When they’ve finished their inspection round, Ove carefully shovels snow outside his house.
When he’s done with that he stands outside his shed, leaning on his snow shovel, looking at the line of row houses.
Then he crosses the road and starts clearing snow in front of the other houses.
A MAN CALLED OVE AND A PIECE OF CORRUGATED IRON
Ove waits till after breakfast, once he’s let the cat out.
Only then does he take down a plastic bottle from the top shelf in the bathroom.
He weighs it in his hand as if he’s about to throw it somewhere, rattles it lightly to see if many pills are left.
Towards the end the doctors prescribed so many painkillers for Sonja.
Their bathroom still looks like a storage facility for the Colombian mafia.
Ove obviously doesn’t trust medicine, has always been convinced its only real effects are psychological
and, as a result, it only works on people with feeble brains.
But it’s only just struck him that chemicals are not at all an unusual way of taking one’s life.
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