“Or if it’s a boy. Boys can have pink nowadays, can’t they?”
Parvaneh looks at the light blue crib, her hand across her mouth.
If you start crying now you’re not having it,” warns Ove.
And when she starts crying anyway, Ove sighs—“Bloody women”—and turns around and starts walking down the road.
The man in the white shirt extinguishes his cigarette under his shoe and bangs on Anita and Rune’s door about half an hour later.
He’s brought along three young men in nurse uniforms, as if he’s expecting violent resistance.
When frail little Anita opens the door, the three young men look a touch ashamed of themselves more than anything,
but the man in the white shirt takes a step towards her and waves his document in the air as if holding an axe in his hands.
“It’s time,” he informs her with a certain impatience and tries to step into the hall.
But she places herself in his way. As much as a person of her size can place herself in anyone’s way.
“No!” she says without budging an inch. The man in the white shirt stops and looks at her.
Shakes his head tiredly at her and tightens the skin around his nose until it almost seems to be swallowed up in his cheek-flesh.
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