Read A Man Called Ove: A Novel for Free Online

florist’s. And there it didn’t take long for a “rumble” to start up, as Ove’s wife would have described it. Or a “discussion,” as Ove always insisted on calling it. Ove put down a coupon on the counter on which it said: “2 plants for 50 kronor.” Given that Ove only wanted one plant, he explained to the shop assistant, with all rhyme and reason on his side, he should be able to buy it for 25 kronor. Because that was half of 50. However, the assistant, a brain-dead phone-texting nineteen-year-old, would not go along with it. She maintained that a single flower cost 39 kronor and “2 for 50” only applied if one bought two. The manager had to be summoned. It took Ove fifteen minutes to make him see sense and agree that Ove was right.
    Or, to be honest about it, the manager mumbled something that sounded a little like “bloody old sod” into his hand and hammered 25 kronor so hard into the cash register that anyone would have thought it was the machine’s fault. It made no difference to Ove. He knew these retailers were always trying to screw you out of money, and no one screwed Ove and got away with it. Ove put his debit card on the counter. The manager allowed himself the slightest of smiles, then nodded dismissively and pointed at a sign that read: “Card purchases of less than 50 kronor carry a surcharge of 3 kronor.”

    Now Ove is standing in front of his wife with two plants. Because it was a question of principle.
    “There was no way I was going to pay three kronor,” rails Ove, his eyes looking down into the gravel.
    Ove’s wife often quarrels with Ove because he’s always arguing about everything.
    But Ove isn’t bloody arguing. He just thinks right is right. Is that such an unreasonable attitude to life?
    He raises his eyes and looks at her.
    “I suppose you’re annoyed I didn’t come yesterday like I promised,” he mumbles.
    She doesn’t say anything.
    “The whole street is turning into a madhouse,” he says defensively. “Complete chaos. You even have to go out and back up their trailers for them nowadays. And you can’t even put up a hook in peace,” he continues as if she’s disagreeing.
    He clears his throat.
    “Obviously I couldn’t put the hook up when it was dark outside. If you do that there’s no telling when the lights go off. More likely they’ll stay on and consume electricity. Out of the question.”
    She doesn’t answer. He kicks the frozen ground. Sort of looking for words. Clears his throat briefly once again.
    “Nothing works when you’re not at home.”
    She doesn’t answer. Ove fingers the plants.
    “I’m tired of it, just rattling around the house all day while you’re away.”
    She doesn’t answer that either. He nods. Holds up the plants so she can see them.
    “They’re pink. The ones you like. They said in the shop they’re perennials but that’s not what they’re bloody called. Apparently they die in this kind of cold, they also said that in the shop, but only so they could sell me a load of other shit.”
    He looks as if he’s waiting for her approval.
    “The new neighbors put saffron in their rice and things like that; they’re foreigners,” he says in a low voice.
    A new silence.
    He stands there, slowly twisting the wedding ring on his finger. As if looking for something else to say. He still finds it painfully difficult being the one to take charge of a conversation. That was always something she took care of. He usually just answered. This is a new situation for them both. Finally Ove squats, digs up the plant he brought last week, and carefully puts it in a plastic bag. He turns the frozen soil carefully before putting in the new plants.
    “They’ve bumped up the electricity prices again,” he informs her as he gets to his feet.
    He looks at her for a long time. Finally he puts his hand carefully on the big boulder and caresses it tenderly from side to side, as if touching her cheek.
    “I miss you,” he whispers.
    It’s