Twilight of Gutenberg

by Hitoshi Goto

  Once he’d gone, Kenichi started moving towards me as though he’d been waiting for him to leave. We ran to each other and Kenichi held out his right hand, but then smiled and pulled it back and instead clasped me by the shoulders with both hands.

  “Yasuo, how have you been all this time?”

  “Kenichi, it’s wonderful to see you.”

  “It’s your second time in Berlin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It’s seven years since the Olympics.”

  He picked up one of my travel bags and led the way to the exit.

  “You were with an SS officer just now, weren’t you?”

  “I met him on the train. He introduced himself as Sonnenberger.”

  Kenichi gave a start. “Sonnenberger? You mean from the RSHA?”

  “Yes, that’s right. He is proficient in French, and is extremely knowledgeable about art too. He struck me as very cultured, but…”

  Kenichi gave a wry smile. “You’re about the only person I know who would say that about a RSHA officer, Yasuo. No German would go anywhere near him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The organisation he belongs to is the most feared even within the ranks of the Nazi SS, with the Gestapo and Kriminalpolizei…”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I suppose there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be cultured too, though.”

  Kenichi led me to a black Volkswagen parked outside the station. A small Hinomaru flag was attached to the front of the car.

  “You’re flying a Japanese flag?”

  “Oh yes, it’s a talisman, kind of. After all, we are allies.” Laughing, he put the travel bag on the back seat, and opened the passenger door for me. Once I was seated, he closed the door and got into the driving seat next to me. After glancing at the rear-view mirror, he slowly drove off.

  We soon came to a magnificent square.

  “I expect you’ll remember many places seeing as you’ve been to Berlin before,” Kenichi said, starting his guided tour. I had the feeling he was avoiding telling me why I had been summoned here.

  “This is Potsdamer Platz, one of Berlin’s busiest shopping quarters.”

  “Are there many Japanese in Berlin?”

  “Since the war started, there are more Japanese here than any other city in Europe, I believe. But it’s not like in Paris, which is full of artists like you. Here it’s all diplomats, military personnel, traders, and students. We Japanese tend to like sticking together, don’t we? It’s the same here in Berlin, and most live in the area between Lützowplatz and Nollendorfplatz.

  “Nollendorf is where I stayed seven years ago,” I said, recalling the couple I had stayed with and wondering if they were in good health.

  “Is that so? The Japanese Association office isn’t far away, in Kaiserstrasse. There’s also a restaurant serving Japanese food, the Akebono on Hohenstaufen Strasse, near Prager Platz. The food isn’t great, but the sukiyaki is okay. Sometimes they get fatty tuna flown in from northern Europe, too, on the regular Lufthansa flight.”

  “That’s amazing!”

  “It’s not available to ordinary people, though. Oh, look at that flowerbed.”

  I looked to where he was pointing, and saw a flowerbed at the centre of the square, entirely covered in a low plant with broad leaves.

  “What’s that?” I asked, craning my neck to see. “I don’t think I’ve seen that plant before.”

  “Oh, everyone knows what that is,” he answered. “Potatoes.”

  “What?”

  “The common old spud. What the Germans call Kartoffeln. Provisions have been steadily decreasing since the war started, and there are shortages of this staple food. Rations of meat for civilians were also reduced again in June, and it’s at 250g per week. Germans aren’t like Japanese, they can’t do battle without meat and potatoes. Potatoes are more important to them than caring about what the city looks like.”

  “What do you do for rice?”

  “The soy sauce isn’t any good, but the rice is fine. What we get here comes from northern Italy. Setsuko uses bouillon instead of soy sauce. Before the war with the Soviet Union started, we could have it sent from Japan. We can’t get the funazushi you like so much any more either.” He laughed.

  “There are also souvenir shops catering to Japanese people and tradesman who take orders from Japanese families. A place called the Berlin Nihondo regularly prints items for officers. Look, that big building on the corner is the Hotel Fürstenhof.

  We turned right onto a broad avenue. Was this the government district, I wondered? Military uniforms were conspicuous amongst the passersby. The buildings on either side of the road, too, were imposing massive stone structures.

  “The hotel overlooks Leipzigerplatz, and we’re driving along Leipzigerstrasse now.”

  A large brown building came into view on our right.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s the Ministry of Aviation.”

  “It’s not a very attractive building. Too drab.” For someone used to the beauty of Paris, it did indeed look like insipid dead matter.

  “I suppose it is, compared to the bright colours you use in your paintings. A more sympathetic description would be that it’s an expression of Germanic simplicity and virility. It has a large underground car park too.”

  “It doesn’t look as though there’s much damage from air raids.”

  “On the surface, no. But there are far more air raids taking place all over Germany now than when I first arrived. Hamburg was hit in the New Year, and the other day Nuremberg took a beating. Of all the big cities, only Dresden hasn’t had any damage.

  The car came to a big crossroads and turned left.

  “This is Wilhelmstrasse, the seat of government of the German Empire since the days of Bismark. A parade was held here when Foreign Minister Matsuoka visited Germany the year before last.”

  We continued along Wilhelmstrasse.

  “On your right is Wilhelmplatz, and on the other side of the road is the Reich Chancellery,” he said, indicating the directions with his index finger while still holding the steering wheel. “Hitler has plans for major rebuilding. If they win the war, he intends to call it Germania, although there’s little possibility of that at this point. In any case, he’s entrusted the work to his favourite architect, Speer.”

  “Speer?”

  “Yes. He has been charged with the reconstruction of Berlin.”

  We continued along the wide avenue.

  “Perfect. Look on your left!”

  “Those two guards standing there?”

  “That’s the front entrance of the Reich Chancellery, Speer’s first step in his reconstruction of the capital. It’s at least four hundred metres long. I’ve been there twice with Ambassador Oshima when he had an audience with Hitler. There are two guards standing directly to our left, I suppose.”

  “Yes.”

  “Once you go through that gate, it’s a long walk to the reception hall. On the way there is a red marble room, with an extremely high ceiling. It’s an impressive show.”

  As we drove along, another boulevard came into view.

  “Ah, I remember this. Unter Den Linden, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. See that heavy building on the left-hand corner? That’s the Adlon, the best hotel in Berlin.”

  The name of the hotel was shown in big letters under the first-floor windows. I wasn’t aware of it when I visited Berlin seven years earlier, but it was in this hotel that the decision to hold the next Olympics in Tokyo was taken. That was just a distant dream now, though.

  We turned left at the hotel onto Unter Den Linden and immediately the gigantic Brandenburg Gate towered before us.

  “Now it’s in the city centre, but originally it was built to mark the start of the road to Brandenburg when that t
own was much bigger than Berlin.”

  We turned hard left and drove along a road that described a gentle curve. He was going quite fast and I felt the pull of a slight centrifugal force.

  Through the window on the right there was a park with beautiful greenery.

  “This is the Tiergarten.”

  “Mori Ogai referred to it in his story ‘The Dancing Girl,’ didn’t he?”

  “He did—I suppose he liked it. You’re more influenced by France, but I thought his taste was more German since he studied in Germany.”

  “No, artistically I think he had a lot of admiration for France. In fact he ended up giving his youngest son a French-sounding name.”

  “I didn’t know that. Soon on the left—yes, that building there is the Italian Embassy. Next to it is the Embassy of the Empire of Japan. The naval attaché office is near here, too.”

  An imposing building set back slightly from the road had a Hinomaru flag flying outside it.

  Kenichi went on, “In the plans for the reconstruction of Berlin, there is a provision to gather all the diplomatic organisations together in the Tiergarten. Since Japan is an ally, it was also allotted a prime location here, and construction started in November 1938. It’s called the Third Reich Order, but in effect it’s Greek architecture. Which was it now… there are three styles of Greek classical architecture and it’s the simplest of those, with similarly thick columns.”

  “Maybe the Ionian Order?”

  “I don’t really remember, but I think it was it either Corinthian or Dorian. But after the war started, construction was largely delayed and the public completion ceremony was held only in January this year. Speer himself, now promoted to Minister of Armaments, was in attendance.”

  “An architect was made Minister of Armaments?”

  “Yes. It’s a bit like you being made Minister of Finance, Yasuo. He took office last year after his predecessor, Fritz Todt, died in an accident. He has a reputation for being extremely competent. In terms of quality, German arms manufacturing is the best in the world, but they produce surprisingly little. It’s an industry that still retains strong vestiges of the apprentice system that the Meisters ruled over, but he has been gradually changing it into an American style large scale manufacturing system. I became acquainted with him over the matter of introducing new U-boat technology, and he does indeed live up to his reputation. He seemed quite a gentleman, too. He is rather out of place amongst the high-ranged Nazi officers, but he’s genuine.”

  The car sped past the embassy.

  “I’ll take you to the attaché office tomorrow and Rear Admiral Yokoi will explain your mission to you. For now, let’s spend the evening together as a family again. I’m sure Setsuko is dying to see you.

  He coughed loudly, and stepped on the accelerator.

  We drove through the Grunewald and stopped in a quiet residential district. Turning off the engine he indicated an elegant two-storey building.

  “That’s our house.”

  He rang the bell, and a voice responded immediately from inside. The door opened and Setsuko came out clad in a kappogi, a typical Japanese cover-all apron.

  She was a beautiful woman with a shapely nose and an exotic air about her, even if I do say so myself. Her face lit up when she saw me.

  I was glad I’d come. Given the way the war was going, I should take any opportunity to meet her since it could be the last time, I thought to myself. She and Kenichi didn’t have any children, but I could see that they were happy together.

  It was the first time we’d seen each other for nine years.

  †

  The next morning I was nursing a hangover from too much kirsch when Kenichi took me to the Naval Attaché office on Graf-Spee Strasse.

  He knocked on the door of Naval Attaché Yokoi’s office and we went in. Yokoi himself was reclining in an armchair behind his desk. He had the air of an extremely high ranking officer, and his piercing eyes had something that I recognised in Kenichi too.

  “Thank you for coming so far to meet me. Please take a seat.” He was polite, but his tone clearly indicated it was an order.

  Kenichi bowed deeply. I did as I was told, and sat down on one of the armchairs that had been placed facing each other for meetings in a corner of the room. Kenichi took the seat diagonally opposite me.

  “I’ll come straight to the point,” said Yokoi said as he sat down opposite me. He handed me a photograph. Kenichi had apparently already seen it. “First, take a look at this. It’s a little out of focus.”

  It looked rather strange to me. “This man standing here is a policeman,” I said. “Next to him two men in coats are crouching down examining something. Oh, isn’t the policeman’s uniform British?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But how odd... that man next to him is in a German army officer uniform.” A note of suspicion crept into my response.

  “It is indeed odd, but you are right. The person I want you to look at is further over to the right.”

  “You mean the person standing under a tree?”

  “Yes, he’s wearing a suit, holding his hat in his hand.”

  “He looks Oriental.”

  “He’s Japanese,” Yokoi said nonchalantly.

  “What?”

  “Look at his hair. He hasn’t had it cut for some time,” Kenichi pointed out.

  I took the hint. “A military man,” I said, and leaned back in my chair.

  Yokoi nodded.

  “Who is it? Do you have any idea?”

  “He’s the spitting image of Commander Yagyu, operations staff of the combined fleet at the time of the attack on Pearl Harbour. He used to be called the right-hand man of Commander-in-Chief Yamamoto, and was a step away from being a Navy Sword Club officer at Etajima. Then he contracted tuberculosis and retired, and is now living in the mountains in Fukui,” Kenichi explained.

  I was confused. “So when and where was this photo taken?”

  “A good question. It’s hard to imagine a scene in which a German army officer, a British policeman, and a retired commander who should be in Japan are all together.”

  “Was it taken before the war?”

  “How easy it would be if that were the case. Or if it was a scene from a Hollywood movie.”

  “In fact the photo was taken about two weeks ago. In Guernsey, in the English Channel.”

  “Guernsey… It rings a bell.”

  “It’s one of the Channel Islands, a bit like Okinawa in Japan. It’s some distance from the British mainland, but it’s very much a British territory. Germany occupied it after the fall of France and has been there ever since. It’s the only British territory in Europe occupied by Germany. That’s why you have both a British policeman and a German military officer.”

  “What are they doing in the photograph?”

  “Investigating a crime. A murder case.”

  “Murder?” My eyes widened.

  “You haven’t heard the half of it yet,” Yokoi went on. “The men in coats crouching down are detectives. And the victim, when alive, was a soldier of the Imperial Japanese army.”

  “What? But why would a Japanese soldier be murdered?”

  “Do you remember the Dieppe Raid last year?”

  “You mean when five thousand allied troops, mostly Canadian, landed at Dieppe? I read about it in the newspaper. It was a big failure, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right. However, that was just a warm-up. One day the allied troops will launch another offensive on the continent,” he asserted confidently.

  “But they’re already in Sicily.”

  “Yes. Although it’ll be very hard for them to move northwards up through Italy. Like Japan, Italy has a lot of mountains. We and our German counterparts both believe the allied forces are planning a full-blown landing somewhere in northern France in
the not too distant future. Of course the German military is waiting for that day. It’s a perfect opportunity to defeat the enemy right there on the beach. As they appear over the horizon, they will be annihilated.”

  I was impressed at his optimism.

  “The linchpin of that battle will be the fortifications known as the Atlantic Wall, which boast the very latest of modern technology. You could say it’s the modern-day equivalent of the Wall of China. Large-scale fortifications are being constructed all along the coast around the Pas de Calais, the closest point to England, as well as in the Channel Islands. When it comes to the crunch, Germany really wants to hold onto those islands,” Yokoi said, then took a deep breath.

  “From the army perspective, they are concerned with defending strategic points in the Pacific. What would be the most effective fortifications for island territories such as Truk Island and the Marianas? Major Amemiya was stationed in France, so he was sent to Guernsey to find out more about what they are constructing there. But then he was murdered.”

  “If so, then shouldn’t the army be investigating?”

  “The thing is, he was found together with the body of a woman—a blonde woman.” For the first time Yokoi smiled.

  “I don’t suppose…” I started, then swallowed my words.

  “Right. It also occurred to us that it might be a lovers’ suicide… I know Major Amemiya fairly well, and he’s certainly handsome. I’m sure he was no saint either so I can’t rule it out, but this woman is English, from the enemy side. This would be a major scandal for the army, so they want to settle it as an accident in the line of duty.”

  “Seriously?”

  “But on the other hand, he’s been posthumously promoted to lieutenant colonel.

  “Of all the—”

  “No need to be so indignant. It’s a stroke of good luck that the army has dealt with it like this given that a retired naval officer who should be in Tokyo was standing behind that tree watching them.”

  “Are you saying the army doesn’t know about this photograph?”

  “Of course they don’t! I’m hardly likely to tell them a high-ranking naval officer was there on the scene now, am I? Look young man, I have read two of your reports from occupied Paris. You certainly have a novel perspective and pick up on lots of points a military person would never notice. The antipathy that ordinary civilians have for the Germans, for example. After all, you obviously can’t go around publicly criticizing Germany. Getting information in the gents at a bar is genius. I suppose tongues loosen when doing one’s business after a drink.”