A Man Called Ove: A Novel

“I don’t have any relatives here in town. I was going to stay the night at Adrian’s, but his mum’s new boyfriend is staying. . . .”

He goes quiet. Looks like he’s feeling very silly.

“It was an idiotic idea,” he says in a low voice and makes a move to turn around and leave.

Adrian, on the other hand, seems to be rediscovering a desire for discussion, and he stumbles eagerly through the snow towards Ove.

“What the hell, Ove! You’ve got a load of space in there! So we thought maybe he could crash here tonight?”

“Here? This is not a damned hotel!” says Ove, raising the rifle so that Adrian’s chest collides right into the barrel.

Adrian freezes. Mirsad takes two quick steps forward through the snow and puts his hand on the rifle.

“We had nowhere else to go, sorry,” he says in a low voice while gently turning the barrel away from Adrian.

Ove looks like he’s coming to his senses slightly. He lowers his weapon to the ground. When he almost imperceptibly takes a half step backwards into the hall, as if he’s only now become aware of the cold which envelops his not-so-well-dressed body, he notices, from the corner of his eye, the photo of Sonja on the wall. The red dress. The bus trip to Spain when she was pregnant. He asked her so many times to take that bloody photo down, but she refused. Said it was “a memory worth as much as any other.”

Obstinate woman.

So this should have been the day Ove finally died. Instead it became the evening before the morning when he woke with not only a cat but also a bent person living in his row house. Sonja would have liked it, most likely. She liked hotels.

33

A MAN CALLED OVE AND AN INSPECTION TOUR THAT IS NOT THE USUAL

Sometimes it is difficult to explain why some men suddenly do the things they do. Sometimes, of course, it’s because they know they’ll do them sooner or later anyway, and so they may as well just do them now. And sometimes it’s the pure opposite—because they realize they should have done them long ago. Ove has probably known all along what he has to do, but all people at root are time optimists. We always think there’s enough time to do things with other people. Time to say things to them. And then something happens and then we stand there holding on to words like “if.”

As he marches down the stairs the next morning, he stops in the hallway. It hasn’t smelled like this in the house since Sonja died. Watchfully he takes the last few steps down, lands on the parquet floor, and stands in the doorway of the kitchen, his body language that of a man who has just caught a thief red-handed.

“Is that you who’s been toasting bread?”

Mirsad nods anxiously.

“Yes . . . I hope that’s okay. Sorry. I mean, is it?”

Ove notices that he’s made coffee too. The cat is on the floor eating tuna. Ove nods, but doesn’t answer the question.

“Me and the cat have to go for a little walk around our road,” he clarifies instead.

“Can I come?” asks Mirsad quickly.

Ove looks at him a little as if Mirsad has stopped him in a pedestrian arcade, dressed up as a pirate, and asked him to guess under which of the three teacups he’s hidden the silver coin.

“Maybe I can help?” Mirsad continues eagerly.

Ove goes into the hall and shoves his feet into his clogs.

“It’s a free country,” he mutters as he opens the door and lets out the cat.

Mirsad interprets this as “Of course you can!” and quickly puts on his jacket and shoes and goes after Ove.

“Hey, guys!” Jimmy hollers as they reach the pavement. He turns up, puffing energetically, behind Ove in a fiercely green tracksuit that’s so tight around his body that Ove wonders at first if it’s in fact a garment or a body painting.

“Jimmy!” says Jimmy, panting, and offering Mirsad his hand.

The cat looks as if it would like to rub itself lovingly against Jimmy’s legs, but seems to change its mind, bearing in mind that the last time it did something similar Jimmy ended up in the hospital. Instead it opts for the next best available thing and rolls about in the snow. Jimmy turns to Ove.

“I usually see you walking around about this time, so I was gonna check with you if you’re cool with me tagging along. I’ve decided to start exercising, you know!”

He nods with such satisfaction that the fat under his chin sways between his shoulders like a mainsail in stormy conditions. Ove looks highly dubious.

“Do you usually get up at this time?”

“Shit, no, man. I haven’t even gone to bed yet!” He laughs.

And this is why a cat, an overweight allergy sufferer, a bent person, and a man called Ove make the inspection round that morning.

Mirsad explains in brief that he and his father are not getting along and that he’s temporarily staying with Ove; Jimmy expresses disbelief that Ove is up at this time every single morning.

“Why did you have a fight with the old man, then?” asks Jimmy.

“That’s none of your business!” Ove barks.

Mirsad gives Ove a grateful glance.

“But seriously, man. You do this every morning?” Jimmy asks cheerfully.

“Yes, to check if there have been any burglaries.”