The 21 Balloons

After the sudden jolt of takeoff, the ride in Sherman’s basket house becomes calm and smooth. The balloon rises to 1,600 feet, and he looks out on San Francisco: Lots of people are staring up at him, and some are running along streets, bumping into others as they follow him. Soon, though, he’s out to sea, the city long gone.

For the first few days, he does a lot of reading. Nights are delightful: He enjoys the stars and then sleeps on his soft mattress while the basket house sways gently. At one point, he passes over a small fishing vessel, the only sign of human life since he started out. His own fishing doesn’t work well from so great a height, but he manages to use the rod to lower clothes and dishes for rinsing in the ocean, and he gets a lot of exercise reeling them back up. After four days, the smell of accumulated garbage is too much, and during a rainstorm he dumps it overboard. The balloon promptly rises above the clouds and back into the sunshine.

On day seven, Sherman sights land, a volcanic island. He’s disappointed to have flown so quickly across the ocean. Seagulls soar nearby, and, since feeding them is supposed to bring luck, he dumps garbage overboard for them. One catches the remains of a smoked turkey, then flies to the top of the balloon and tries to eat it there, but other gulls fight over it. One gull dives at the food and punches a hole in the balloon.

The craft begins to sink; at this rate, Sherman will land in the ocean before he reaches the island. Frantically, he throws things overboard, including the food. A few hundred feet above the ocean, he notices sharks following him and eating the food as it hits the water.

Desperate, Sherman kicks away the patio railing. Finally, he climbs to the roof, grabs some of the balloon ropes, and cuts away the house, which falls into the ocean. Hanging on to the deflating balloon, his feet drag through the water, and then along a beach, and the balloon halts in a palm tree. Exhausted, Sherman falls asleep on the beach.

Sherman hears “Wake up” in perfect English. Leaning over him is a man, dressed in a white suit and looking like a European aristocrat, urging him to get out of the sun. Sherman is sunburnt from his hours-long sleep on the sand. The man hands him a suit identical to his own; Sherman dons it.

He asks if this is Heaven; the man says no, it’s the Pacific island of Krakatoa. (The audience at the club thrills to this: They’ve learned that Krakatoa recently blew up.) Sherman hesitates about putting on the starched white collar, and he tries to roll up his sleeves, but the man informs him that it’s rude not to arrive formally dressed here.

The man also says the island’s inhabitants are a well-kept secret, that Sherman is their first visitor, and that, to protect their privacy, he’ll need to remain here for the rest of his life. The man hands him a white bowler hat and cufflinks made of diamonds the size of lima beans. “I thought that this was without doubt the most extravagantly absurd situation in which I had ever found myself” (63).

The man leads Sherman inland through a jungle and out onto a manicured lawn. He explains that the island’s interior is carefully managed, while a fringe of jungle hides its occupants from passing ships. They sit on a bench. Sherman introduces himself, and the man says he is “Mr. F.”

He warns Sherman that the mountain is active and causes the ground to shake. Just then, a rumbling rises from beneath them, and the ground rolls up and down. Sherman clings to the bench while Mr. F. stands quietly, as if on a boat on riding over waves. Sherman tries to walk but stumbles and throws up. He understands why people wouldn’t want to stay here.

Mr. F. leads Sherman to the place that makes the island worthwhile. He hands his guest a pair of dark glasses, then opens a door in the mountain. Beyond is a cave made of solid diamond, blindingly bright, its floor covered in diamond rocks. Mr. F. permits Sherman to collect handfuls of them to stuff in his pockets. They step outside again: The outdoors under the sun is dimmer than the cave.

Mr. F. explains that, had Sherman’s balloon drifted over the island, Mr. F. would have had to shoot it down to prevent Sherman from reporting to the world that the island is occupied. Sherman is now a citizen of Krakatoa, with ownership rights to the mines, of which there are several.

Were he to take a boatload of diamonds elsewhere, however, they would cause the price of diamonds to crash, and his boatload would be worth little more than “broken glass.” Instead, each year, Krakatoans venture out with a small diamond each to sell, and with the proceeds they buy supplies for the year. None dare tell of the mines, for fear of causing the price to plummet and thus ruining their comfortable lives.

They walk to a small village where Mr. F. lives. Tired and hungry, Sherman asks to be shown his room so that he can rest up. Mr. F. does so, brings him a plate of food, and bids him good night.

Sherman sleeps deeply and dreams of being back aboard the basket house beneath the giant balloon. He wakes refreshed, then looks around: His room is furnished in the opulent style of France’s King Louis XIV. Sherman dresses in a fresh suit. Mr. F. greets him. The ground moves but not as much as before; Mr. F. says the village is farther from the mountain and built on a foundation of boulders made of diamond.

As they leave for breakfast, Sherman notices that the other rooms are in various French styles. The house itself looks like the Petit Trianon, a palace on the grounds of Versailles in France. Nearby houses are in the styles of different countries; some are replicas of famous mansions.

They arrive at a British-style “cottage” with a dining room that seats 80. Mr. F. announces his guest, and the assembled diners rise and applaud. The men step forward: “I was introduced in order to a Mr. A., a Mr. B., a Mr. C., right on through to a Mr. T.” (80) The British cottage host is Mr. B.

Sherman and Mr. F. collect their breakfasts from a huge table of dishes. Mr. F. explains that, seven years earlier, Mr. M, the lone survivor of a shipwreck, landed on Krakatoa, discovered the diamonds, built a raft, and, taking a few diamonds with him, rafted out to sea until he was picked up by a passing ship. On arriving in San Francisco, Mr. M sold a couple of the diamonds and bought his own ship. He then enticed, through the lure of a huge diamond, a group of families to join him back at Krakatoa.

At the island, they all became greedy for a time, and those who knew how to build created houses in exchange for shares of the mine. Having no other way to display their wealth, one family opened a restaurant in their home and obtained more mine shares in exchange for the meals. Soon all the other families opened restaurants, competing with one another and becoming very good at cooking, until all the families had regained their shares in the mine.

The residents drew up a constitution that directed everyone to eat at a different restaurant each night: “In this way no family of Krakatoa has to work more than once every twenty days, and every family is assured a great variety of food” (87). The restaurant were named A, B, C, D, and so on, and the 20 families each were named for their restaurant’s letter.

The Krakatoan calendar has 18 months of 20 days, also named A, B, C, D, and so forth. For variety of cuisine, each day’s letter is also the first letter of the type of food: A is American, B is British, C is Chinese. Mr. F. runs a French restaurant. The last letter, T, is a coffee house in the Turkish style. Mr. K runs the Krakatoa restaurant, with dishes made from local foods: bread trees, coconuts, bananas, and fish. The months are named for food; during the current Month of the Lamb, all restaurants serve a dish made with lamb. On T Day, the Turkish restaurant will serve shish kebab, lamb on skewers.

The residents have long since overcome their greedy fighting. They have learned how to visit other countries and sell diamonds for supplies to bring back to Krakatoa. They often sell their vessel and buy a new one, so that no one can follow their trail.

Sherman wonders how he’ll fit in: He doesn’t want to ruin their calendar with an extra month. Mr. F. says he’ll be a “perpetual guest.” Mr. F. also suggests he keep his name, as the next available letter, U, would cause him to have to turn around every time someone said, “Hey, you!”

Mr. M chose for his fellow islanders people who expressed “creative interests,” expecting that they would be less likely to get bored. Sherman asks if the light work demanded of them—meals served to 80 residents once every 20 days—left them with too much time on their hands.

Mr. F. says the first project was to build the magnificent houses. Each was designed to look like a typically beautiful example of its respective national culture. Islanders made a number of trips abroad to obtain building materials and furnishings. Each house was a community project that involved everyone.

Every restaurant strives to outdo the others in a friendly competition. The residents otherwise have perfected the art of loafing. The exception is pitching in to help improve each other’s homes. Recently, they’ve improved Mr. M’s house with an underground steam engine that operates ingenious equipment upstairs. Mr. and Mrs. M’s bedroom contains a bed with “continuous sheets” that, at the turn of a crank, travel across rollers and through a floor slit into the basement, where they pass through a washing machine, get dried and pressed, then return back upstairs and onto the bed, in one continuous roll.

The large dining room has paintings of Arabian battle scenes and portraits of Arab royalty, but otherwise it’s entirely bare except for circles on the floor. Mr. F. flips a lever, and the circles rise to reveal themselves as tables and stools. Mr. and Mrs. M’s children, M-1 and M-2, clear the tables after a meal, the tables and stools are lowered flat, and the floor is washed.

For the living room, three science-trained families installed an electric generator that powers the chairs and couch so the Ms can move around the room. This saves about a half-mile of walking in that room per day, but when Mr. F. tries to demonstrate one of the chairs, it hurls him through an open window.

The gadgets so frighten Mr. and Mrs. M that they’ve given the room over to their children as a play area and converted the old playroom into a living room. The kids and their friends have fun by the hour, zooming around on their electric-powered furniture. Still, Sherman says, “I agreed that the electrical age we were entering was indeed frightening” (107).

The M children have beds that can be raised through openings in the roof for sleeping outside at night. Elsewhere, walls can be rotated for a change of decor, and the kitchen contains machines for washing and drying dishes. Sherman says all these contraptions are fascinating, but he wonders at their use in a place where the advantages of a slower, less mechanized life beg to be expressed. Mr. F. agrees and says many of the other residents share that view.

At the Explorers’ Club, Sherman calls for a short intermission so that he can rest. 

The mayor and chief surgeon worry over Sherman, but all he wants is a quick drink. The audience returns, and the professor continues his story.

Sherman wonders how the children are educated; Mr. F. says that, aside from basic lessons in literacy and arithmetic, the building of houses has been their chief learning experience. Mr. F. admits that the island needs a school; he asks what Sherman teaches. Not wishing to be pulled back into that career, Sherman lies and says he’s a professor of balloon aeronautics.

Mr. F. leads Sherman to a small amusement park being assembled by the children. The first completed attraction is a “Balloon Merry-Go-Round” (115). The ride consists of a tall pole with threads like a giant screw, surrounded by eight small boats attached to each other and, by poles, to a large ring on the center pole. Mr. F. climbs a ladder at a small shack, searches the horizon for ships, and, certain there are none as witnesses, rings a bell that brings the children. They promptly prepare large balloons, one for each boat, and attach hoses that fill them with hydrogen from a machine in the shack.

Only two persons can sit in each boat, so the children take turns. Sherman sits with Mr. F.’s son, F-1. Those not riding remove the hoses, grab ropes attached to each boat, and, at a signal, unhook the boats from their moorings and pull them in one direction. As the boats move around the circle like a giant wheel lofted by balloons, the central pole ring attached to the boats spins slowly up the threads of the greased central pole, and the wheel of boats rises higher and higher, faster and faster.

Sherman asks F-1 what happens when they reach the top. F-1 says they’ll simply fly away. The central ring reaches the top of the pole and the entire boat wheel spins up freely into the air. A breeze carries them across the island; if any boat rises higher than the others, an occupant pulls on a cord that releases a bit of hydrogen from the balloon.

The flying wheel of boats soars over the top of the mountain. Sherman looks down and sees smoke and a boiling cauldron of lava. The air becomes turbulent, and he feels sick and lies down. Soon they are past the crater. F-1 says the caldera seems very active: “I hope this isn’t a bad sign” (126).

Still spinning, the balloon-boat wheel soars toward the sea; Sherman gazes at the huge houses below and the lovely vegetation of the island. The boats drop down slowly and alight on the water. The kids deflate the balloons and carefully roll them up. They detach the boats from each other and from the central poles, then use the poles as masts, to which they attach sails. One boy stows the central ring.

The boats line up and, at the crack of a starter pistol, race each other back to land. Sherman isn’t much of a sailor, and his boat finishes last. The children advise the professor that, as a new citizen, he needs to learn how to sail, and he’s expected after dinner to help reset the Balloon Merry-Go-Round. Amused to be a teacher ordered around by children, he hollers, “I’ll be there!” to laughter (134). After a British dinner, he, Mr. F., and the children work quickly, and the merry-go-round is reassembled in half an hour.

That night, Sherman sleeps deeply.