Twilight of Gutenberg

by Hitoshi Goto

  According to Catherine, this evening was the time to do it. She said that after going back to the Manteuffels’ residence, she’d head for the ice cream parlour next to the German military’s HQ. Seeing my look of surprise, she went on, untroubled, “Don’t worry, the Manteuffels often ask me to get them ice cream.” But if it were possible, she wanted to take the letter to England herself. And she wanted to join General de Gaulle’s French Resistance.

  I had no further reason to stop her, neither did I wish to. And I thought that this was where we would part.

  She was throwing her lot in with the Allies, while my life was under the enemy Axis powers.

  That was war.

  Before we parted, I taught Catherine the beautiful melody of the patriotic song Umi Yukaba (“If I go away to the sea”), and the meaning of its lyrics. Six years ago this song had raised morale in Japan and given people the courage to fight, and I had learned it when staying at my brother-in-law’s house in Berlin. However, I had felt the melody to be more of a requiem that should fade to pianissimo rather than finishing on fortissimo.

  The two of us sang the song looking out over the sea to the west in the last rays of the setting sun, praying for the repose of Commander Yagyu’s soul.

  August 1943

  Berlin

  Berlin had been hammered by strong wind and rain all morning, but it cleared up in the afternoon. It was chilly enough to feel the effect of the autumn in this northern land, and it was hard to believe the sun was shining above the thick heavy cloud layer.

  Admiral Canaris had been gazing out of the window at the leaden sky for a while, but now turned his attention to the pile of reports on his desk and began reading.

  On his desk was a fine bone china Meissen cup and saucer, fragrant steam rising from the coffee in it. Every time he turned a page on the report, the steam yielded to the faint tremble in the air, wavered its way up to the ceiling and dissipated.

  Three knocks sounded on the door. It was Lieutenant Schneider, from Section 4 of the Abwehr.

  The huge lieutenant was well over 180 cm tall and had a body toughened by playing football, yet he was cowering from nerves.

  “What’s up Johannes?”

  Lieutenant Schneider came into the room and saluted, clicking his heels together.

  “What is it this time? News of another top-secret Allied counteroffensive? Last time it was Sardinia, so this time it’s paratroopers parachuting into Switzerland?” he commented sarcastically, as if having learned the lesson from the previous failure.

  “No, nothing like that. Do you recall that report about a Japanese naval commander the other day?”

  “Oh, you mean that one that went missing, and the younger brother of a naval attaché was sent from Paris to Guernsey to investigate?”

  “Yes. We just received a report from Lieutenant Schmidt in Guernsey. It appears that the man had some kind of document in his possession. He was on his way to England to deliver it when the plane he was in crash landed due to bad weather. But the plane sent into to rescue him and his pilot also crashed, and the Japanese officer is the only one who survived, and the pilot apparently told him something in his dying breath.”

  “What was his word?”

  “The ice cream parlour.”

  “And?”

  “The pilot died, and he wasn’t in a position to find the ice cream parlour himself. He couldn’t ask us or one the English residents for help. He was really in a fix. He ended up approaching a young Frenchwoman who happened to be passing, and asked her to make sure the document reached an SOE agent.

  “And that’s where the ice cream parlour comes in?”

  “That’s right. Extraordinary. That’s what you call audacious!”

  “What is?”

  “It was right next to our HQ, you know. Fortunately the Frenchwoman was an amateur and contacted the parlour’s owner without any precautions, and we detained them both. The Japanese officer had apparently already drowned himself by then.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether he’s alive or dead. More importantly, what about the document? It was to be sent to England, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you confiscated it?”

  “Yes. It’s written in Japanese. We have had the contents translated.”

  “Who was it from?”

  Schneider didn’t say anything for a moment, then whispered in Canaris’ ear.

  The admiral’s eyes widened. “And who is it addressed to?”

  Schneider whispered to him again. Canaris let out a deep breath and folded his arms.

  “This is serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “This affair hasn’t been leaked to Sonnenberger, has it?” he pressed.

  “Don’t worry. Lieutenant Schmidt in Guernsey is in charge. His work is always impeccable.”

  “So what has been done with the pair?”

  Schneider raised his left wrist and checked the time on his watch. “They have been put on a Junkers headed for Berlin. It took off about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Hmm,” Canaris said, raising his right hand a little.

  “What?”

  “That Junkers…”

  “Yes?”

  “Its destination has changed,” Canaris said.

  “To Paris?”

  “No.” This time it was Canaris who whispered something in the lieutenant’s ear.

  Schneider looked shocked. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  After Schneider left the room carrying the written directive, Canaris again reached for the Meissen coffee cup, then muttered aloud to the empty room, “And yet, just to think there was someone in Japan who had the same thought as us!”

  Memorandum

  My last day on Guernsey arrived.

  We had arranged to meet in the lobby at 14:00, to give me time to catch the boat. Perhaps the tiredness had caught up with me, since I slept soundly until almost noon. I hadn’t eaten anything since I was worried about getting seasick.

  “Good afternoon. So the time has come for you to leave.”

  Lieutenant Schmidt beamed at me, but I detected a trace of sadness behind his smile.

  “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

  “Actually, I have some bad news.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s about your friend… the Frenchwoman.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Yes. She was arrested yesterday evening for spying.”

  I felt dizzy with shock. “Arrested? What did she do?”

  He didn’t answer, and became evasive. “She’s already en route to Berlin.”

  I was devastated. I knew only too well how different Berlin would be for someone from an allied country visiting and someone taken there as an enemy. I was fearful of what would happen to her, and felt full of remorse.

  Perhaps I should have dissuaded her from carrying out her plan last night after all. But that would have meant Yagu’s dying wish coming to naught. Perhaps I should go to Berlin and get Kenichi to intercede on her behalf. But she would probably already be dead by then.

  My heart started pounding.

  Lieutenant Schmidt was kind enough to take me to the port by car, and even helped carry my luggage to the pier, but my head was spinning and I was in no state to even thank him.

  Yesterday I had convinced myself to accept that we would never meet again, but now I felt her existence was precious to me.

  †

  Cherbourg is situated on the tip of the Normandy peninsula.

  It had always prided itself on being a naturally impregnable fortress, and since the fall of France it was now being even more heavily fortified. The small boat I was on was tossed by the waves as it approached the harbour.

  I paced the deck up and down like a polar bear in the zo
o. All I could think of was reaching land and contacting my brother as soon as possible, but my eyes were fixed on our destination. A German soldier must have thought I was interested in the coastal defences that were coming into view, and took upon himself the role of explaining them to me. He was rather short and thickset, with attractive features. He told me he was quite a Japanophile, and the year before had gone to welcome a Japanese submarine that had come all the way to Lorient in France.

  “That’s the Osteck and Westeck being built either side of the harbour,” he said, pointing at the distant outwork under construction. “In between them you can see the York and Seeadler gun batteries. If Singapore is the great fortress of the east, then Cherbourg is the major defence of the West, along with Gibraltar. They are perfect even if the Anglo Saxons attack,” he added, puffing his chest out.

  I made appropriate responses, but though I considered telling him that Singapore had fallen not from attack by sea but from the land behind it, I held my tongue. In the end Cherbourg, too, fell to the Allied Forces who attacked not from the sea but from land in June the following year. But at that time nobody could have predicted this fate.

  †

  Having landed at Cherbourg, I made my way to the German Navy HQ thrusting my special travel permit under the nose of everyone I met along the way. Crying in my limited German “Japan, Kriegsmarine, Berlin, Telefon” I demanded to be taken to the telephone exchange, showed my permit, and requested them to place a call. It was the first time in my life that I’d ever acted so aggressively, but I was desperate. The German soldier on the switchboard took the piece of paper I passed him on which was written the telephone number of the Naval Attache’s office in Berlin, and put me through.

  Kenichi answered immediately.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re safe! Where are you?” he asked me.

  I asked him to negotiate with German intelligence to ensure the protection of the Frenchwoman who was being taken from Guernsey to Berlin.

  Naturally he sounded dubious, but faced with my onslaught he eventually said, “Okay, I’ll do what I can.”

  I finally managed to recover my composure, and informed him of the result of my investigations as far as I could by phone, and agreed to send him a full report upon my return to Paris.

  “So you aren’t coming to Berlin?” he asked me, somewhat disgruntled.

  “Once you have her under your protection, I’ll be there in a flash.”

  “She’s your squeeze, is she? But she’s an enemy spy!” he said incredulously, but when I started getting worked up again, he said, “Okay, okay, for the time being send me a report from Paris, and I’ll check what’s happened to her,” he said and hung up.

  I wrote the report on the train back to Paris. According to information from an eyewitness, I had confirmed that Commander Yagyu had indeed been on the island, and that he was thought to have drowned himself at sea, I had not been able to find any physical clues. I also wrote that even if it had been him, it was unclear what he had come to the island for.

  With regards to Major Amemiya, I wrote that he’d been there to observe the fortification works on the island, and that there was a high likelihood that he’d been attacked and killed by a British commando and then thrown off the cliff, and that the woman found with him had drowned and was thought to have somehow lost her footing on the cliff and fallen. Also the fact that they were found together appeared to be just a coincidence due to the sea currents in the area. There was a high chance the man thought to be a Gestapo had also been attacked by the British commando.

  And that was the whole report. For the most part it fit with the German data, and since before leaving Berlin I’d been warned not to get involved, I didn’t refer to how the Gestapo had been found in extremely strange circumstances.

  No sooner had I arrived at my apartment in Paris than Kenichi called me. His answer was a surprise.

  “Nobody fitting her description has been brought to Berlin,” he told me. I was aghast, and pushed him further on it, but he insisted, “Look, I was told she’s not there, so there’s nothing I can do. If it’s a military secret, even a request for information from an ally won’t make them give it to is. Just accept it,” he admonished me.

  Catherine had disappeared!

  I couldn’t express how extremely exhausted I felt. Right now, at that very moment, she had to be somewhere—but where? Surely not...

  I shook my head violently against my worst imaginings, and put my misgivings out of mind.

  Should I go to Berlin?

  I began to get myself ready feeling as though I had a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach. But then, Kenichi had already been to negotiate and had been informed there was nobody that fit her description. My going there would not change things.

  I felt miserable. After sending off my half-baked report, I shut myself up in my apartment.

  It was four days later before I recovered my composure sufficiently to shave and venture outside again. She was only getting bigger and bigger in my mind, but I couldn’t go on like this. I was beginning to think I had to do something.

  I walked to the Champs Élysées for the first time in a long while. The genial times I had spent in the Bobino were long gone. Swastikas hung everywhere in the city.

  A huge unsophisticated signboard for the Anti-Bolshevist International Exhibition being held in Avenue de Wagram had been set up in the Champs Élysées. It had been designed in garish red and black.

  I shook my head and sighed, but as I came to Le Colisee, which was just as busy as it had been before the war, I stopped. The sombre seating with red cloth backrests that spilled out into the street was practically full, but I caught sight of one empty chair so I quickly took it. A white-uniformed garcon soon came to take my order. I ordered a coffee, and once the cup was placed on the round table before me, I turned my gaze listlessly to the passersby.

  At first I was searching for Catherine, but I soon gave up. There were all manner of people in the street—a woman in a coat pushing a pram with a baby in it, a gentleman complete with hat and stick. The occasional German officer too passed by, but they were all unarmed and harmless if you ignored them. Lieutenant Schmidt had been extremely nice. I didn’t know whether he had been involved in detaining Catherine, but even if he had it would have been because it was his duty as a soldier. Even Sonnenberger of the SS hadn’t been an uncultured lout. Still, sitting here in the café and seeing the German military from the perspective of the French, why was it that hatred welled up in me? Was that what war was? Was it anger at having been robbed of a loved one, or was it just the calling of both countries that had repeatedly gone to war?

  I pulled myself together and tried to think of something else. Of course, busy places had always been good for contemplation. For some reason I felt lots of ideas coming to me in a place like this, rather than in an empty library or in my own apartment. I should spread out the memorandums I had written while on Guernsey right here and now, and think about them. They were in Japanese, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone reading them over my shoulder. At last my mind turned back to the case. At that point in time my deductions were quite different to what I’d written in my report. The sticking point was the “something else unexpected happened” that Commander Yagyu had mentioned. The truth must be elsewhere.

  The maid had probably been killed by the Gestapo, and Major Amemiya who just happened to be there on observations had witnessed that, he too had been shot by the Gestapo. The reason there was no gunpowder residue on his hand was that it was a British gun and he’d wrapped it in a handkerchief or towel before using it in order to make it look like the work of the British.

  However, the Gestapo’s crimes had been witnessed by someone else. I don’t know whether that had been Commander Yagyu or someone else. Whoever it was had seized his chance to grab the gun and used it to kill the Gestapo.

  The only thing th
at deduction didn’t explain was how the Gestapo’s body had ended up on top of the watchtower. What’s more, Yagyu had said, “If the Gestapo hadn’t disturbed us, it would have been mission accomplished.” Unfortunately, that was as far as my deductions had reached.

  It would soon be Christmas again, already. Since returning to Paris, I had been too worried about Catherine and what had happened on Guernsey to go out much, and I threw myself into painting in my apartment. Kenichi had contacted me twice, but he hadn’t managed to get any further information.

  There was no sign of Allied planes in the skies above Paris, but people everywhere were whispering that there would soon be a counteroffensive on the mainland. Then one day I was at work with brush and canvas as always when I thought I sensed someone outside the door. I listened for a while, but no knock on the door came. Instead I just heard a faint sound.

  Suspicious, I went to the door. Just then, someone slid an envelope under the door. I picked it up and looked for the sender’s name. Nothing was written on the envelope. Impatiently and with trembling hands I ripped it open. Inside were several pages of notepaper with handwriting on them.

  A woman’s handwriting!

  French… My legs almost gave way beneath me.

  It was a letter from Catherine.

  It contained three surprises. She was safe. And what’s more, she was currently in London—she had written this letter in London, too. But the biggest surprise of all… she was with child.

  “Of course it’s your child, Yasuo,” she’d written.

  So I was to be a father…

  It was probably the happiest moment of my life.