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

The minister numbly took Sabine’s extended hand. ‘Margot Wallström,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Do you really want to marry me?’ Julius said, his whole face lighting up.

‘Oh yes, dear Julius.’

This sparked new life into the dumbstruck minister. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Could you propose to each other some other time, before I completely lose my mind?’

In the company of a minister for foreign affairs on the verge of a breakdown, and two lovebirds who had eyes only for each other, Allan felt it was up to him to take control of matters.

‘I think it would be best for Madame Minister to look away as the rest of us clean up as best we can. I imagine it would be of no benefit to her personage or career to be forced to explain to Sweden and the world what she was doing in a séance room in a Malmö suburb along with an unconscious Nazi.’

‘But surely I can’t just…’ said the minister.

‘Leave? That’s a good idea,’ said Allan. ‘Not least because it was Sweden’s leading diplomat who singlehandedly took out the Nazi. There is much good to be said about what you just did, but it wasn’t very diplomatic. Have you ever heard of such a mess, Madame Minister?’

No, she hadn’t.

Allan thought she at least deserved an explanation before she took off. He gave her the short version of how he and Julius had ended up in Märsta, met Sabine, joined forces with her in a brilliant business idea about coffins with a little personality, how it happened to go wrong one measly little time, and how the man now asleep on the floor became upset with them beyond all measure as a result, started shooting wildly, and sent them fleeing.

‘Why didn’t you just call the police?’ Margot Wallström asked.

‘Not the police!’ said Julius. ‘You don’t call the police unless it’s necessary. And hardly even then.’

‘But…’ said the minister.

That was as far as she got. For now the so recently unconscious man on the floor had begun to stir. He groaned and said something unintelligible. Sabine hurried over.

‘Sit up now, Mr Nazi, that’s right, here on the floor is fine. Here’s a cup of coffee to perk you up. Can you believe that lightning struck you in the head like that?’

‘Coffee?’ said the minister for foreign affairs. ‘Is that really so…’

Wise , she was going to say, but by now Johnny Engvall was sitting up with mug in hand.

‘Lightning?’ he said, trying to remember where he was.

He drained the mug with all the sleeping pills and was still out of it enough that he allowed Julius to pin his hands behind his back, albeit under some protest.

‘What are you doing?’ said Johnny. ‘Who are you? Where am I?’

‘There we go,’ said Sabine. ‘He just took four sleeping pills, so in a few minutes he’ll have mumbled his last for some time.’

And with that, the minister had reached her limit. She didn’t want to know any more. She didn’t want to be a part of any more. She turned to Allan. ‘May I hear your plans for how to move forwards, Mr Karlsson? I have two representatives of the security service outside…’

‘Not the police,’ said Julius.

Allan’s suggestion involved the minister for foreign affairs’ immediate departure, preferably in the company of the bodyguards she didn’t appear to need since she could obviously take care of herself. The rest of them would do their best to deal with the ever-sleepier Nazi on the floor. And there was no reason for Madame Minister to worry. Although it was true that an accident or two had been known to occur in Allan’s vicinity over the years, they would make sure that this character survived the day. Not because he deserved it, but out of general decency.

General decency? Minister for Foreign Affairs Wallström closed her eyes. She sensed that her career would soon be over. Yet she couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong. At least, not from a moral standpoint. How could it turn out like this when her sole ambition had been to bring about a little peace on earth?

When everything came to light, no amount of apologies or explanations would be sufficient. If everything she’d learned about the inherent dynamics of the media was accurate, she would instead be ripped apart by newspapers and on TV.

Oddly enough, the realization that all was lost made her feel calmer. She would stand for what she had done and fall into the abyss with her head held high.

But she could still do good, before reality caught up with her. The very next day would bring a meeting of ministers for foreign affairs in Brussels. The next week she had a full day scheduled with the prime minister to analyse the new French president’s first days in office and how they might relate to the upcoming election in Germany. Back when the meeting had been scheduled, the assumption had been that the future of the entire European Union was at stake. Later had come the realization that the sitting President of the United States of America had a screw loose. Thus the future of Europe became increasingly that of the world. Sweden had an important role to play in all of this. Even as the country’s minister for foreign affairs, as well as representative to the UN Security Council, stood in a room in a Malmö suburb with a knocked-out and drugged neo-Nazi at her feet.

‘Listen to this,’ said Allan, who had found the time to grab his black tablet after having been separated from it for several minutes. ‘Donald Trump has just ordered his own secretary of state to undergo an IQ test.’

What had she just heard?

No, she would not simply give up. The world still needed Margot Wallström, and that was that. ‘I’m leaving now,’ she said.

She met her two bodyguards outside the car on the street.

‘Everything okay, Madame Minister?’ said one.

‘Of course,’ said Margot Wallström. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

The minister for foreign affairs and her bodyguards took off. Allan, Julius and Sabine stood in a semicircle around the sleeping Nazi on the floor. He must be moved out of there and dumped somewhere before he got it into his head to regain consciousness.

‘Can we roll him up in a rug?’ said Julius.

‘If we had one,’ said Sabine.

‘He can borrow my coffin,’ said Allan.

Sabine’s face lit up. ‘Imagine! Something sensible finally came out of you, Allan.’

Julius and Sabine lifted the unconscious man while Allan walked alongside, digging through the Nazi’s pockets.

‘What are you doing?’ Julius asked.

‘Getting to know the enemy,’ said Allan.

He found car keys, a tin of snuff, and a wallet containing a driving licence, credit cards, and 3700 kronor in cash.

‘Thanks, Johnny Engvall,’ he said, to the picture on the licence.

He kept the Nazi’s money and tossed the rest into the bin.

When the lugging was over, Sabine stationed the hundred-and-one-year-old at the kitchen table with his black tablet and ordered him to remain there until he received further instructions. This was a solution that suited Allan.

Julius was given the task of stuffing the trio’s belongings into the newly bought suitcase while Sabine went to fetch the hearse. They couldn’t exactly stroll four or five blocks in broad daylight with a coffin between them. Sabine designated herself and Julius pallbearers, while Allan would be in charge of the wheeled suitcase.

One and a half hours after the séance with the minister for foreign affairs and the Nazi, the trio were leaving the apartment. Julius and Sabine struggled with the coffin full of sleeping Nazi, Allan humming a few paces behind them. It was only a half-flight of stairs down to the front door, but it was difficult. Naturally they met a neighbour, a woman holding double grocery bags. She looked at the coffin in horror.