The Indian Ocean

      Captain Pak Chong-un took the only empty chair left at the table in the first mate’s quarters. Allan and Julius were already sitting in the other two chairs.

      The captain took out a pen and paper and began by enquiring what the gentlemen’s names were, where they were from, and why they had chosen to float around in a woven basket fifty nautical miles from land.

      This was the sort of thing Allan was best at, Julius thought, and said nothing. Allan didn’t think much. Instead he said a lot.

      ‘My name is Allan. And this is my best friend Julius. He’s an asparagus farmer. I’m not anything, except old. I’m a hundred and one today, can you imagine?’

      Captain Pak could imagine. He thought that this interrogation had got off to a difficult start. There was something carefree about the man who claimed to be older than should be reasonably possible. It made the interrogator both anxious and watchful.

      ‘Well, Mr Allan can be as old as he likes,’ said Captain Pak. ‘Where are you from and what are you doing here?’

      ‘What are we doing here?’ said Allan. ‘Please, dear captain, you’re the one who doesn’t want to let us off.’

      ‘No quibbling,’ said Captain Pak. ‘It’s possible that I will let you off before you even know it. It probably wouldn’t take more than ten, twelve days to swim from here to East Timor, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

      No, neither Allan nor Julius would prefer that. Instead Allan explained that a birthday celebration on Bali had gone awry. They were supposed to take a hot-air balloon trip over the island, but instead the wind had changed and the balloon come loose. By the time the captain and his boat had done them the kindness of passing by, only the basket was left. Allan supposed it had looked very odd indeed, but there’s an explanation behind everything.

      ‘Isn’t that so?’ he said.

      ‘What’s that?’ said the captain.

      ‘That everything has an explanation. Everything really does – don’t you sometimes think that too, Captain?’

      Julius looked at Allan in concern. He tried to communicate that it might not be advisable to run his mouth so much: the captain still had the chance to throw them overboard.

      ‘So you’re saying you’re Indonesians?’ Captain Pak asked sceptically.

      ‘No, we’re from Sweden,’ said Allan. ‘A lovely country. Have you been there, Captain? No? Well, a visit would absolutely be worth considering. Snow in the winter and long days in the summer. Nice people too. Generally speaking, that is. There are certainly some we could have done without, even in our country. I had a frightfully bad-tempered director at the old folks’ home where I lived before we ended up here. In Bali, I mean. I shudder to think of her. Perhaps you understand what I’m talking about, Captain?’

      The captain was displeased that the old man was sending questions back across the table. If he didn’t watch out, he would lose control of the situation.

      ‘Let’s start from the beginning.’

      And he wrote down Allan and Julius’s full names, nationalities and business. Their business was, in fact, nothing. It hadn’t been their intention to float around on the sea. As Captain Pak decided to believe their story, he also began slowly to believe he would survive this chapter of his life.

      The interrogation paused at a knock on the door. The terrified sailor outside had been tasked with asking if there was a chance they would be serving the guests dinner. The captain thought that would be fitting. If fifteen or twenty minutes suited.

      ‘Is there still a ban on alcohol?’ Allan wondered, after the sailor had left.

      The captain confirmed that there was. With their food they would be served water and tea.

      ‘Tea,’ said Allan. ‘Captain, are you really sure you wouldn’t like to drop us off somewhere along the way?’

      ‘That would put both our cargo and my life in jeopardy. If you behave yourselves, you may accompany us to the Democratic People’s Republic.’

      ‘If we behave ourselves?’

      ‘Exactly. There, the Supreme Leader will take care of you in the best way possible.’

      ‘The way he took care of his brother not long ago?’ Allan asked.

      Julius swore internally. Couldn’t the old man control himself? Did he want to become shark food?

      Captain Pak might not have had a black tablet like Allan’s, but he did have access to news from all corners of the world as long as he was at sea. He was aware of the accusations in the international media and said angrily that Mr Karlsson had clearly allowed himself to be taken in by imperialist propaganda. ‘No Korean leader would kill either relatives or visitors from other countries.’

      For one second, Julius entertained the vain hope that the hundred-and-one-year-old would back down. When that second had passed, Allan said: ‘Oh yes they would. The only reason I’m sitting here today is that Mao Zedong saved my life a few years back, when Kim Il-sung intended to have me shot. As it happens, Mao himself had a change of heart at the last moment.’

      What was Captain Pak Chong-un hearing? So much was wrong, all at the same time. A Caucasian blaspheming the name of the Eternal President of the Republic. The president who had stepped into said eternity twenty-three years previously.

      ‘A few years back?’ said Captain Pak, waiting for his thoughts to fall into order.

      ‘Oh, time flies. It was 1954, I think. When Stalin was putting on airs. Or was it ’fifty-three?’

      ‘Mr Karlsson, you … met the Eternal President of the Republic?’

      ‘Yes, him and his angry boy both. But, of course, they’ve both sailed on since then – not everyone can simply grow healthier with age, like me. Aside from my memory, that is. And my hearing. And my knees. And something else. I’ve forgotten – the memory part, you know.’

      Captain Pak realized that the risk to his own life was not at all in the past. The man before him might constitute a direct threat to his health. For him to bring someone who might possibly have denigrated the Eternal President to Pyongyang could not reasonably lead to anything other than … other than what the imperialists claimed had afflicted the Supreme Leader’s brother.

      Then again: to take the life of someone who had sat down with the Eternal President without first double-checking with that leader’s grandson …

      Rock or hard place? Captain Pak weighed his options.

      Julius was, to his own surprise, still conscious. Did Allan understand how high the stakes were, or was he just old? Whichever it was, the hundred-and-one-year-old had talked himself into a state in which the captain’s threat to throw them overboard was more topical than ever.

      Julius considered how he might salvage the situation and heard himself saying, ‘Allan here is a great champion of freedom for the Democratic People’s Republic. And an expert in nuclear weapons, too. Isn’t that right, Allan?’

      Captain Pak stopped breathing for a few seconds. He automatically brought his right hand to the safe key around his neck to make sure it was still there. A nuclear weapons expert? he thought.

      Allan was thinking the same thing. He was afraid he had played a little too offensively