The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

was as if he couldn’t manage tobe adult any longer. Sniffling, he reported that Stalin had had a stroke several days earlier and that according to Auntie Stalin (that is what he called her), Uncle had died just before the young Mr Kim phoned.
    While the young Mr Kim sat on Allan’s knee, Allan talked with feeling about the bright memory of his last meeting with Comrade Stalin. They had eaten a banquet meal together, and they had got into that really good mood that only arises between true friends. Comrade Stalin had danced and sung before the evening was over. Allan hummed the Georgian folk song that Stalin sang on that occasion, just before something short-circuited inside his head. And the young Mr Kim recognised the song! Uncle Stalin had sung that song for him too. Thus – if not before – all doubts were swept away. Uncle Marshal was quite clearly who he said he was. The young Mr Kim would make sure that his father, the prime minister, received him the next day. But now he wanted another hug…
     
    In fact, the prime minister wasn’t exactly sitting and governing his half country from an office next door. That would have been far too great a risk. No, if you were going to meet Kim Il Sung you had to embark upon a longer journey which for reasons of security were undertaken in an SU-122 self-propelled howitzer, because the prime minister’s second-in-command would come along too.
    The vehicle was not at all comfortable, but that’s not really the point of self-propelled howitzers, of course. During the journey, Allan had plenty of time to ponder two not entirely unimportant things. The first was what he would say to Kim Il Sung, and the second was what result he hoped for.
    In front of the prime minister’s second-in-command (and son), Allan had claimed that he came with an important message from Comrade Stalin, and thanks to an amazing stroke of luck it hadbecome easy to deal with this. The false marshal could now say anything at all; Stalin was far too dead to be able to deny it. So Allan decided that the message to Kim Il Sung would be that Stalin was going to give Kim Il Sung two hundred tanks for the communist struggle in Korea. Or three hundred. The higher the figure, the happier the prime minister would be, of course.
    The other thing was more awkward. Allan was not particularly interested in travelling back to the Soviet Union after having accomplished his mission with Kim Il Sung. But to get the North Korean leader to help Allan and Herbert to South Korea would not be easy. And staying in the vicinity of Kim Il Sung would be more and more unhealthy for every day those tanks didn’t turn up.
    Could China be an alternative? As long as Allan and Herbert had been wearing black-and-white prison clothes, the answer was no, but they weren’t any more. Korea’s gigantic neighbour had possibly been transformed from a threat to a promise, since Allan had become a Soviet marshal. Especially if Allan could trick Kim Il Sung into providing them with a nice letter of introduction.
    So, next stop China? And then things would just have to turn out however they did. If no better option turned up en route, they could always traipse over the Himalayas once more.
    With that, Allan felt he had reflected enough. First, Kim Il Sung would get three hundred tanks, or even four – there was no need to be stingy. Thereafter, the pretend-marshal would humbly ask the prime minister to help him with transport and visas for his journey to China, since the marshal had business with Mao Tse-tung too. Allan was pleased with his plan. Towards the evening, the armoured convoy with passengers Allan, Herbert and the young Kim Jong Il rolled into what seemed to be some kind of military camp.
    ‘Do you think we’ve ended up in South Korea?’ Herbert asked hopefully.
    ‘If there is anywhere in the world where Kim Il Sung is NOT sitting and keeping his head down, then it is South Korea,’ said Allan.
    ‘No, of course not. I just thought… no, I don’t suppose I did really,’ said Herbert.
     
    Then the ten-wheel tracked armoured vehicle jerked to a halt. The three passengers crawled out. They were in a military airfield outside a building that looked like a command centre.
    The young Mr Kim held the door open for Allan and Herbert, after which he daintily trotted past the two gentlemen and even held open the next door. With that, the trio had reached the holiest of holies. Inside stood a large writing desk covered with