled a suit off the rails, it’s nothing to make a bloody fuss about,” he mumbled.
Parvaneh tried to keep a straight face. “Or to have a giggle about, actually,” said Ove sourly. “Sorry,” said Parvaneh.
The garage door called out something that sounded like: “Hello? Are you still there?” “No!” Ove bellowed.
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