stumbles up the stairs in her wet slippers, and, with her heart in her mouth, fumbles her way into his bedroom.
Ove looks like he’s sleeping very deeply. She has never seen his face looking so peaceful.
The cat lies at his side with its little head carefully resting in the palm of his hand.
When it sees Parvaneh it slowly, slowly stands up, as if only then fully accepting what has happened, then climbs into her lap.
They sit together on the bedside and Parvaneh caresses the thin locks of hair on Ove’s head
until the ambulance crew gets there and, with tender and gentle words and movements, explains that they have to take the body away.
Then she leans forward and whispers, “Give my love to Sonja and thank her for the loan,” into his ear.
Then she takes the big envelope from the bedside table on which is written, in longhand, “To Parvaneh,” and goes back down the stairs.
It’s full of documents and certificates, original plans of the house,
instruction booklets for the video player, the service booklet for the Saab.
Bank account numbers and insurance policy documents.
The telephone number of a lawyer to whom Ove has “left all his affairs.”
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