The Accidental Further Adventures of the Hundred-Year-Old Man

North Korea

Korea had held together as a united empire for 1274 years. Then it had gone downhill fast. After the Second World War, the Americans and Russians couldn’t agree on what the Koreans wanted, and neither thought it was an option to ask the Koreans. The Russians placed a Communist in power in the north; the Americans, an anti-Communist in the south. The guy in the north thought he had the right to all of Korea. The one in the south thought the same thing, but the other way around.

This led to the violence that history books call the Korean War. Of course there had been wars on the peninsula before, but people have such short memories.

After two million Koreans (plus the occasional foreigner) had died in battle, enough was enough. They pointed at a line in the ground (the same line that had been there since before the war) and decided that, until further notice, they would keep to their own sides.

The Communist in the north invented ‘self-reliance’ as a political ideology, while his counterpart in the south, sensibly enough, did not label the dictatorship he created with any honest name.

Years passed. Leaders on both sides came and went, as leaders tend to do. The dictatorship in the south gradually lost its hold, while the self-reliance in the north prospered so extensively that people began to starve.

It’s easy for someone who trusts only themselves to become suspicious of others. When the south allowed American tactical nuclear weapons to be placed on their side of the border, those in the north took it all wrong. At least from an arms reduction perspective.

The Swedish manufacturer Volvo, outside Gothenburg, was full of celebration after the delivery of a thousand shiny new cars to Pyongyang. This celebration later turned out to be premature. For the North Koreans had rearranged their priorities. They chose to build test sites for nuclear weapons instead of paying what they owed. To this day, Volvo hasn’t received a single North Korean won in return.

Despite one thing and the next, there were some cross-border talks. Surely a solution could be reached. Yes, perhaps. For a while, in the early childhood of the current century, things were looking very bright indeed.

But back to the part about how leaders come and go. In 2017, tensions were higher than ever between the north on the one hand, and most of the rest of the world on the other. The latest in the series of leaders who had come, but not yet gone, were named Kim Jong-un and Donald J. Trump. And caught in the middle was the Swedish UN envoy Margot Wallström.

She had no illusions that her task would be an easy one.

The envoy and her plane landed at Sunan International Airport ten minutes ahead of the scheduled time. The Supreme Leader was informed and, as planned, he immediately adjourned the ongoing meeting with Messrs Karlsson and Jonsson.

Wallström was shown to a limousine and informed that the Supreme Leader awaited. Her baggage would be transported to the pre-booked hotel or the Swedish embassy, depending on which the envoy preferred.

The journey took her south towards central Pyongyang. After forty minutes the limousine passed the Supreme Leader’s palace and continued towards downtown.

‘Excuse me, but weren’t we going to see the Supreme Leader?’ said Minister for Foreign Affairs Wallström.

‘That is correct,’ the driver responded, without expounding further.

Ten minutes later, in any case, the journey was over. The minister for foreign affairs was invited out of the limousine and led into an eight-storey building.

‘Where are we?’ she asked her smiling female escort in bewilderment.

‘This is the main office of the news bureau KCNA. The Supreme Leader awaits.’

A news bureau? Margot Wallström felt ill at ease. After all, this trip was supposed to take place under the greatest discretion so that it didn’t spur even greater polarization between the parties. On the other hand, this was probably a country where no news bureau would dare to report on her presence without first obtaining the blessing of the Supreme Leader. Perhaps her worry was unfounded.

Their journey continued three storeys up, down a long hallway, to the left, right and left again.

‘Here we are,’ said the escort. ‘Please step in.’

If Margot Wallström had been expecting crystal chandeliers and velvet chairs, she was disappointed. This was more like… Well, what was this? The anteroom of a theatre stage? A TV studio? There were cables running along the sides, two discarded spotlights in one corner, and…

There he was.

‘Welcome, Madame Minister for Foreign Affairs,’ the Supreme Leader said kindly. ‘Was the trip okay?’

‘Yes, thank you. Very nice to meet you, but I have to ask… Where are we, and what are we doing here?’

‘Why, we’re going to save the world together,’ said Kim Jong-un. ‘But right now, you must meet the man to whom I myself have hardly even had time to say hello.’

Allan Karlsson was shoved out from behind a curtain and walked over to greet Minister for Foreign Affairs Wallström.

‘This is the world’s perhaps pre-eminent expert in nuclear weapons, Mr Karlsson from Switzerland. He has come to the Democratic People’s Republic out of love for our common cause.’

Minister for Foreign Affairs Margot Wallström found herself in a situation out of her control. But she took the old Swiss man’s hand on Kim Jong-un’s urging.

‘Good day,’ said the minister, hesitantly and in English.

‘Good day yourself,’ said Allan, one hundred per cent in Swedish and with a faint Sörmland accent.

There was no reaction from Kim Jong-un when he didn’t understand the nuclear weapons expert’s greeting, but Margot Wallström realized to her horror that a Swedish man, not a Swiss, was apparently about to upgrade North Korea’s nuclear weapons arsenal. What was going on?

Karlsson, was that his name? Minister for Foreign Affairs Wallström refrained from beginning to speak Swedish with him. He had, after all, been introduced as Swiss and the very best thing she could do right now was to feel her way through the situation.

The Supreme Leader lightly clapped both Allan and the UN envoy on the back and said he was looking forward to a dinner together in the palace that same evening. Karlsson’s executive assistant Jonsson was invited as well.

Jonsson? That didn’t sound particularly Swiss either.

‘But we’ll start with the press conference,’ said Kim Jong-un, signalling to a man with a headset who, in turn, spoke into his microphone.

Suddenly a round of applause began very close by. So they were backstage. A press conference?

‘But, Supreme Leader, we can’t talk to the media and keep our conversation discreet at the same time. I don’t feel this is something we agreed upon,’ said Margot Wallström.

Kim Jong-un laughed. ‘Naturally we won’t say a word about the contents of any conversations. How could we? We haven’t had any yet.’

No, this was well within the scope of the parties’ common ambitions. As the leader of the Democratic People’s Republic, Kim Jong-un had a responsibility to his people, the dignity of which perhaps Minister for Foreign Affairs Wallström did not fully comprehend. ‘It’s called “transparency”, Madame Wallström.’

‘Well, howdy-do,’ Allan said in Swedish.

Who was he? He was as old as the hills, clearly Swedish, alleged to be Swiss, and devoted to North Korea’s nuclear weapons-related future. And his respect for his employer seemed to be moderate at best.

Out on stage, a woman had begun to speak Korean before the audience, which had temporarily stopped applauding. Then she switched to English.

‘And with that I would like to welcome the UN envoy and minister for foreign affairs for the kingdom of Sweden, Madame Wallström – as well as the world’s leading nuclear weapons expert, devoted friend of the Democratic People’s Republic, straight from Switzerland: Mr Allan Karlsson.’

Kim Jong-un led Wallström and Karlsson to the edge of the stage, where he stopped while the guests had to continue. Neither of them was given any choice but to step into the spotlights that shone down from four directions. They were guided to their respective marks on one side of a table and received polite applause from the audience. Margot Wallström was not at all a fan of the situation she found herself in.

Allan looked around and discovered at least three TV cameras aimed at them. ‘Why, this is my first time on TV,’ he said to the minister in Swedish, before they had made it all the way to the table and the microphones.

The host began by turning to the UN envoy.

‘You’re here, Madame Wallström, because the UN and the Democratic People’s Republic share a common concern about the proliferation of nuclear weapons in the world, and about the tough rhetoric that so often flies from one side to the other.’

Yes. Thus far Margot Wallström was more or less on the same page.

‘Or from the other side to this one,’ she clarified. ‘It’s a mutual problem.’

‘Tell me, Madame Wallström, what do you think of our country, from what you’ve seen so far?’

What Margot Wallström had seen so far was no more than the airport and a few glances at the North Korean countryside and cityscape on her way into downtown Pyongyang. The countryside appeared poor but not shabby. In the city, the streets were wide, devoid of cars, edged by various monuments. The cult of personality was plain to see.

Like the diplomat she was, she responded by saying that she hoped to get the chance to enjoy the country before it was time to go home again; it struck her as both green and beautiful. The weather was also quite welcoming.

By the latter, the typical Swede means it’s above freezing, which it was.

The host nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Our motto is “a powerful and prosperous nation”. I see that you understand why, Madame Minister for Foreign Affairs.’

She did not wait for any response from Margot Wallström but turned to Allan. ‘And Mr Allan Karlsson. The world’s leading expert in hetisostat pressure one thousand two hundred. In possession of knowledge he would now like to share with the Democratic People’s Republic in the name of peace. What do you think of our beautiful country?’

‘Well, this isn’t my first time here,’ said Allan. ‘I had business here way back in the days of the Eternal President. It seems to me the roadblocks aren’t as numerous today as they were back then.’

Kim Jong-un signalled that he wished to be called onstage. As it happened, the host had prepared another question for the Swiss man, but the Supreme Leader didn’t trust that the old man would answer as he should. Roadblocks? What kind of talk was that?

The presentation of the Supreme Leader appeared to be magnificent. Exactly what was said was impossible to know for anyone who didn’t speak Korean. But now the formerly lukewarm audience stood up and gave an intense round of applause.

Kim Jong-un nodded first at the minister for foreign affairs, then the Swiss man, and joined them at the table.

The audience continued to applaud.

And more applause. It didn’t stop until the Supreme Leader ordered it to with his own hand. The host was able to make herself heard once more.

‘Supreme Leader,’ she said. ‘You are the world’s foremost champion of peace. How do you view the possibility that the aforementioned world would be a better place to live in under your leadership?’

Kim Jong-un nodded thoughtfully. A very good question. Almost as if he had come up with it himself. Which he had. ‘Peace between two parties presupposes cooperation by all. I cannot bring about peace on my own. I need help. Peace will come only when everyone wants it. It is with great sorrow I must say that the United States of America and its allies are instead trying to drive us all to destruction. But I do what I can, I do what I can. Hope is the last thing to abandon each individual in the Democratic People’s Republic. And I am glad we have the United Nations on our side in this struggle, represented here by Madame Wallström, who is also the minister for foreign affairs in the neutral country of Sweden. With the help of the equally neutral nation of Switzerland – represented by Mr Karlsson, as previously mentioned – the ultimate in nuclear strength can in the long term be relocated from the warmongers in Washington, Tokyo and Seoul to here, the centre of peace and love.’

Minister Wallström was about to flip out. Was that bastard standing there and placing the neutral countries of Sweden and Switzerland on the side of North Korea in a nuclear arms race? And where was this being broadcast? Wherever it was, it would become an international story at any moment.

‘May I say something?’

‘Yes, that is certainly the intent here,’ said Kim Jong-un. ‘We will begin our demanding work this very evening. The Democratic People’s Republic, the UN and the countries of Sweden and Switzerland, which have so proudly refused to fall in line with the North American hawks.’

The host realized that the show was over. She thanked her leader with a reverent bow and said she did not want to spend any more time standing in the way of the important work of the Supreme Leader and the others.

‘Go, Supreme Leader, in the name of peace. And feel the love of your people. Take your friends with you. Our love extends to them as well.’

Once again backstage, a very pleased Kim Jong-un said that everything had gone very well, didn’t Minister for Foreign Affairs Wallström agree?

No, she did not.

‘With all respect, Supreme Leader, what we just experienced was not part of our agreement, and it complicates rather than facilitates our upcoming talks.’

Kim Jong-un smiled. ‘Oh, yes, our talks. I think one will be enough. As I said, you are welcome to the palace this evening for an early dinner. Now you will be escorted to your hotel and picked up again at around seventeen hundred hours. Do be sure to make the most of the fantastic service at Ryugyong until then. According to many reviewers, it is the best hotel in the world.’

The minister, as annoyed as she was bewildered, was herded back through the hallways alongside the Swiss-Swedish Karlsson. At last they found themselves alone in the back seat of Wallström’s limousine. There was no way the driver could hear what they said or in which language they said it. Once the car had gone a few hundred metres, the minister for foreign affairs thought the time was right.

‘I must say I find myself curious about a few things,’ she said quietly to Allan, in Swedish.

‘I can imagine,’ said Allan. ‘What might be the most curious part? We can start there and work our way down. Or up, whichever it is.’

Margot Wallström had actually been planning to stay at the embassy, but she needed more time with the remarkable man beside her. ‘Then let’s start with how it happens that a Swede pretending to be Swiss finds himself in Pyongyang on business, with a purpose diametrically opposed to the one I am here to represent.’

‘Good question,’ said Allan. ‘And well formulated. I don’t think I’ll start from the beginning, because we would never finish. That’s how old I am. Let me instead begin with my hundred-and-first birthday on a beautiful white-sand beach on Bali in Indonesia.’

And then came the story of the hot-air balloon. The crash into the sea. The rescue. The white lie about hetisostat pressure to survive at least in the short term, and the arrival in Pyongyang as recently as a few hours before her own. How he had become Swiss, he didn’t know. As far as he could remember, he had never been to Switzerland. ‘But I hear it’s lovely. And the Swiss are said to be orderly to a fault.’

‘Yes,’ said the minister. ‘But the question is, how happy will they be now that they’ve got a presumed traitor on their hands?’

‘They have?’

‘You, Mr Karlsson.’

‘Oh, that’s what you meant.’

Ryugyong Hotel was an impressive creation, 330 metres and 105 storeys tall. The North Koreans had been building it since 1987 without ever finishing it. It was slow going, since the state coffers were substantially used up by the production of nuclear weapons and military parades. After three decades, they hadn’t yet built more than the lobby and the first floor. At this rate, it would take another fifteen hundred years for the whole building to be finished.

Yet the ground floor was stylish. It consisted of a golden reception desk to the right, offering space for up to twelve simultaneous check-ins or check-outs, and a tastefully decorated piano bar to the left, with three pianists engaged to cover the better part of each day. Thus far the budget had not allowed for the acquisition of a piano, but it was a priority.

Julius was sitting on the edge of the bed in room 104, waiting for Allan to return from the alphabet soup KCNA. Since it was impossible to imagine what that place might be, he was succeeding, for the moment, in repressing the situation they had found themselves in. Instead he was thinking about his asparagus partner down in Bali. To be sure, that wasn’t much fun either. Now Gustav had to handle the operation all on his own. What would come of it?

There was a telephone on the nightstand. Could it possibly be functional, in contrast to the hotel’s eight lifts? It was worth a try.

He called his business partner, the Indian Gustav Svensson. The call went through, but instead of a ringtone followed by Gustav, voicemail took over.

Julius recorded a few irritated sentences. In his haste, he forgot to mention that he was still alive, but perhaps his partner would work that out for himself.

Then he took off his shoes and lay down on the bed. He yawned and closed his eyes, trying to aim his thoughts in a direction other than that of asparagus and alphabet soup.

It didn’t work.