Then he hears Rune’s wife fumbling nervously for words, and then exclaiming: “Oh, you know, I’d better go home.”
“That thing about Ove’s wife... oh, forget it. Old bats like me, we talk too much, you know...”
Ove hears her strained laugh and then her little dragging footsteps disappearing as quickly as they can around the corner of his shed.
A moment later the Pregnant One and the Lanky One also leave.
And all that’s left is the silence of Ove’s hall. He sinks down on the stool, breathing heavily.
His hands are still shaking as if he were standing waist-deep in ice-cold water.
His chest thumps. It happens more and more these days. He has to sort of struggle for a mouthful of air, like a fish in an overturned bowl.
His company doctor said it was chronic, and that he mustn’t work himself up.
Easy for him to say. “Good to go home and have a rest now,” said his bosses at work.
“Now your heart is playing up and all.” They called it “early retirement” but they might as well have said what it was: “liquidation.”
A third of a century in the same job and that’s what they reduced him to.
Ove is not sure how long he stays there on the stool,
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