When Ove was nine years old, his dad sent him to help Tom clean out a broken-down railway car.
With sudden jubilation, Tom snatched up a briefcase left by some harassed passenger.
It had fallen from the luggage rack and distributed its contents over the floor.
Before long Tom was darting about on all fours, scrabbling together everything he could see.
“Finders keepers,” he spat at Ove. Something in his eyes made Ove feel as if there were insects crawling under his skin.
As Ove turned to go, he stumbled over a wallet. It was made of such soft leather that it felt like cotton against his rough fingertips.
And it didn’t have a rubber band around it like Dad’s old wallet, to keep it from falling to bits.
It had a little silver button that made a click when you opened it.
There was more than six thousand kronor inside. A fortune to anyone in those days.
Tom caught sight of it and tried to tear it out of Ove’s hands. Overwhelmed by an instinctive defiance, the boy resisted.
He saw how shocked Tom was at this, and out of the corner of his eye he had time to see the huge man clenching his fist.
Ove knew he’d never be able to get away, so he closed his eyes, held on to the wallet as hard as he could, and waited for the blow.
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