Still wearing only his underpants and with aching lungs, Ove saw the first flames climbing his own house.
He charged across the lawn but was immediately stopped by a group of firemen.
They were everywhere, all of a sudden. Refused to let him through.
A man in a white shirt, some sort of chief fireman as Ove understood it,
stood before him with his legs wide apart and explained that they couldn’t let him try to extinguish the fire in his own house.
It was much too dangerous. Unfortunately, the white shirt explained after that,
the fire brigade could not put it out either until they had the appropriate permissions from the authorities.
It turned out that because Ove’s house now lay exactly on the municipal boundary,
clearance from the command center was required on the shortwave radio before they could get to work.
Permission had to be sought, papers had to be stamped. “Rules are rules,” the man in the white shirt explained in a monotone voice.
Ove tore himself free and ran in fury towards the water hose.
But it was futile—by the time the firemen got the all-clear signal, the house was already engulfed by fire.
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