by Hitoshi Goto
Catherine hadn’t written why she was in London when she was supposed to have been taken to Berlin, but it was enough to know that she was well, and that I was to be the father of her child. I stood for some time looking up at the ceiling, warm tears flowing from my eyes.
Could just one letter bring such a change? I was in Paris, and she was in London. Two cities so far apart during wartime, but I was certain that I would somehow meet up with her again soon. I didn’t know how I could be so sure, it was just my sixth sense.
With this thought in mind, the Paris scenery that until now had been steeped in grey now looked totally different. The heavy leaden sky now looked like the soft embrace of a goddess cradling the city.
With the joy of becoming a father, I was able to fully immerse myself in my art. For a while I was able to live in peace.
However, I hadn’t yet noticed another mysterious incident that threatened to get in my way.
†
Kenichi contacted me again in April, by which time the impending defeat of the Axis powers, already evident since the New Year, seemed certain. There hadn’t been any visible changes in France, but the Germans were withdrawing from the Russian front and the US and British forces had landed in Italy. Supplies were also becoming daily ever more scarce. It was at this juncture that he contacted me.
This time it was an invitation from the German Foreign Ministry. Japanese people were being invited to the Foreign Ministry’s lakeside guesthouse on the outskirts of Berlin, in order to make it a place of friendship to strengthen the ties between the German and Japanese allies. Mussolini had been rescued by Hitler’s special forces and nominally reinstated as head of state, but in reality since Italy had been dropped from the three Axis countries, now it was just Japan and Germany against the rest of the world. In that sense, it was understandable that they should want to strengthen ties.
Naturally I declined. My brother-in-law tried to convince me in a way most unlike him by telling me there would be a sumptuous feast the likes of which was unheard of in these times.
“But there won’t be any funazushi.”
“The fact is…” he said, then went on to tell me what was really on his mind. The Germans had specifically requested my presence. The hosts were the Marquis von Manteuffel and his wife, and refusal from me would cause offense.
Reluctantly I agreed to travel to Germany for the third time.
Alone I boarded a train for Berlin. Fortunately we did not encounter an air strike along the way, and arrived at Berlin practically on time.
The foreign ministry had sent the chief of protocol with a car to meet me at the station, and together we headed west. I could see that compared to the previous year, the damage from air raids had increased remarkably. There were mountains of rubble where buildings had stood, with flags bearing either the swastika or a propaganda slogan placed on top.
When I asked the foreign ministry employees what these said, he responded, “Even though our building has collapsed, our loyalty to our Führer shall never falter.”
As a wartime slogan it sounded very fine, but in truth it was very depressing.
The guesthouse itself was a splendid example of the rococo style. Inside the grounds, at some distance from the front entrance, was a structure that looked like an air raid shelter. It was a cold day, still without any trace of spring in the air.
The car I was in happened to stop near the shelter. The entrance was a huge iron door with a large handle that looked rather like the hatch to a submarine or bank vault. It stood wide open. I couldn’t see inside, but the shelter itself was a circular mound similar to the round burial mounds in the ancient Asuka region of Japan, where Nara is located today. Most likely inside it was sealed in concrete, like the watchtower in Guernsey.
There was nothing beautiful about it at all. It was an inelegant addition to the guesthouse. My artistic sense was offended, and I sighed.
I was met by a butler with a fine moustache at the front entrance, and shown through to a large hall called the Mirror Room. Some forty other Japanese guests had already arrived, many of them attired in military or naval uniform. I probably stood out for being in civilian clothes. Kenichi and Setsuko caught sight of me and came rushing over to greet me. Kenichi seemed surprised at how well I looked. Naturally I said nothing about Catherine being safe in London, but said simply “I’m over her,” which seemed to satisfy him. The naval attaché Yokoi who I had met last year before going to Guernsey had already returned by submarine to Japan, and I was introduced to his successor, Rear Admiral Kojima, who merely gave me a brusque glance. Perhaps I was too much of a weakling for him.
It was the first time since the commemorative ceremony in Paris for the 2,600th anniversary of the founding of Japan that I’d been in such a large gathering of Japanese people. A number were dressed in suits. “They’re from trading companies and the Yokohama Specie Bank, you know” Setsuko told me. They might have been fellow Japanese, but I found their air of authority far too intimidating to approach them.
The reception started with a light meal, and the food and drink was otherworldly and completely unthinkable during wartime. My brother-in-law told me it would be a sumptuous feast, and he hadn’t been lying. Goodness only knows where they’d procured such an opulent spread. There was even caviar! I had often read about it in books illustrated with sturgeons, but actually it was the first time I had ever tried it. What’s more, it wasn’t Osetra or Sevruga, but Beluga caviar. The eggs were large and a light grey in colour. It must be Beluga. It felt as though each individual egg was asserting its taste. I scooped some up with the ivory spoon placed next to it and put it in my mouth.
Aaaahhh!
I can’t find the words to express the sensation. Hamlet spoke of “caviar to the general” but even I, one of the general public alluded to, could appreciate its taste. It melted on my tongue, and the fine rich flavour spread through my mouth.
So many people were suffering from starvation during this war. The German Foreign Ministry must have used its power to procure this caviar from somewhere. I did feel guilty, to be honest, but this flavour was utterly irresistible.
I secured a position for myself in a corner of the room and made repeated trips to the table of caviar, and grew quite intoxicated by the delicious taste of chilled vodka and Beluga caviar.
The red Bordeaux wine was also all from excellent vintages. The Mouton I liked so much was second class and unfortunately not available.
The host of the party was nominally Foreign Minister Ribbentrop, but he hadn’t yet arrived. I heard a rumour that the invited guests were to go on a short sightseeing tour, after which there would be a banquet at which our host would preside.
Taking on the role of host at this reception were the Manteuffels, the couple I had met in Guernsey. No sooner than they had noticed my presence than they came over and greeted me with the utmost cordiality. The Manteuffels showed me more affection than the Japanese guests, and I felt more comfortable. The Marquis was in formal dress, his medals shining on his breast. His wife’s hair was prettily arranged, and she wore a splendid blue gown. Her scent was probably a French cologne, although I couldn’t discern the brand.
Afterwards, the planned activity was to visit Frederick the Great’s palace. We would depart at 15:00. We boarded a large bus, and despite it being wartime, it felt as though we were off on an excursion. Kenichi was solicitous of me, taking the trouble to sit next to me and make small talk. He appeared to be satisfied with the report I’d sent him, rather thanking me for it, and I almost felt let down after having felt so guilty over being less than truthful with him. Meanwhile Setsuko sat alone on the same row the other side of the aisle, and was looking at us with a smile.
I could not tell them I was to become a father. If I let slip even a hint of it, Setsuko not to mention Kenichi would inevitably grill me over who the mother was—could it even be that Frenchwoman?
—and what about marriage, and so on and so forth. I tried to avoid Setsuko’s gaze, and didn’t touch on the subject.
The bus arrived at the palace thirty minutes later.
It was called Sanssouci in French, meaning “without concerns” or “carefree.” The exterior was especially magnificent. A staircase led up through a terraced garden to the palace. As I walked up the steps, little by little the magnificent form of the palace came into view. And with it came a feeling of exaltation. The design was perfection itself.
Our guide from the German Foreign Ministry told us, “Frederick the Great is our hope.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, and asked him to explain.
“In the Seven Years war, everyone except for England was the enemy of the Prussians—France and Russia, of course, and even Austria, which is now part of Germany. The progress of the war was desperate, but then a miracle happened and the Prussians gained victory!”
I couldn’t tell whether he was genuine or play acting, but his eyes were filling with tears as he talked.
I had known that Frederick the Great of Prussia had emerged victorious in the Seven Years War. The death of the Russian Empress was the trigger for the Russian Army to desert the front line at the critical moment, enabling Frederick the Great to stage a dramatic come-back to win. Did he mean that the Germans were hoping for the same thing to happen in this war?
Given the current state of the war, I didn’t believe the superior Soviet forces would appeal for peace this time.
Thrilled by our visit to Sanssouci, we all reboarded the bus. On the way back, Kenichi thoughtfully let Setsuko sit next to me. She was in a state of elation. Luckily it appeared I’d managed to avoid the one situation I feared most.
I checked my watch as the bus pulled up outside the front entrance of the guesthouse. Six o’clock. Our trip had lasted exactly three hours.
It was now time for dinner, and when we returned to the Mirror Room the waiting staff were deferentially moving around the guests serving drinks. Again, I was not included in the circle of Japanese guests, and stood chatting with Setsuko in the corner. It had been so long since we last met that there was no lack of matters to catch up on.
In another corner, a string quartet was playing some innocuous tune.
“Oh my!” Setsuko said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t see that cute waiter who was here before we went out, a blond-haired boy just like that Emil in Kästner’s novel. The others are different too. Were the staff changed while we were out sightseeing?
Presently the German high officials from Berlin began to arrive, but the Manteuffels had yet to put in an appearance.
“That’s strange,” Setsuko murmured.
“What is?”
“The German guests have started whispering among themselves.”
She was right. Kenichi strained his ears to try to catch what they were saying.
“The evening’s hosts appear to have disappeared.”
“Disappeared? But they were here to meet us earlier!” Setsuko said, looking perplexed.
By then even I had noticed how restless the German guests had grown.
Thirty seconds later there was a noise that sounded like roadworks. All the guests looked at each other, and then the noise abruptly stopped.
The tension culminated in a surprise turn of events.
I’d just noticed a hubbub around the entrance to the hall when Foreign Minister Ribbentrop came in, today wearing a Nazi uniform. Then a senior official of the Foreign Ministry rushed up to him and whispered something.
Ribbentrop quickly issued some instructions, then, full of smiles, he started moving around the guests urging everyone to take a seat at the waiting tables.
Suddenly a Foreign Ministry staff member came running into the room shouting at the top of his voice. The music stopped, and a hush descended over the gathering. The man headed for Ribbentrop, who started to admonish him but then his voice rang out around the hall, “The Manteuffels are dead!”
Indicating with his hand that the guests should remain where they were, to my surprise Ribbentrop headed out of the guesthouse. Without thinking I followed after him.
As I went outside, I saw people huddled around the air raid shelter, of all places. I went over and heard the staff all clamouring in German. I couldn’t understand the words, but I understood the circumstances.
The submarine hatch-like door I’d seen before was now shut.
The staff were standing atop the mound. Part of the earth atop it had been cleared away, and the grey concrete beneath was showing through. It appeared a hole had been bored through into the bunker. So that’s what that drilling sound had been earlier.
One of the staff members was lying on his belly peering through the hole. I could see him wielding what looked like a torch.
So the Manteuffels must be dead inside this concrete bunker, I realised.
But that door had been open before. If it was now shut and not possible to open from outside, that meant it had been locked from inside.
So was it suicide?
Had the couple who had greeted me so affectionately just a short time before really committed suicide?
I simply couldn’t fathom it.
†
Their suspicious deaths were eventually publicly announced the following day to be suicide due to neurosis.
It was rumoured that Ribbentrop was reprimanded by Hitler and Göbbels for mishandling the whole affair before the assembled Japanese guests.
However, there were too many things that didn’t add up for me. I stayed at Kenichi and Setsuko’s place, and used Kenichi to find out more details of the German investigation.
Germany as a country had also been lax and wanted to keep the affair as an internal matter. The Japanese side had no hand in the investigation itself. I had no choice but to console myself with being an armchair detective, but even so some detailed documents on the investigation were sent to the naval attaché office some three days later. Their second floor office had been burned out in an air raid that March, and they had now moved to the Charlottenburg district in the west of Berlin.
According to the investigation report, the Manteuffels had disappeared soon after the guests had departed in the bus. On the German side, there had been about fifteen people left behind after the end of the reception.
First, the Manteuffels and the Foreign Ministry protocol officer. In fact, the protocol officer had come with us to the Sanssouci.
The waiting staff comprised a total of nine men and women. They were employees of Berlin’s Fürsten Hotel and had been contracted out by the Foreign Ministry for the reception that day. After we left, they had tidied up then returned with the leftover food to Berlin.
The only person who be called a resident of the guesthouse was that moustachioed butler. You couldn’t tell by looking at him, but he’d apparently lost a leg at the Russian front and wore a prosthetic limb. He’d been assigned this job because he was not fit for military service. The guesthouse register was apparently kept by the Interior Ministry, so did that mean he was employed by them?
The butler’s name was Otto Priess. According to him, after the bus had departed and the staff had returned to the Fürsten Hotel, the Manteuffels had retired to an upstairs guest bedroom saying they wanted to rest. They had been intending to attend dinner after we came back from sightseeing.
Priess was dozing in the butler’s room. Incidentally, the butler’s room was in the right wing of the guesthouse, the opposite side to the air raid shelter, which wasn’t visible from the room. Also it was in a location where he wouldn’t notice the Manteuffels going out.
By all accounts, the Manteuffels and Priess went to their rooms around thirty minutes after we’d left. Waiting staff and food from the Adlon Hotel was due to arrive an hour before our return. This mean
t Priess dozed for an hour and a half. “I used to be a soldier. I would definitely have woken up if anything had happened while I was napping. I swear to God there was nothing suspicious.” It wasn’t clear whether or not he was standing to attention when he declared this, but it was written in the report that he had given evidence to that effect.
Preparations had been started for dinner. First, several long tables were placed in one half of the Mirror Room, and covered with white tablecloths. Ready prepared cards with the names of the guests were placed at each seat. The food had been prepared and brought from Berlin, so here it was simply to be warmed up, put onto plates, and served.
Thirty minutes before the bus arrived, a chamber music string quartet arrived.
Thus preparations were complete by a quarter to six, but the Manteuffels didn’t appear. Priess went to the room where they were supposed to be resting, but nobody was there. The clothes they were due to wear for the banquet were still hanging in the wardrobe. They were not in the bathroom, nor in the adjoining room either.
The mansion was huge. Priess hurriedly asked the hotel waiting staff to take over until the Foreign Ministry staff returned from our tour so that he could search for the couple. He went through the entire mansion as fast as he could, but could not find them. Then he noticed that the door to the air raid shelter was now firmly closed. The door was normally left wide open so that in the event of an air raid people could easily rush inside.
Yet the door handle wouldn’t budge an inch. It appeared to have been locked from inside.
The air raid shelter had been constructed after the air raids on Berlin had intensified. First a square area with each side measuring fifty meters had been dug deep into the ground, and a strong box constructed with iron reinforced concrete. Built to withstand a direct hit by a one-ton bomb, earth was then mounded on top of it, so that from the outside it resembled the mausoleum of Emperor Augustus in Rome.
The interior of the bunker was fitted with electricity, shower, sewer, ventilation fan, and enough food and water for ten adults to live for one week without going outside. It was a fine example of German efficiency.