The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared (11 page)

At that point Allan’s hundred-year-old brain gave birth to an idea. It was a wild idea, and there was an evident risk that he would get shot in the process, unless of course he really was immortal after all. He took a deep breath and with a naive smile on his lips, he walked straight towards the troublemaker. And he said in his most doddery voice:

‘That really is one hell of a nice pistol you’ve got there. Is it real? Can I hold it?’

Benny, Julius and The Beauty all thought that the geriatric had lost his marbles.

‘Stop, Allan!’ Benny shouted out.

‘Yeah, stop, you old bastard, or I’ll shoot you,’ said Bucket.

But Allan kept shuffling towards him. Bucket took a step backwards, stretched out his hand with the revolver even more threateningly towards Allan, and then… he did it.

If you’ve ever stepped in a heap of sticky, very fresh, elephant shit then you’ll know it’s virtually impossible to keep your balance. Bucket didn’t know, but he quickly learned. His back foot slipped, Bucket tried to counter this with his hands, and fell helplessly, landing softly on his back.

‘Sit, Sonya, sit!’ said Allan as the final part of his daring plan.

‘No, damn it, Sonya, don’t sit,’ shouted The Beauty, who suddenly realised what was about to happen.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Bucket where he lay on his back in the elephant’s excrement.

Sonya, who stood with her back to them all, had clearly and distinctly heard Allan’s command. And the old man was nice to her, and she liked to do as he wanted. Besides, his benefactor and
feeder had confirmed the order. The function of the word ‘Don’t’ to countermand an order was not something Sonya had ever grasped.

So Sonya sat down. Her bottom landed on something soft and warm, with a dull crushing sound and something that sounded like a squeak, before complete silence reigned. Sonya was ready for another apple.

‘There went number two,’ said Julius.

‘Jesus, bloody, fucking Christ,’ said The Beauty.

‘Yuck,’ said Benny.

‘Here’s an apple, Sonya,’ said Allan.

Henrik ‘Bucket’ Hultén didn’t say anything at all.

The Boss waited for three hours for Bucket to get in touch again. Then he decided that something had happened to that good-for-nothing. The Boss found it desperately hard to
understand
why people didn’t just do as he said, and nothing more.

Time to deal with it all himself, that much was obvious. The Boss began by checking the number plate that Bucket had given him. It didn’t take many minutes to ascertain via the national vehicle registry that it referred to a red VW.

If it is possible to become stone cold sober instantly after having just downed a whole bottle of tequila, then that was what Vice President Harry S. Truman did.

The news of President Roosevelt’s sudden demise meant that the vice president had to conclude the pleasant dinner with Allan and fly immediately to Washington. Allan was left behind in the restaurant to argue with the head waiter about the bill. In the end, the head waiter accepted Allan’s argument that the future President of the United States was probably reasonably creditworthy and that, in any case, the head waiter now knew his address.

Allan took a refreshing walk back to the lab and resumed his duties as coffeemaker and assistant to America’s foremost physicists, mathematicians and chemists, even though they now felt somewhat embarrassed in Allan’s company. The atmosphere was uncomfortable and after a few weeks Allan was considering whether to move on. A telephone call from Washington settled the matter:

‘Hi, Allan, it’s Harry.’

‘Which Harry?’

‘Truman, Allan. Harry S. Truman, the president, damn it!’

‘How nice! That was a good meal we had, Mr President, thank you. I hope you weren’t required to fly the plane home?’

No, the president had not. Despite the gravity of the
situation
, he had instead passed out on a sofa in Air Force Two and had not woken up again until it was time to land five hours later.

But now, Harry Truman had some things to deal with that he had inherited from his predecessor, and for one of these
the president might need Allan’s help, if Allan thought that possible?

Allan certainly did, and the next morning he checked out from the Los Alamos National Laboratory for good.

The Oval Office was just about as oval as Allan had imagined. And there he was, sitting across from his Los Alamos drinking partner.

It turned out that the president was having some trouble with a woman whom he – for political reasons – couldn’t ignore. Her name was Soong May-ling. Perhaps Allan had heard of her? No?

Well, she was the wife of the anti-communist Kuomintang leader Chiang Kai-shek in China. She was also extremely
beautiful
, educated here in America, and a best friend of Mrs Roosevelt. She drew an audience of thousands wherever she turned up, and had even given a speech to Congress. And now she was hounding President Truman almost to death to ensure that he would make good on all the promises that she claimed President Roosevelt had made with regard to the struggle against communism.

‘I should have guessed that this was about politics,’ said Allan.

‘It’s pretty hard to avoid that if you are president,’ said Harry Truman.

Just for the moment there was a brief period of calm in the struggle between the Kuomintang and the communists, for they were more or less fighting for a common cause in Manchuria. But soon the Japanese would surrender, and then the Chinese would certainly start to fight among themselves again.

‘How do you know that the Japanese are going to surrender?’ asked Allan.

‘You, of all people, ought to be able to work that out,’ answered Truman and immediately changed the subject.

The president proceeded with what for Allan was a boring overview of developments in China. Intelligence reports said that the communists had the advantage in the civil war, and at the Office of Strategic Services there were questions about Chiang Kai-shek’s military strategy. He was concentrating on the towns, leaving the rural areas open for communist
propaganda
. The leader of the communists, Mao Tse-tung, would of course soon be eliminated by the Americans, but there was an obvious risk that his ideas might gain a foothold among the population. Even Chiang Kai-shek’s own wife, the decidedly irritating Soong May-ling, acknowledged that something had to be done. So she simply followed her own military course.

The president continued to describe military strategy, but Allan had stopped listening. He looked absentmindedly around the Oval Office, wondering whether the windowpanes were bulletproof and where the door to the left might lead. He thought it must be difficult to drag the gigantic carpet out for cleaning… In the end, he felt he had to interrupt the president in case he started asking questions to make sure that Allan had understood.

‘Excuse me, Harry, but what do you want me to do?’

‘Well, as I said, it’s about stopping the communists’ freedom of movement in the rural areas…’

‘What do you
actually
want me to do?’

‘Soong May-ling is pushing for increased American weapons support, and now she wants even more equipment than what they’ve already been offered.’

‘And what
specifically
do you want me to do?’

When Allan had asked the question for the third time, the president fell silent. Then he said:

‘I want you to go to China and blow up bridges.’

‘Why didn’t you say that right away?’ said Allan, his face brightening.

‘As many bridges as possible, so that you cut off as many of the communist roads as you can…’

‘It’ll be nice to see a new country,’ said Allan.

‘I want you to train Soong May-ling’s men in the art of blowing up bridges and that…’

‘When do I leave?’

Although Allan was an explosives expert, and had rapidly and drunkenly become good friends with the future American
president
, he was still Swedish. If Allan had been the slightest bit interested in politics, he might have asked the president why he was the one to have been chosen for this mission. Had the president been asked he would have answered truthfully that the United States couldn’t be seen to support two parallel and
potentially
contradictory military projects in China. Officially they supported Chiang Kai-shek and his Kuomintang party. Now they were adding to that support on the sly with a whole shipload of equipment for blowing up bridges on a major scale, ordered and pushed through by Chiang Kai-shek’s wife, the beautiful, serpent-like (in the president’s view) and half-Americanised Soong May-ling. Worst of all, Truman couldn’t rule out that everything
had
actually been settled over a cup of tea between Soong May-ling and Mrs Eleanor Roosevelt. What a mess! But now all that remained was for the president to introduce Allan Karlsson and Soong May-ling to each other. Then as far as the president was concerned the matter was over and done with.

The next item on his agenda was more of a formality, because he had already made his decision. There was no need for him physically to push the button, so to speak. On an island east of the Philippines the crew of a B52 bomber was waiting for the go-ahead from the president. All the tests had been carried out. Nothing could go wrong.

The next day was 6th August 1945.

Allan Karlsson’s delight that something new was going to happen in his life soon faded when he met Soong May-ling for the first time. Allan had instructions to call on her at a hotel suite in Washington. After managing to negotiate his way through a couple of rows of bodyguards, he stood in front of the lady herself and holding out his hand said:

‘How do you do, Madame, I’m Allan Karlsson.’

Soong May-ling did not shake his hand. Instead, she pointed to an armchair close by.

‘Sit!’ she said.

Over the years, Allan had been accused of being everything from crazy to fascist, but never a dog. He considered pointing out the unsuitability of the lady’s tone, but refrained from doing so, since he was curious to see what would come next. Besides, the armchair looked comfortable.

When Allan sat down, Soong May-ling embarked upon something that Allan felt a particular aversion to, namely a political explanation. Oddly, she referred to President Roosevelt as the man behind the entire plan, and Allan found that strange. Surely you couldn’t lead military operations from beyond the grave?

Soong May-ling described the importance of putting a stop to the communists, of preventing that clown Mao Tse-tung from spreading his political poison from province to province, and – rather strangely, thought Allan – of her husband, Chiang Kai-shek, not understanding anything about this business.

‘How are things really between you two on the romantic side?’ said Allan.

Soong May-ling informed Allan that such a matter was of no concern to an insignificant person like him. Karlsson was appointed by President Roosevelt to be directly under her command in this operation, and from now on he should only answer when spoken to, and otherwise be silent.

Allan didn’t get angry – the word didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary – but he took advantage of the fact that he had been spoken to, to answer.

‘The last thing I heard about Roosevelt was that he was dead, and if anything has changed about that it would have been in the papers. I am doing this because President
Truman
asked me to. But if your madameship is going to keep on being angry then I don’t think I’ll bother. I can always visit China another time, and I’ve already blown up more than enough bridges.’

No one had confronted Soong May-ling like this since her mother had tried to stop her daughter’s marriage to a Buddhist, and that was many years ago. Besides, her mother had later had to apologize because the marriage had led her daughter all the way to the top.

Now Soong May-ling had to stop and think. She had evidently misjudged the situation. Up to now, all Americans had started to tremble when she described President Roosevelt and the First Lady as personal friends. How should she deal with this person who didn’t react in the same way as everybody else? Who on earth had that incompetent Truman sent her?

Soong May-ling was not a person who would fraternize with just anybody, but her goal was more important than her principles. So she changed tactics:

‘I think we forgot to introduce ourselves properly,’ she said, and held out her hand in the western manner. But better late than never.

Allan was not one to harbour a grudge. He took her hand and smiled indulgently. But he didn’t agree in general that things were better late than never. His father, for example, became a faithful supporter of Tsar Nicholas the day before the Russian Revolution.

Two days later Allan was on his way to Los Angeles, with Soong May-ling and twenty men from her personal bodyguard. There awaited the ship that would take them and their cargo of dynamite to Shanghai.

Allan knew that it would be impossible for him to keep out of the way of Soong May-ling for the whole of the long voyage across the Pacific Ocean – the vessel simply didn’t have enough hiding places. So he made up his mind not even to try, and he accepted a permanent seat at the captain’s table at dinner every evening. The advantage was the good food, the disadvantage was that Allan and the captain were not alone but had the company of Soong May-ling, who seemed to be incapable of talking about anything but politics.

And to be honest, there was yet another disadvantage, because instead of vodka they were served a green, banana liquor. Allan accepted what he was served but he reflected that it was the first time he had drunk something that was essentially
undrinkable
. Drinks with an alcoholic content ought to go down your throat and into your belly as quickly as possible, not stick to your palate.

But Soong May-ling liked the taste of the liquor and the more glasses she put away during an evening, the more personal was the tone of her everlasting political ramblings.

What Allan quite effortlessly learned during the dinners on the Pacific Ocean was, for example, that the clown Mao Tse-tung and his communists could very well win the civil war and that such an outcome would essentially have been caused by Chiang Kai-shek. Soong May-ling’s husband was incompetent as commander-in-chief. At this very moment he was partaking in peace negotiations with Mao Tse-tung in the south Chinese city of Chongqing. Had Mr Karlsson and the captain heard anything so stupid? Negotiating with a communist? Where would that lead, other than nowhere!

Soong May-ling was certain that the negotiations would break down. Her intelligence reports also revealed that a
considerable
part of the communist army was waiting for its leader Mao in the desolate mountains in Sichuan province not far from there. Soong May-ling’s hand-picked agents, like Soong May-ling herself, believed that the clown and his forces would next move to the north-east, towards Shaanxi and Henan, in their disgusting propaganda procession through the nation.

Allan made sure to keep quiet so that the evening’s political lecture would be no longer than necessary, but the hopelessly polite captain asked question after question while he repeatedly filled her glass with the sweet green banana goo.

The captain wondered, for instance, in what way Mao Tse-tung actually posed any sort of threat. The Kuomintang did, after all, have the USA behind it and was, as the captain understood it, militarily completely superior.

That question extended the evening’s misery by almost an hour. Soong May-ling explained that her pathetic husband was just about as intelligent and charismatic as a cow and possessed the same leadership qualities. Chiang Kai-shek had completely embraced the erroneous belief that it was all about who
controlled
the cities.

It was not Soong May-ling’s intention to confront Mao in battle. How could she do that with the little project she had cooked up with Allan, and a handful of her bodyguard? Twenty poorly-armed men, twenty-one with Mr Karlsson, against a whole army of very able opponents in the mountains of Sichuan… That would be ugly.

Instead, the first stage in the plan was to limit the clown’s mobility, to make it more difficult for the communist army to move around. The next stage was to get her miserable husband to realise that he must now seize the opportunity to lead his forces out into the rural areas and show the Chinese people that
the Kuomintang would protect them from communism, and not vice versa. Soong May-ling had understood, just like the clown, what Chiang Kai-shek so far had not – namely, that it was easier to be the leader of a nation if you had the nation behind you.