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

singing voice, leading Stalin to tell of how in his youth he had not only sung in a choir but even performed as a soloist at weddings, and then he got up and gave proof of this by jumping around on the floor and waving his arms and legs in every direction to a song that Allan thought sounded almost… Indian… but nice!
    Allan couldn’t sing. He couldn’t do anything of any cultural value, he realised, but the mood seemed to demand that he attempt something more than ‘ Helan går …’, and the only thing he could remember straight off was the poem by Verner von Heidenstam that Allan’s village school teacher had forced the children to memorize.
    Thus Stalin resumed his seat, while Allan got up and proclaimed the poem in his native Swedish.
    As an eight-year-old, Allan hadn’t understood what he recited, and now that he declaimed the poem again, with impressive engagement, he realised that thirty-five years later he still hadn’t a clue what it was about. The Russian-English (insignificant) interpreter sat in silence on his chair and was even less significant than before.
    Allan then announced (after the applause had died down) that what he had just recited was by Verner von Heidenstam. Had he known how Comrade Stalin would react to that news,Allan might have refrained from announcing it, or at least adjusted the truth a little.
    Comrade Stalin had once upon a time been a poet, indeed a very competent one. The spirit of the times, however, had made him a revolutionary soldier instead. Such a background was poetical enough in itself. But Stalin had also retained his interest in poetry and his knowledge of the leading contemporary poets.
    Unfortunately for Allan, Stalin knew all too well who Verner von Heidenstam was. And unlike Allan he knew all about Verner von Heidenstam’s love of – Germany. And about the love being mutual. Hitler’s righthand man, Rudolf Hess, had visited Heidenstam’s home in the 1930s, and shortly afterwards Heidenstam had been awarded an honorary doctorate by the University of Heidelberg.
    All of this caused Stalin’s mood to undergo an abrupt metamorphosis.
    ‘Is Mr Karlsson sitting here and insulting the generous host who received him with open arms?’ asked Stalin.
    Allan assured him that such was not the case. If it was Heidenstam who had upset Mr Stalin, then Allan apologized profusely. Perhaps it might be some consolation that Heidenstam had been dead for some years?
    ‘And “ sjung hopp faderallan lallan lej ”, what did that actually mean? Did you have Stalin repeat a homage to the enemies of the revolution?’ asked Stalin, who always spoke of himself in the third person when he got angry.
    Allan answered that he would need some time to think to be able to translate ‘ sjung hopp faderallan lallan lej ’ into English, but that Mr Stalin could rest assured that it was nothing more than a cheerful ditty.
    ‘A cheerful ditty?’ said Comrade Stalin in a loud voice. ‘Does Mr Karlsson think that Stalin looks like a cheerful person?’
    Allan was beginning to tire of Stalin’s touchiness. The old geezer was quite red in the face with anger, but about not very much. Stalin went on:
    ‘And what actually did you do in the Spanish Civil War? It would perhaps be best to ask Mr Heidenstam-lover which side he fought for!’
    Has he got a sixth sense too, the devil? Allan thought. Oh well, he was already as angry as he could reasonably become, so it was probably just as well to come clean.
    ‘I wasn’t really fighting, Mr Stalin, but at first I helped the republicans, before – for rather random reasons – changing sides and becoming good friends with General Franco.’
    ‘General Franco?’ Stalin shouted, and then stood up so that the chair behind him fell over.
    It was evidently possible to get even angrier. On a few occasions in Allan’s eventful life, somebody had shouted at him, but he had never, ever, shouted back, and he had no plans to do so to Stalin. That didn’t mean that he was unmoved by the situation. On the contrary, he had rapidly come to dislike the little loudmouth on the other side of the table, in his own quiet way.
    ‘And not only that, Mr Stalin. I have been in China for the purpose of making war against Mao Tse-tung, before I went to Iran and prevented an attempt to assassinate Churchill.’
    ‘Churchill? That fat pig!’ Stalin shouted.
    Stalin recovered for a moment before downing a whole glass of vodka. Allan watched enviously. He too