He nods grimly, demands to use the telephone, and shuffles off into the next room to make a call.
He didn’t like doing it. But when there’s a war on, there’s a war.
Parvaneh comes out of the bathroom. “Are you done?”
Ove wonders, as if he’s suspecting this to be some sort of halftime interval.
She nods, but just as they’re on their way out the door she notices something in his living room and stops.
Ove is standing in the doorway but he knows very well what she’s staring at.
“It’s... Pah! What the hell, it’s nothing special,” he mumbles and tries to wave her out the door.
When she fails to move he gives the edge of the doorframe a hard kick.
It was only gathering dust. I sanded it down and repainted it and applied another layer of lacquer, that’s all.
It’s no big bloody deal,” he grumbles, irritated. “Oh, Ove,” whispers Parvaneh.
Ove occupies himself checking the threshold with a couple of kicks.
“We can sand it down and repaint it pink. If it’s a girl, I mean,” he mutters. Clears his throat.
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