A MAN CALLED OVE DRILLS A HOLE FOR A HOOKโ
Ove has put on his best trousers and his going-out shirt. Carefully he covers the floor with a protective sheet of plastic, as if protecting a valuable work of art. Not that the floor is particularly new (although he did sand it less than two years ago). Heโs fairly sure that you donโt lose much blood when you hang yourself, and it isnโt because of worries about the dust or the drilling. Or the marks when he kicks away the stool. In fact heโs glued some plastic pads to the bottoms of its legs, so there shouldnโt be any marks at all. No, the heavy-duty sheets of plastic which Ove so carefully unfolds, covering the entire hall, living room, and a good part of the kitchen, are not for Oveโs own sake at all.
He imagines thereโll be a hell of a lot of running about in here, with
eager, jumped-up real estate agents trying to get into the house before the ambulance men have so much as got the corpse out. And those bastards are not coming in here, scratching up Oveโs floor with their shoes. Whether over Oveโs dead body or not. They had better be quite clear about that.
He puts the stool in the middle of the floor. Itโs coated in at least seven different layers of paint. Oveโs wife decided on principle that sheโd let Ove repaint one of the rooms in their house every six months. Or, to be more exact, she decided she wanted a different color in one of the rooms once every six months. And when she said as much to Ove he told her that she might as well forget it. And then she called a decorator for
an estimate. And then she told Ove how much she was going to pay the decorator. And then Ove went to fetch his painting stool.
You miss the strangest things when you lose someone. Little things. Smiles. The way she turned over in her sleep. Even repainting a room for her.
Ove goes to get his box of drill bits. These are single-handedly the most important things when drilling. Not the drill, but the bits. Itโs like having proper tires on your car instead of messing about with ceramic brakes and nonsense like that. Anyone who knows anything knows that. Ove positions himself in the middle of the room and sizes it up. Then, like a surgeon gazing down on his instruments, his eyes move searchingly over his drill bits. He selects one, slots it into the drill, and tests the trigger a little so that the drill makes a growling sound. Shakes his head, decides that it doesnโt feel at all right, and changes the drill bit. He repeats this four times before heโs satisfied, then walks through the living room, swinging the drill from his hand like a big revolver.
He stands in the middle of the floor staring up at the ceiling. He has to measure this before he gets started, he realizes. So that the hole is centered. The worst thing Ove knows is when someone just drills a hole in the ceiling, hit-or-miss.
He goes to fetch a tape measure. He measures from each of the four cornersโtwice, to be on the safe sideโand marks the center of the ceiling with a cross.
Ove steps down from the stool. Walks around to make sure the protective plastic is in position as it should be. Unlocks the door so they wonโt have to break it down when they come to get him. Itโs a good door. Itโll last many more years.
He puts on his suit jacket and checks that the envelope is in his inside pocket. Finally he turns the photo of his wife in the window, so that it looks out towards the shed. He doesnโt want to make her watch what heโs about to do, but on the other hand he darenโt put the photograph facedown either. Oveโs wife was always horribly ill-tempered if they ever ended up in someplace without a view. She needed โsomething to look at thatโs alive,โ she was always saying. So he points her towards the
shed while thinking that maybe that Cat Annoyance would come by again. Oveโs wife liked Cat Annoyances.
He fetches the drill, takes the hook, stands up on the stool, and starts drilling. The first time the doorbell goes he assumes heโs made a mistake and ignores the sound for that very reason. The second time he realizes that thereโs actually someone ringing the bell, and he ignores it for that very reason.
The third time Ove stops drilling and glares at the door. As if he may be able to convince whoever is standing outside to disappear by his mental powers alone. It doesnโt work. The person in question obviously thinks the only rational explanation for his not opening the door the first time around was that he did not hear the doorbell.
Ove steps off the stool, strides across the plastic sheets through the living room and into the hall. Does it really have to be so difficult to kill yourself without constantly being disturbed?
โWhat?โ fumes Ove as he flings the door open.
The Lanky One only manages by a whisker to pull his big head back and avoid an impact with his face.
โHi!โ the Pregnant One exclaims cheerfully beside him, though a foot and a half lower down.
Ove looks down at her, then up at him. The Lanky One is busy touching every part of his face with some reluctance, as if to check that every protuberance is still where it should be.
โThis is for you,โ she says in a friendly sort of voice, and then shoves a blue plastic box into Oveโs arms.
Ove looks skeptical.
โCookies,โ she explains encouragingly. Ove nods slowly, as if to confirm this.
โYouโve really dressed up,โ she says with a smile. Ove nods again.
And then they stand there, all three of them, waiting for someone to say something. In the end she looks at the Lanky One and shakes her head with resignation.
โOh, please, will you stop fidgeting with your face, darling?โ she whispers and gives him a push in the side.
The Lanky One raises his eyes, meets her gaze, and nods. Looks at Ove. Ove looks at the Pregnant One. The Lanky One points at the box and his face lights up.
โSheโs Iranian, you know. They bring food with them wherever they go.โ
Ove gives him a blank stare. The Lanky One looks even more hesitant.
โYou know . . . thatโs why I go so well with Iranians. They like to cook food and I like to . . .โ he begins, with an over-the-top smile.
Then he goes silent. Ove looks spectacularly uninterested. โ. . . eat,โ the Lanky One finishes.
He looks as if heโs about to make a drumroll in the air with his fingers. But then he looks at the Pregnant Foreign Woman and decides that it would probably be a bad idea.
โAnd?โ Ove offers, wearily.
She stretches, puts her hands on her stomach.
โWe just wanted to introduce ourselves, now that weโre going to be neighbors. โ
Ove nods tersely and concisely. โOkay. Bye.โ
He tries to close the door. She stops him with her arm.
โAnd then we wanted to thank you for backing up our trailer. That was very kind of you!โ
Ove grunts. Reluctantly he keeps the door open. โThatโs not something to thank me for.โ
โYeah, it was really nice,โ she protests.
โNo, I mean it shouldnโt be something to thank me for, because a grown man should be able to back up with a trailer,โ he replies, casting a somewhat unimpressed gaze on the Lanky One, who looks at him as if unsure whether or not this is an insult. Ove decides not to help him out of his quandary. He backs away and tries to close the door again.
โMy name is Parvaneh!โ she says, putting her foot across his threshold.
Ove stares at the foot, then at the face itโs attached to.
As if heโs having difficulties understanding what she just did.
โIโm Patrick!โ says the Lanky One.
Neither Ove nor Parvaneh takes the slightest notice of him.
โAre you always this unfriendly?โ Parvaneh wonders, with genuine curiosity.
Ove looks insulted.
โIโm not bloody unfriendly.โ โYou are a bit unfriendly.โ โNo Iโm not!โ
โNo, no, no, your every word is a cuddle, it really is,โ she replies in a way that makes Ove feel she doesnโt mean it at all.
He releases his grip on the door handle for a moment or two. Inspects the box of cookies in his hand.
โRight. Arabian cookies. Worth having, are they?โ he mutters. โPersian,โ she corrects.
โWhat?โ
โPersian, not Arabian. Iโm from Iranโyou know, where they speak Farsi?โ she explains.
โFarcical? Thatโs the least you could say,โ Ove agrees.
Her laughter catches him off guard. As if itโs carbonated and someone has poured it too fast and itโs bubbling over in all directions. It doesnโt fit at all with the gray cement and right-angled garden paving stones. Itโs an untidy, mischievous laugh that refuses to go along with rules and prescriptions.
Ove takes a step backwards. His foot sticks to some tape by the threshold. As he tries to shake it off, with some irritation, he tears up the corner of the plastic. When he tries to shake off both the tape and the plastic sheeting, he stumbles backwards and pulls up even more of it. Angrily, he regains his balance. Remains there on the threshold, trying to summon some calm. Grabs hold of the door handle again, looks at the Lanky One, and tries to quickly change the subject.
โAnd what are you, then?โ
He shrugs his shoulder a little and smiles, slightly overwhelmed. โIโm an IT consultant.โ
Ove and Parvaneh shake their heads with such coordination they could be synchronized swimmers. For a moment it makes Ove dislike
her a little less, although heโs very reluctant to admit it to himself.
The Lanky One seems unaware of all this. Instead he looks with curiosity at the hammer-action drill, which Ove is holding in a firm grip, like a guerrilla fighter with an AK-47 in his hand.
Once the Lanky One has finished perusing it, he leans forward and peers into Oveโs house.
โWhat are you doing?โ
Ove looks at him, as one does at a person who has just said โWhat are you doing?โ to a man standing with a hammer-action drill in his hand.
โIโm drilling,โ he replies scathingly.
Parvaneh looks at the Lanky One and rolls her eyes, and if it hadnโt been for her belly, which testified to a willingness on her part to contribute to the survival of the Lanky Oneโs genetic makeup, Ove might have found her almost sympathetic at this point.
โOh,โ says the Lanky One, with a nod.
Then he leans forward and peers in at the living room floor, neatly covered in the protective sheet of plastic.
He lights up and looks at Ove with a grin.
โAlmost looks like youโre about to murder someone!โ
Ove peruses him in silence. The Lanky One clears his throat, a little more reluctant. โI mean, itโs like an episode of Dexter,โ he says with a much less confident grin. โItโs a TV series . . . about a guy who murders people.โ He trails off, then starts poking the toe of his shoe into the gaps between the paving stones outside Oveโs front door.
Ove shakes his head. Itโs unclear to whom the Lanky One was primarily aiming what he just said.
โI have some things to get on with,โ he says curtly to Parvaneh and takes a firm grip on the door handle.
Parvaneh gives the Lanky One a purposeful jab in the side with her elbow. The Lanky One looks as if heโs trying to drum up some courage; he glances at Parvaneh, and looks at Ove with the expression of someone expecting the whole world to start firing rubber bands at him.
โWell, the thing is, we actually came because I could do with borrowing a few things . . .โ
Ove raises his eyebrows.
โWhat โthingsโ?โ
The Lanky One clears his throat. โA ladder. And an Eileen key.โ โYou mean an Allen key?โ
Parvaneh nods. The Lanky One looks puzzled. โItโs an Eileen key, isnโt it?โ
โAllen key,โ Parvaneh and Ove correct at the same time.
Parvaneh nods eagerly at him and points triumphantly at Ove. โHe said thatโs what itโs called!โ
The Lanky One mumbles something inaudible.
โAnd youโre just like โWhoa, itโs an Eileen key!โโ Parvaneh jeers. He looks slightly crestfallen.
โI never sounded like that.โ โYou did so!โ
โDid not!โ
โYes you DID!โ โI DIDNโT!โ
Oveโs gaze travels from one to the other, like a large dog watching two mice interfering with its sleep.
โYou did,โ says one of them.
โThatโs what you think,โ the other one says. โEveryone says it!โ
โThe majority is not always right!โ โShall we Google it or what?โ โSure! Google it! Wikipedia it! โGive me your phone.โ
โUse your own!โ
โDuh! I havenโt got it with me, dipshit!โ โSorry to hear that!โ
Ove looks at them as their pathetic argument drones on. They remind him of two malfunctioning radiators, making high-pitched whines at each other.
โGood God,โ he mutters.
Parvaneh starts imitating what Ove assumes must be some kind of flying insect. She makes tiny whirring sounds with her lips to irritate her
husband. It works quite effectively. Both on the Lanky One and on Ove. Ove gives up.
He goes into the hall, hangs up his suit jacket, puts down the hammer-action drill, puts on his clogs, and walks past them both towards the shed. Heโs pretty sure neither of them even notices him. He hears them still bickering as he starts backing out with the ladder.
โGo on, help him then, Patrick,โ Parvaneh bursts out when she catches sight of him.
The Lanky One takes a few steps towards him, with fumbling movements. Ove keeps his eyes on him, as if watching a blind man at the wheel of a crowded city bus. And only after that does Ove realize that, in his absence, his property has been invaded by yet another person.
Runeโs wife, Anita, from farther down the street, is standing next to Parvaneh, blithely watching the spectacle. Ove decides the only rational response must be to pretend that sheโs doing no such thing. He feels anything else would only encourage her. He hands the Lanky One a cylindrical case with a set of neatly sorted Allen keys.
โOh, look how many there are,โ says the imbecile thoughtfully, gazing into the case.
โWhat size are you after?โ asks Ove.
The Lanky One looks at him as people do when they lack the self-possession to say what they are thinking.
โThe . . . usual size?โ
Ove looks at him for a long, long time.
โWhat are you using these things for?โ he says at last.
โTo fix an IKEA wardrobe we took apart when we moved. And then I forgot where I put the Eileen key,โ he explains, apparently without a trace of shame.
Ove looks at the ladder.
โAnd this wardrobeโs on the roof, is it?โ
The Lanky One sniggers and shakes his head. โOh, right, see what you mean! No, I need the ladder because the upstairs window is jammed. Wonโt open.โ He adds the last part as if Ove would not otherwise be able to understand the implications of that word, โjammed.โ
โSo now youโre going to try to open it from the outside?โ Ove wonders.
The Lanky One nods and clumsily takes the ladder from him. Ove looks as if heโs about to say something else, but he seems to change his mind. He turns to Parvaneh.
โAnd why exactly are you here?โ โMoral support,โ she twitters.
Ove doesnโt look entirely convinced. Nor does the Lanky One.
Oveโs gaze wanders reluctantly back to Runeโs wife. Sheโs still there. It seems like years since he last saw her. Or at least since he really looked at her. Sheโs gone ancient. People all seem to get ancient behind Oveโs back these days.
โYes?โ says Ove.
Runeโs wife smiles mildly and clasps her hands across her hips.
โOve, you know I donโt want to disturb you, but itโs about the radiators in our house. We canโt get any heat into them,โ she says carefully and smiles in turn at Ove, the Lanky One, and Parvaneh. Parvaneh and the Lanky One smile back. Ove looks at his dented wristwatch.
โDoes no one on this street have a job to go to anymore?โ he wonders.
โIโm retired,โ says Runeโs wife, almost apologetically.
โIโm on maternity leave,โ says Parvaneh, patting her stomach proudly. โIโm an IT consultant!โ says the Lanky One, also proudly.
Ove and Parvaneh again indulge in a bit of synchronized head-shaking.
Runeโs wife makes another attempt. โI think it could be the radiators.โ โHave you bled them?โ says Ove.
She shakes her head and looks curious. โYou think it could be because of that?โ Ove rolls his eyes.
โOve!โ Parvaneh roars at him at once, as if sheโs a reprimanding schoolmistress. Ove glares at her. She glares back. โStop being rude,โ she orders.
โI told you, Iโm not rude!โ
Her eyes are unwavering. He makes a little grunt, then goes back to standing in the doorway. He thinks it could sort of be enough now. All he wants is to die. Why canโt these lunatics respect that?
Parvaneh puts her hand encouragingly on Runeโs wifeโs arm. โIโm sure Ove can help you with the radiators.โ
โThat would be amazingly kind of you, Ove,โ Runeโs wife says at once, brightening.
Ove sticks his hands in his pockets. Kicks at the loose plastic by the threshold.
โCanโt your man sort out that kind of thing in his own house?โ Runeโs wife shakes her head mournfully.
โNo, Rune has been really ill lately, you see. They say itโs Alzheimerโs. Heโs in a wheelchair as well. Itโs been a bit uphill. โ
Ove nods with faint recognition. As if he has been reminded of something his wife told him a thousand times, although he still managed to forget it all the time.
โYeah, yeah,โ he says impatiently.
โYou can go and breathe their radiators, canโt you, Ove!โ says Parvaneh.
Ove glances at her as if considering a firm retort, but instead he just looks down at the ground.
โOr is that too much to ask?โ she continues, drilling him with her gaze and crossing her arms firmly across her stomach.
Ove shakes his head.
โYou donโt breathe radiators, you bleed them Jesus.โ
He looks up and gives them the once-over.
โHave you never bled a radiator before, or what?โ โNo,โ says Parvaneh, unmoved.
Runeโs wife looks at the Lanky One a little anxiously.
โI havenโt got a clue what theyโre talking about,โ he says calmly to her.
Runeโs wife nods resignedly. Looks at Ove again.
โIt would be really nice of you, Ove, if it isnโt too much of a bother โ
Ove just stands there staring down at the threshold.
โMaybe this could have been thought about before you organized a coup dโรฉtat in the Residentsโ Association,โ he says quietly, his words punctuated by a series of discreet coughs.
โBefore she what?โ says Parvaneh. Runeโs wife clears her throat.
โBut, dear Ove, there was never a coup dโรฉtat. โ
โWas so,โ says Ove grumpily.
Runeโs wife looks at Parvaneh with an embarrassed little smile. โWell, you see, Rune and Ove here havenโt always gotten along so very well. Before Rune got ill he was the head of the Residentsโ Association. And before that Ove was the head. And when Rune was voted in there was something of a wrangle between Ove and Rune, you could say.โ
Ove looks up and points a corrective index finger at her. โA coup dโรฉtat! Thatโs what it was!โ
Runeโs wife nods at Parvaneh.
โWell, yes, well, before the meeting Rune counted votes about his suggestion that we should change the heating system for the houses and Ove thouโโ
โAnd what the hell does Rune know about heating systems? Eh?โ Ove exclaims heatedly, but immediately gets a look from Parvaneh which makes him reconsider and come to the conclusion that thereโs no need to complete his line of thought.
Runeโs wife nods.
โMaybe youโre right, Ove. But anyway, heโs very sick now . . . so it doesnโt really matter anymore.โ Her bottom lip trembles slightly. Then she regains her composure, straightens her neck with dignity, and clears her throat.
โThe authorities have said theyโll take him from me and put him in a home,โ she manages to say.
Ove puts his hands in his pockets again and determinedly backs away, across his threshold. Heโs heard enough of this.
In the meantime the Lanky One seems to have decided itโs time to change the subject and lighten up the atmosphere. He points at the floor in Oveโs hall.
โWhatโs that?โ
Ove turns to look at the bit of floor exposed by the loose plastic sheet. โIt looks as if youโve got, sort of . . . tire marks on the floor. Do you
cycle indoors, or what?โ says the Lanky One.
Parvaneh keeps her observant eyes on Ove as he backs away another step so he can impede the Lanky Oneโs view.
โItโs nothing.โ
โBut I can see itโsโโ the Lanky One begins confusedly.
โIt was Oveโs wife, Sonja, she wasโโ Runeโs wife interrupts him in a friendly manner, but she only has time to get to the name โSonjaโ when Ove, in turn, interrupts her and spins around with unbridled fury in his eyes.
โThatโll do! Now you SHUT UP!โ
All four of them fall silent, equally shocked. Oveโs hands tremble as he steps back into his hall and slams the door.
He hears Parvanehโs soft voice out there asking Runeโs wife what all that was about. Then he hears Runeโs wife fumbling nervously for words, and then exclaiming: โOh, you know, Iโd better go home. That thing about Oveโs wife . . . oh, forget it. Old bats like me, we talk too much, you know โ
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 thatโs left is the silence of Oveโs 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 mustnโt work himself up. Easy for him to say.
โGood to go home and have a rest now,โ said his bosses at work. โNow your heart is playing up and all.โ They called it โearly retirementโ but they might as well have said what it was: โliquidation.โ A third of a century in the same job and thatโs what they reduced him to.
Ove is not sure how long he stays there on the stool, sitting with the drill in his hand and his heart beating so hard that he feels the pulse inside his head. Thereโs a photo on the wall beside the front door, of Ove and Sonja. Itโs almost forty years old. That time they were in Spain on a bus tour. Sheโs suntanned, wearing a red dress, and looking so happy. Ove is standing next to her, holding her hand. He sits there for what must be an hour, just staring at that photo. Of all the imaginable things he most misses about her, the thing he really wishes he could do again is hold her hand in his. She had a way of folding her index finger into his palm, hiding it inside. And he always felt that nothing in the world was impossible when she did that. Of all the things he could miss, thatโs what he misses most.
Slowly he stands up. Goes into the living room. Up the steps of the stool. And then once and for all he drills the hole and puts in the hook.
Then gets off the stool and studies his work.
He goes into the hall and puts on his suit jacket. Feels in his pocket for the envelope. Heโs turned out all the lights. Washed his coffee mug. Put up a hook in his living room. Heโs done.
He takes down the rope from the clothes-dryer in the hall. Gently, with the back of his hand, he caresses her coats one last time. Then he goes into the living room, ties a noose in the rope, threads it through the hook, climbs up on the stool, and puts his head in the noose.
Kicks the stool away.
Closes his eyes and feels the noose closing around his throat like the jaws of a large wild animal.