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

be eager to see what sort of mood the man with his face in his food is going to be in when he wakes up,’ said Allan.

Chapter 16
    1948–53  
    The man on the park bench had just said ‘Good afternoon, Mr Karlsson,’ in English, and from that Allan drew two conclusions. First, that the man was not Swedish, otherwise he would probably have tried speaking his own language. Second, that he knew who Allan was, because he had just called him by his name.
    The man was smartly dressed, in a grey hat with a black rim, a grey overcoat and black shoes. He could very well be a businessman. He looked friendly and definitely had something in mind. So Allan said, in English:
    ‘Is my life, by any chance, about to take a new turn?’
    The man answered that such a change could not be ruled out, but added in a friendly tone that it depended on Mr Karlsson himself. The fact was, the man’s employer wanted to meet Mr Karlsson to offer him a job.
    Allan answered that at the moment he was doing quite well, but, of course, he could not remain sitting on a park bench for the rest of his life. Was it too much to ask for the name of his employer? Allan found it easier to say yes or no to something if he knew what he was saying yes or no to. Didn’t the man agree?
    The man agreed completely, but his employer was a bit special and would probably prefer to introduce himself in person.
    ‘But I am prepared to accompany you to the employer in question without the slightest delay, if that would suit you?’
    Why not, Allan said, it might suit him. The man added that it was some distance away. If Mr Karlsson would like to collect his belongings from the hotel room, the man promised to wait in the lobby. In fact, the man could give Mr Karlsson a lift back to the hotel, because the man’s car with chauffeur was right beside them.
    A stylish car it was too, a red Ford sedan of the latest model. And a private chauffeur! He was a quiet type. Didn’t seem nearly as friendly as the friendly man.
    ‘I think we can skip the hotel room,’ Allan said. ‘I am used to travelling light.’
    ‘No problem,’ said the friendly man and tapped his chauffeur on the back in a way that meant ‘drive off’.
     
    The journey took them out to Dalarö, just over an hour south of the capital on winding roads. Allan and the friendly man conversed about this and that. The friendly man explained the endless magnificence of opera, while Allan told him how you cross the Himalayas without freezing to death.
    The sun had given up for the day when the red coupé rolled into the little village on the coast that was so popular with archipelago tourists in the summers, but as dark and silent as can be in the winters.
    ‘So this is where he lives, your employer,’ said Allan.
    ‘No, not exactly,’ said the friendly man.
    The friendly man’s chauffeur – who was not nearly as friendly – said nothing. He just dropped Allan and the friendly man off by the harbour and left. Before that, the friendly man had managed to get out a fur coat from the boot of the Ford, and he put it around Allan’s shoulders in a friendly gesture while apologizing for the fact that they would now have to walk a short way in the winter cold.
    Allan was not one to pin his hopes (or, for that matter, his fears) on what might happen in the immediate future. What happened happened. There was no point second-guessing it.
    Nevertheless, Allan was surprised when the friendly man led him away from the centre of Dalarö and instead set off across the ice into the jet-black archipelago evening.
    The friendly man and Allan walked on and on. Sometimes the friendly man turned his flashlight on and flashed it a bit in the winter darkness before using it to get the right bearing on his compass. He didn’t talk to Allan during the entire walk, but instead just counted his steps aloud – in a language that Allan hadn’t heard before.
    After a fifteen minute walk at quite a good pace out into the void, the friendly man said that they had now arrived. It was dark around them, except for a flickering light on an island far away. The ground (or rather, the ice) under the two men’s feet suddenly broke up.
     
    The friendly man had possibly counted incorrectly. Or the captain of the submarine hadn’t been exactly in the place he should have been. Whatever the cause, the 97-metre-long vessel now broke through the ice far too close to Allan and the friendly man. They both fell backwards and almost ended up