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

the synagogues and mosques – which would have been closed by decree – could be used. There was just one thing the Reverend Ferguson wanted to know: how long did the gentlemen think it would be before the communist revolution?
    The communists had not reacted with the enthusiasm, or even curiosity, that the Reverend Ferguson had expected. Instead, he was told in no uncertain terms that there wouldn’t be any Anglicanism or for that matter any other sort of ism besides communism when the day came. In addition, he got a loud telling-off for having requested this meeting under false pretences. The communists had never experienced such a dreadful waste of time.
    With a vote of 3–2 in favour, it was then decided that the Reverend Ferguson would be given a good beating before being put on the train back to Tehran, and with a unanimous vote it was decided that it would be best for the priest’s health if he didn’t come back.
    Allan smiled and said that – with permission – he could in no way eliminate the possibility that the priest was completely mad. To bring about a religious agreement with the communists was, of course, quite hopeless. Didn’t the priest understand that?
    The priest answered that heathens like Mr Karlsson would do well not to judge what was wise or unwise. But of course he had understood that there was little chance of success.
    ‘But just think, Mr Karlsson, if it had actually worked. Just think of being able to send a telegram to the Archbishop of Canterbury and report fifty million new Anglicans all at once.’
    Allan admitted that the difference between madness and genius was subtle, and that he couldn’t with certainty say which it was in this case, but that he had his suspicions.
    Be that as it may, it turned out that the shah’s cursed secret police were bugging the Razavikhorasan communists, and the Reverend Ferguson was picked up as soon as he got off the train in the capital, and taken in for questioning.
    ‘And I admitted everything and a bit more besides,’ said the Reverend Ferguson, ‘because my thin body is not created to withstand torture. A good beating is one thing, but torture is something else.’
    With that immediate and exaggerated confession, the Reverend Ferguson had been transported to this holding cell, and he had been left in peace for two weeks because the head of the secret police, the vice prime minister, was on a business trip to London.
    ‘The vice prime minister?’ Allan wondered.
    ‘Yes, or the boss of the murderers,’ said the Reverend Ferguson.
    It was said of the secret police that no organisation was more controlled from the top. Putting fear in the hearts of the population on a more routine basis, or killing communists, socialistsor Islamists, that of course didn’t require the blessing of the boss. But as soon as something happened that was the slightest bit out of the ordinary, then it was he who decided. The shah had given him the title vice prime minister, but in effect he was a murderer, in the Reverend Ferguson’s opinion.
    ‘And according to the prison guards, you’d better forget the “vice” bit of his title when you address him, if things go so badly that you need to meet him, which they seem to be doing in both your case and mine.’
    Perhaps the priest had spent more time with underground communists than he cared to admit, thought Allan, because he went on:
    ‘Ever since the end of the Second World War, the American CIA has been here and has built up the shah’s secret police.’
    ‘CIA?’ said Allan.
    ‘Yes, that’s what they are called now. They were the OSS before, but it’s the same dirty business. They’re the ones who have taught the Iranian police all the tricks and tortures. What can he be like, the man who allows the CIA to destroy the world in this way?’
    ‘You mean the American president?’
    ‘Harry S. Truman will burn in hell, believe you me,’ said the Reverend Ferguson.
    ‘You think so?’ said Allan.
     
    The days passed. Allan had told his own life story to the Reverend Ferguson, without leaving anything out at all. And after this, the priest stopped talking to Allan because he realised what sort of relationship his cellmate had to the American president and – even worse – to the bombs over Japan.
    Instead, the priest turned to God and prayed for advice. Was it the Lord who had sent Mr Karlsson to help him, or was it the Devil who lay behind it?
    But God answered with silence. He did that