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

by Jonas Jonasson

  Marshal Meretskov and his aide had almost a whole hour’s drive remaining to Vladivostok when they saw, from the winding coast road, a pillar of black smoke.

  The distance was too great for it to be worth getting the binoculars out of the boot, so Marshal Meretskov ordered full speed ahead, adding that in the next fifteen minutes the aide should find a place to park with a good view of the bay.

  Allan and Herbert had walked some way along the main road when a stylish military green Pobeda approached from the south. The escapees hid behind a snowdrift while the car passed. But then, the car slowed down and stopped about fifty metres away. Out stepped an officer with a chest full of medals, accompanied by his aide. The aide took the officer’s binoculars out of the boot and then the officer and his aide left the car to seek out a place with a better view of the bay on the other side of which Vladivostok had recently stood.

  This made it simple for Allan and Herbert to sneak up to the car, seize the officer’s pistol and the aide’s automatic and then make the officer and his aide aware of the fact that they were now in a tricky situation. Or, as Allan said:

  ‘Gentlemen, would you kindly take your clothes off?’

  Marshal Meretskov was furious. You did not treat a marshal of the Soviet Union in that way, not even if you were a camp prisoner. Did the two gentlemen mean that he – Marshal K.A. Meretskov – should enter Vladivostok on foot wearing nothing but underpants? Allan answered that it would be difficult to enter Vladivostok at all, as the town was at that moment burning down, but otherwise that was more or less what he and his friend Herbert meant. The gentlemen would of course be given a couple of sets of inferior black-and-white prisoner’s clothes in exchange, and in any case the nearer they got to Vladivostok – or whatever one should call the cloud of smoke and ruins over there – the warmer it would get.

  Upon which Allan and Herbert put on the stolen uniforms and left their old prison clothes in a pile on the ground. Allan thought that it would perhaps be safest if he drove the car himself, so Herbert got to be Marshal Meretskov, and Allan his aide. Allan wished the marshal farewell and said that he needn’t look so angry, because Allan was quite sure that it wouldn’t help at all. Besides it would soon be spring, and spring in Vladivostok was… well, perhaps it wasn’t. Anyway, Allan encouraged the marshal to think positively, but added that it was of course entirely up to the marshal himself. If he really wanted to walk along wearing only his underpants and have negative thoughts about life, then he could do so.

  ‘Farewell, Mr Marshal. And you too, of course,’ Allan added to the aide.

  The marshal didn’t reply. He just continued to glare at them, while Allan turned the Pobeda round. And then he and Herbert set off southwards.

  Next stop North Korea.

  The border crossing between the Soviet Union and North Korea was an uncomplicated and quick affair. First, the Soviet border guards stood to attention and saluted, and then the North Koreans did the same. Without a word being exchanged, the barrier was lifted for the Soviet marshal (Herbert) and his aide (Allan). The most devoted of the two North Korean border guards could hardly keep his eyes dry when he thought of the personal commitment he was witnessing. Korea could not have a better friend than the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Presumably, the marshal was on his way to Wonsan to make sure that the supplies from Vladivostok had arrived safely.

  But this particular marshal was not thinking about the well-being of North Korea. It is not even certain he knew in which country he found himself. He was fully occupied with trying to fathom how you opened the car’s glove compartment.

  What Allan had gathered from the sailors in the harbour in Vladivostok was that the Korean War had come to a standstill, that the two parties were each back on their own side of the 38th parallel. When Herbert heard this news, he suggested that one way to pass from North to South would be to get up speed and jump over the border (as long as it wasn’t too wide). There was, of course, a risk that they would get shot when they were jumping, but really that wasn’t such a big deal.

  But it turned out – still with quite a way left to the border – that a full-scale war was already being waged around about them. American planes circled in the air and seemed to be bombing everything they saw. Allan realised that a military-green, Russian staff car would probably be regarded as an excellent target, so he left the main road (without first asking his marshal for permission) and drove inland, on smaller roads with more chance of seeking shelter every time they heard the roar of an airplane above their heads.

  Allan continued in a south-easterly direction, while Herbert entertained him with a running commentary while he went through the marshal’s wallet, which he had found in an inner pocket of his uniform. It contained a tidy sum in roubles, but also information about what the marshal was called and some correspondence about activities in Vladivostok.

  ‘Maybe he was the one in charge of that train transport to the port,’ said Herbert.

  Allan praised Herbert for that thought, which he found wise, and Herbert blushed.

  ‘By the way, do you think you can memorize Marshal Kirill Afanasievich Meretskov’s name?’ asked Allan. ‘It would be useful.’

  ‘I am sure I can’t,’ said Herbert.

  When it started to get dark, Allan and Herbert turned into the yard of what looked like a well-to-do farm. The farmer, his wife and their two children stood to attention in front of the important guests and the fancy car. The aide (Allan) apologized in Russian as well as Chinese for arriving unannounced, but wondered if it was possible to get something to eat. They would of course pay for it, but that would have to be in roubles; they didn’t have anything else.

  The farmer and his wife hadn’t understood a word of what Allan had said. But the eldest son, aged about twelve, had studied Russian at school and he translated for his father. After which, it only took a few seconds before aide Allan and marshal Herbert were invited in to the family home.

  Fourteen hours later, Allan and Herbert were ready to continue on their way. First of all they had had dinner with the farmer, his wife and the children. They were served a chili and garlic flavoured pork dish with rice, and with it – hallelujah! – Korean vodka! Of course, the Korean vodka didn’t exactly taste like the Swedish sort, but after five years and three weeks of involuntary sobriety, it was more than okay.

  After the dinner, the marshal and his aide were both offered lodging. Marshal Herbert was given the big bedroom while mother and father slept with the children. Aide Allan found himself on the floor of the kitchen.

  When morning came, there was a breakfast of steamed vegetables, dried fruit and tea before the farmer filled the marshal’s car with some petrol he had in a barrel in the barn.

  Finally, the farmer refused to accept the bundle of roubles from the marshal, until the moment the marshal barked out, in German:

  ‘You will take this money now, peasant!’

  That terrified the farmer to such a degree that he did as Herbert said, without understanding a word of what he had said.

  They waved a friendly goodbye and then the journey continued in a south-westerly direction, without any other traffic on the winding road, but with the threatening roar of bombers overhead.

  As the vehicle approached Pyongyang, Allan thought that it might be time to work on a new plan. It was now out of the question to try to reach South Korea.

  The plan instead became to try to arrange a meeting with Prime Minister Kim Il Sung. Herbert was after all a Soviet marshal, and that ought to suffice.

  Herbert apologized for interfering with the planning, but he wondered what the point was of meeting Kim Il Sung.

  Allan answered that he didn’t know yet, but that he promised to think about it. One reason he could already give Herbert was that the closer you got to the top dogs, the better the food tended to be — and the vodka.

  Allan realised it was only a matter of time before he and Herbert were stopped along the road and checked out properly. Not
even a marshal would be allowed just to roll into the capital of a country at war without somebody at least asking a question or two. So Allan spent a couple of hours instructing Herbert as to what he should say – just one sentence in Russian, but a very important one: ‘I am Marshal Meretskov from the Soviet Union – take me to your leader!’

  Pyongyang was protected at this time by an outer and an inner military ring. The outer one, twenty kilometres from the city, consisted of anti-aircraft guns and double checkpoints on roads, while the inner ring was virtually a barricade, a front line for defence against land attack. Allan and Herbert got caught in one of the outer checkpoints first and were met by a very drunk North Korean soldier, with a cocked machine gun across his chest. Marshal Herbert had rehearsed his single sentence endlessly, and now he said:

  ‘I am your leader, take me to… the Soviet Union.’

  By good fortune, the soldier didn’t understand Russian, but he did understand Chinese. So the aide (Allan) interpreted for his marshal and then all the words came in the right order.

  But the soldier had an almost impossible amount of alcohol in his blood, and was totally incapable of deciding what to do. He did at least invite Allan and Herbert into the checkpoint’s sentry box and then he phoned his colleague 200 metres away. After which he sat down on a shabby armchair and pulled out a bottle of rice vodka (the third for the day) from his inside pocket. Then he took a gulp and started to hum to himself, while he looked straight through the Soviet guests with an empty glow in his eyes.

  Allan was not satisfied with Herbert’s efforts in front of the guard, and he realised that with Herbert as marshal it wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes with Kim Il Sung before both the marshal and his aide would be well and truly arrested. Through the window, Allan could see the other guard approaching.

  Now they had to be quick.

  ‘Let’s swap clothes, Herbert,’ Allan said.

  ‘But why?’ asked Herbert.

  ‘Do it now,’ said Allan.

  And so, in all haste, the marshal became the aide, and the aide became the marshal. The impossibly drunk soldier with the empty stare rolled his eyes and gurgled something in Korean.

  A few seconds later, soldier number two entered the sentry box and immediately saluted when he saw what a prominent guest he had received. Soldier number two spoke Chinese too, upon which Allan (in the guise of the marshal) once again expressed the desire to meet the prime minister, Kim Il Sung. Before soldier number two had time to answer, number one ceased his gurgling.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Marshal Allan wondered.

  ‘He says that you just took all your clothes off and then got dressed again,’ answered soldier two truthfully.

  ‘That is quite some vodka!’ said Allan and shook his head.

  Soldier two apologized for his colleague’s behaviour and when number one insisted that Allan and Herbert had undressed and then dressed each other, he was given a punch on the nose and ordered to keep his mouth shut once and for all, unless he wanted to be reported for drunkenness.

  Soldier one decided to keep quiet (and took another gulp) while number two made a couple of phone calls before filling in a pass in Korean, signing and stamping it in two places, and handing it over to Marshal Allan. And then he said:

  ‘Mr Marshal, show this at the next checkpoint. Then you will be guided to the second-in-command of the prime minister’s second-in-command.’

  Allan thanked him, saluted and returned to the car, pushing Herbert in front of him.

  ‘Since you have just become my aide, you will have to drive from now on,’ said Allan.

  ‘How exciting,’ said Herbert. ‘I haven’t driven a car since the Swiss police ordered me never to sit behind a wheel again.’

  ‘I think it’s best if you say no more,’ said Allan.

  ‘I have a hard time with left and right,’ said Herbert.

  ‘As already noted, I think it’s best if you say no more,’ said Allan.

  The journey continued with Herbert behind the wheel, and it went off much better than Allan had expected. And with the help of the pass there were no problems in getting all the way into the city and right up to the prime minister’s palace.

  Once there, the second-in-command’s second-in-command received them and said that the second-in-command could not receive them until three days later. Meanwhile, the gentlemen would be staying in the guest suite in the palace. And dinner would be served at eight o’clock, if that suited them.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ said Allan to Herbert.

  Kim Il Sung was born in April 1912 to a Christian family on the outskirts of Pyongyang. That family, like all other Korean families, was under Japanese sovereignty. Over the years, the Japanese did more or less what they wanted with people from the colony. Hundreds of thousands of Korean girls and women were captured and used as sex slaves for needy Japanese imperial troops. Korean men were conscripted into the army to fight for the emperor who had, among other things, forced them to adopt Japanese names and in other respects done his best to eradicate the Korean language and culture.

  Kim Il Sung’s father was a quiet apothecary, but also sufficiently articulate in his criticism of the Japanese that the family one day found it wise to move northwards, to Chinese Mongolia.

  But after Japanese troops arrived in 1931 it wasn’t all peace and quiet there either. Kim Il Sung’s father was dead by then, but his mother encouraged him to join the Chinese guerrillas, with the ambition of forcing the Japanese out of Manchuria – and eventually Korea.

  Kim Il Sung made a career in the service of the Chinese, as a communist guerrilla. He gained a reputation for being a man of action, and brave too. He was appointed to the command of an entire division and he fought so fiercely against the Japanese that in the end only he himself and a few more in the division survived. That was in 1941, in the middle of the World War, and Kim Il Sung was forced to flee over the border to the Soviet Union.

  But he made a career there too. He was soon a major in the Red Army and fought right up until 1945.

  The end of the war meant that Japan had to hand back Korea. Kim Il Sung came back from exile, now as a national hero. All that remained was to build the state; there was no doubt that the people wanted Kim Il Sung as the Great Leader.

  But the victors from the war, the Soviet Union and the United States, had divided Korea into spheres of interest. And in the United States, they felt that you couldn’t have a documented communist as the head of the whole peninsula. So they flew in a head of state of their own, a Korean exile, and put him in the south. Kim Il Sung was expected to settle for the north, but that is exactly what he didn’t do. Instead, he started the Korean War. If he could chase out the Japanese, then he could just as well chase out the Americans and their UN followers.

  Kim Il Sung had served in the military in both China and the Soviet Union. And now he was fighting for his own cause. What he had learned during the dramatic journey was, among other things, not to depend upon anybody.

  He made only one exception to that rule. And that exception had just been appointed as his second-in-command.

  Anybody who wanted to have contact with Prime Minister Kim Il Sung, must first seek a meeting with his son.

  Kim Jong Il.

  ‘And you should always let your visitors wait at least seventy-two hours before you receive them. That is how you maintain your authority, my son,’ Kim Il Sung had instructed him.

  ‘I think I understand, father,’ Kim Jong Il lied, after which he sought out a dictionary and looked up the word he hadn’t understood.’

  Three days of waiting didn’t bother Allan and Herbert at all, because the food was good and the beds were soft in the prime minister’s palace. Besides, it was rare for American bombers to come close to Pyongyang, as there were easier targets to aim for.

  Finally, however, the time came. Allan was fetched by the prime minister’s second-in-command’s second-in-command and was shown along the corridors of the
palace to the second-in-command’s office. Allan was prepared for the fact that the second-in-command was little more than a boy.

  ‘I am the prime minister’s son, Kim Jong Il,’ said Kim Jong Il. ‘And I am my father’s second-in-command.’

  Kim Jong Il’s grip was firm even though his entire hand disappeared inside Allan’s hefty fist.

  ‘And I am Marshal Kirill Afanasievich Meretskov,’ said Allan. ‘I am thankful that the young Mr Kim agreed to receive me. Would the young Mr Kim allow me to present my mission?’

  Kim Jong Il would, so Allan continued with his lying: the marshal had a message for the prime minister directly from Comrade Stalin in Moscow. Since there were suspicions that the USA – the capitalist hyenas – had infiltrated the Soviet communication system (the marshal didn’t want to go into more detail, and hoped the young Mr Kim would understand), Comrade Stalin had decided that the message should be conveyed in person. And this mission of honour had fallen upon the marshal’s shoulders, and those of his aide (whom the marshal had left in their suite to be on the safe side).

  Kim Jong Il looked suspiciously at Marshal Allan and seemed to be almost reading from a text when he said that his job was to protect his father whatever the cost. And part of that job was to trust nobody, his father had taught him that, he explained. So Kim Jong Il could not contemplate letting the marshal visit his father, the prime minister, until the marshal’s story had been checked with the Soviet Union. Kim Jong Il intended to phone Moscow and ask whether Stalin had in fact sent the marshal.