It didn’t matter to him. On the other hand it always amused his wife when someone said it,
because she could then point out while giggling that people only thought Ove was the night because he was too mean to turn on the sun.
He never understood why she chose him. She loved only abstract things like music and books and strange words.
Ove was a man entirely filled with tangible things.
He liked screwdrivers and oil filters. He went through life with his hands firmly shoved into his pockets. She danced.
“You only need one ray of light to chase all the shadows away,” she said to him once, when he asked her why she had to be so upbeat the whole time.
Apparently some monk called Francis had written as much in one of her books.
“You don’t fool me, darling,” she said with a playful little smile and crept into his big arms.
You’re dancing on the inside, Ove, when no one’s watching. And I’ll always love you for that. Whether you like it or not.”
Ove never quite fathomed what she meant by that. He’d never been one for dancing. It seemed far too haphazard and giddy.
He liked straight lines and clear decisions. That was why he had always liked mathematics. There were right or wrong answers there.
Not like the other hippie subjects they tried to trick you into doing at school, where you could “argue your case.”
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