Twilight of Gutenberg

by Hitoshi Goto

  Bormann had entrusted his friends Kaltenbrunner and Sonnenberger with the task of maintaining this secrecy. Anyone who got wind of it was killed or obliterated politically.

  The British nanny on Guernsey was the first to be killed. Major Amemiya, the military attaché there on observations, was also liquidated when he happened to witness her death. Then Admiral Canaris and General Major Oster were implicated in the attempted assassination of Hitler and arrested, and executed on 9 April.

  Despite their best efforts, however, the existence of Romulus, the nation’s biggest secret, gradually leaked out. As Sonnenberger put it, Gutenberg’s printing press had started turning.

  According to what Sonnenberger told me, there was another layer to Romulus—a deeper secret that had to be kept at any cost. Twelve people knew about it. The names he’d divulged were Ribbentrop, Bormann, Göbbels, Dönitz, Kaltenbrunner, the Manteuffels, Fegelein, and Sonnenberger himself. The remaining three were probably Hitler, Eva Braun, and the doctor in Dresden.

  Bormann, Kaltenbrunner, and Sonnenberger were determined not to allow this secret to leak out. And they were merciless.

  The Manteuffels were murdered in the bunker at the Guest House in Potsdam. Sonnenberger was the one pulling the strings. The Jewish prisoners who created the closed room scenario to make it look like suicide themselves met a terrible fate in being buried alive below the bunker.

  Even the SS weren’t exempt. Eva Braun’s brother-in-law Fegelein was an SS officer, and naturally related to Hitler’s son. He was planning to flee to the West and use this information in exchange for his safety, and was shot to keep him quiet.

  In an ironic twist of fate, however, as Bormann was putting the finishing touches to the plan, Romulus himself died in an accident.

  Soon afterwards, Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide in the underground bunker, and were followed by Göbbels and his wife and family.

  The existence of Romulus was hushed up—and that means there is still a big secret remaining.

  I think the truth is contained in the last words Sonnenberger uttered at the time of his death: die Wol—.

  The edition of Shakespeare’s Henry V sent to me in Paris is also a mystery. It’s in German, so I can’t even understand the contents. Admiral Canaris apparently ordered it sent to me in the last moments before his arrest, but why? Did it have anything to do with the Romulus secret? Does the key to unlocking the mystery lie with the great British playwright?

  Or was the accident that Romulus reportedly met with on the way to Oslo a sham? Had Hitler’s son actually escaped to South America? If Hitler’s son is indeed alive and well, I want someone to solve the puzzle before he is able to use his influence on a large scale worldwide.

  The battle for Okinawa is still going on. It’s apparently only a matter of time before it falls. Behind my eyelids, I can see the people of Okinawa exposed to the horrors of war and the kamikaze pilots crashing into enemy ships. Oh, the military top brass guiding the war in my homeland! What are they fighting for? Why do innocent people have to die? Wasn’t it already clear that Japan could never win the war? Praying for peace to return to my homeland as soon as possible, I put down my pen.

  Yasuo Hoshino

  1 June 1945

  Recorded in the small village in Alsace, where I moved to from Paris

  Addendum

  In December of the year I finished writing the memorandums, I was caught up in a murder case in a southern Germany mansion (see Labyrinth of the Scriptorium). The occasion arose when I was saving money to be able to travel back to my own country. By chance I found myself taking on the role of detective, and by a stroke of good luck managed to solve the case safely.

  When I returned to Japan the following year with Catherine and Erika, there was still one big job I had to do. I made sure my wife and daughter were settled in Omi Hachiman, then returned to Tokyo. I stood in the residential area in Narimune, near Asagaya Station on the Chuo Line, and let out a sigh of relief. So many places in Japan were now scorched wastelands from the air raids. The old traditional area in Tokyo that I had loved so much before leaving for France had been obliterated—it had been in the big air raid in March the year before, about a month after Dresden, I’d heard.

  As people returned from the compulsory wartime evacuation, a black market had sprung up outside Asagaya Station. It was crowded with impoverished women in threadbare kimonos. As I pushed my way through them, the smell of raw fish and pickles reached my nose here and there. The stink of fish was not that much different from the market in any French fishing village. But the smell of Japanese vegetables pickled in rice bran was utterly unlike the vinegary pickles in France. Even having lived overseas for so long, the smell took me straight back to distance childhood memories in Omi Hachiman of watching my mother’s back as she made pickles.

  Continuing on past the black market, I came to Narimune. It looked the same as it had done before the war, with rows of wooden houses and cherry trees. The blossoms had long since scattered, but the lush green leaves were lovely to look at.

  Maybe because I had lived in Europe for so long, the Japanese sunlight seemed strong on my eyes. I pulled my hat down a bit lower, and checked the address one more time.

  After about ten minutes I reached the house I was looking for. It was a cosy traditional Japanese house, with an old and faded nameplate that read “Yagyu.”

  I pushed open the gate and went in.

  I was turning up unannounced, but fortunately the Mrs. Yagyu was at home, and welcomed me in. It was as I’d thought, the couple had not really wanted a divorce. Whatever her legal status, she was still Commander Yagyu’s wife.

  She was not dressed in the typical wartime baggy trousers, but properly dressed in a kimono. It was unlined and rather plain, but the sash was a summery bright green, with a yellow cord over it. She had a narrow face and was not very tall.

  “My name is Yasuo Hoshino. I recently returned to Japan from Europe,” I introduced myself.

  She smiled. “In that case, I must thank you for all your efforts. I’ve been waiting for you. Please do come in.”

  I was puzzled. “Excuse me, but how could you have possibly known I would be coming today? I haven’t even told you what my business here today is.”

  Still smiling, she replied, “Of course I don’t know you personally, but the master of the house told me that when the war was over someone would probably come.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  “Please let’s not talk out here. Do come inside.”

  I was shown through to a traditional tatami room with a tokonoma alcove. Mrs. Yagyu offered me a cushion to sit on, and I sat down in a formal kneeling position gazed around the room while she made some tea. Other than the low table I was sitting at, there was a large bookshelf in one corner, rather out of keeping with the tone of the room, and next to it a large gramophone. Through the open shoji I could see a corridor, and at the end of that a landscaped garden with dwarf azalea in bloom.

  I went over to look at the bookcase. To my surprise it was full works relating to Shakespeare, including original works and Shoyo Tsubouchi’s study books.

  Mrs. Yagyu came back with green tea and Japanese sweets on a tray. “My husband had few hobbies, she told me, “but he loved Shakespeare. He became interested in him when the navy sent him to England to study.”

  “He has a lot of works in the original English, doesn’t he?”

  “I can’t read English at all, but my husband was quite proficient. He often went to England for work, and would buy another one each time. When he went away, I carefully wrapped them in oilpaper, packed them in a trunk, and hid them under the floor.

  Setting out the teacups on the table, she went on, “My husband often told me to read them too. They would help me to understand the origins of the British character, he said. If you would like to take one, Mr. Hoshino, ple
ase do.”

  “Thank you. I don’t have any particular affinity with Shakespeare either.

  I went back to the cushion and she took her seat the other side of the table.

  “He always said I should start with Henry V or Henry VII. But most people recommend Hamlet or The Merchant of Venice, don’t they?” she said, turning to look out at the garden

  Henry V… Suddenly I recalled the book that had been sent to my apartment in Paris. It was in German, and no message had been sent with it, so I hadn’t paid it any further attention. Although I must have brought it back to Omi Hachiman with the rest of my belongings, and it must be in my father’s storehouse now.

  “By the way Mr. Hoshino, did you meet my husband somewhere?”

  “Not directly, no.”

  “Oh.”

  She looked disappointed, but got up and took down a magnificent carved lacquer box from a different shelf. She slowly opened it and took out a thick sealed document.

  “I was to give this to you.”

  “To me? But how did your husband know I’d be coming? He died over three years ago.”

  Instantly she paled, then after a few moments gave a sad smile. “Is that so? So he’s dead… If you know what happened, please do tell me. How and where did he die?”

  Commander Yagyu’s wife had heard nothing of his fate.

  Without touching on the reasons, I explained to her that he had died in the Channel Islands en route to England, and that I had been there for an investigation. She seemed satisfied with that, and gave a deep sigh.

  “But still, I wonder how your husband knew I would be coming?”

  “Well, I suppose that when you read that document you will probably find an explanation, but first maybe I should tell you a little about him. It must be over five years ago now…”

  Her eyes lost their focus as she recalled former days with a somewhat sentimental look on her face.

  “That day, my husband came home very late. It was July 1941. At that time he was Chief of Staff of the Combined Fleet, and was busy day and night preparing for war. So it wasn’t particularly strange for him to be home so late. However, that evening he was blind drunk and extremely on edge. As soon as he got home, he sat—yes, right where you’re sitting now, Mr. Hoshino, he sat on his knees facing me and then began to talking with excessive formality.”

  “What about?”

  “He was never the sort of man to talk to me about his work… to tell the truth, I was startled. With no further ado he told me that he believed Japan would soon be going to war with America and Britain, and further, that he didn’t believe this war would be over in six months or a year. He didn’t know precisely how long it would go on for, but it would probably be a war lasting several years, and the fate of our nation would depend on the outcome. Naturally I assumed that he meant that America and Britain would surrender after a few years of fight.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said sharply that it was quite the reverse. Japan would lose. It was only a matter of when—and whether Japan would lose before it was too late or not, is what he said.”

  I stared at her in silence.

  “I was shocked. After all, since the First Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese wars I had only heard talk of our undefeated Imperial Army, our invincible combined fleet, and successive victories on the Chinese Front. The times were such that if you talked of the possibility of Japan being defeated in front of other people you never knew what they might say.”

  She took a sip of tea, cleared her throat, and went on. “I completely trusted my husband in everything. He was a specialist in war, so I thought he must have a reason for saying this. And then he said something else extraordinary.”

  “What was that?

  “That in the event that war broke out, he would leave the navy. He was a military man to the core, a graduate with top grades from the Edajima Naval Academy. He was a favourite of Admiral Yamamoto, too. It was unthinkable for someone like him to leave the navy just like that!”

  “Did he explain why?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “In the end he never did tell me the reason. But he did say that he loved Japan more than anyone. He had been in England during the disarmament conference, and seeing Japan from the outside had grasped her weak points. He said he wanted to leave the navy and continue working for Japan in a different way. But he didn’t think he would return alive. He didn’t know how or where he would die, but he wanted me to be sure that he died fighting for Japan.”

  “He said he was doing it for Japan?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he do after that?”

  “Until June 1942 he was away at sea with Admiral Yamamoto. With hindsight, he was terribly shocked by the defeat at Midway. He was acting with Admiral Yamamoto so he was safe, but immediately afterwards he fell ill. To be honest, I think he was faking it for some reason, but still the naval hospital gave him a diagnosis of a chest illness. And with that, he left his beloved navy, and informed me that he was divorcing me to avoid causing me any problems, and left. But I don’t believe he really wanted a divorce. As he left, he told me to always remain in this house, and that we would always be husband and wife. After that I don’t know where he went or what he was doing, but the next time he came back was in April 1943. That evening he was terribly drunk…”

  “Had something happened?”

  “Looking back, I think it was when Admiral Yamamoto died in action. It hadn’t been made public, but I think he had heard it from one of his former colleagues in the navy. Then the next day he left, I don’t know where he went. Then he came back just once more, in June. There was a state funeral for Admiral Yamamoto, wasn’t there? It was the day after that. He didn’t speak, but I think he was making preparations for a journey.”

  “You mean he was packing clothes to travel?”

  “Yes. He took one old travel bag, and his beloved black briefcase.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going?”

  “I asked him over and again where he was going and when he would be back, but he wouldn’t answer me. But this time, he bowed deeply to me and thanked me for our marriage. As he was going out of the door, he turned back to me.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yes. He told me that he was concerned for me. It was possible that he would be branded a traitor, and apologised for the trouble that would cause for me. And then he handed me the sealed document.”

  I picked up the thick envelope she had given me earlier. “You mean this one?”

  “Yes. He said that he didn’t know what would happen from now. He wanted me to keep this document hidden and not let anyone see it, no one at all. He said I should bury it beneath the cherry tree. After the war was over, somebody would probably come here. I asked him if it would be someone from the navy, but he said he didn’t know. He wanted me to use my judgement, and give that person this document. Until the war was over—or rather, until Japan had lost the war, I should not let anybody at all know of its existence. It should only be after the end of the war, he insisted.”

  “I see.”

  “I told him it was all very well for him to say that, but on what basis should I judge whether or not someone was the right person for me to give it to.”

  “And what did he say?”

  She smiled warmly. “He actually laughed. He said something that was quite out of character for him. He always used logic that was as sharp as a razorblade, but this time he said he didn’t know who it would be. It could be a foreigner. He didn’t know when it would be. But he believed that once the war was over, someone would come here. In order to decide whether or not to pass the document over to them, he wanted me to look in their eyes. If their eyes were clear, he wanted me to give it to them.”

  “Clear eyes… are my eyes clear?”

  She smiled. �
��Well, at least you didn’t have an evil look in your eyes like all those self-important military types. It would be rude of me to say you were childlike. But somehow looking at you I felt something dear about myself that I’d long forgotten, something that reminded me of chasing red dragonflies in the fields as a child. I’m sorry, I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings.”

  “No, not at all. And what about after your husband left on his journey?”

  “It must have been a few months later. A few people from the Navy Department came to grill me in great detail about him. They didn’t tell me why they were asking such things. And from the way they were asking, it was clear they thought he was a traitor.”

  She looked me straight in the eyes. “What on earth did he do? Was it anything that merited people saying such bad things about him?”

  I answered without hesitation, “I believe you should be proud of your husband.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  She looked truly relieved.

  “May I read the document?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, of course, go ahead.”

  I carefully opened the envelope.

  †

  I do not know whether this letter will ever come to light after the war or not. Neither do I know what sort of person will receive it, or how they will feel upon reading it. However, I must write it to leave a record for the sake of my wife, Tomoko, so that she will understand why I undertook the action I did, and to preserve the future honour of my beloved family.

  I will write things down in order.

  In July 1941 I was a staff officer in the service of the combined fleet, and busy with devising the military strategy for the attack on Pearl Harbour and the start of the war. One day I was summoned by Commander-in-Chief Yamamoto to a restaurant in Ryudocho in the Azabu district of Tokyo. I recall that I thought he must have something private to discuss given that he had called me there instead of to the usual restaurants he frequented in Tsukiji and Shinbashi. It was also strange how the invitation had come directly from him, without anyone else knowing about it.