The following is an excerpt of an unauthorized translation into English of the first few pages of the debut novel by esteemed Filipino professor and writer Ramon Guillermo. A full translation of the novel was proposed for the American Literary Translators Association Conference in 2015.

The Machine of Mang Turing

A Novel
by Ramon Guillermo

Chapter 1

From where we stand now, we are amazed by the ignorance of historical guests about their own world and time. Whenever I read history, I can’t help but shake my head when I observe how they voyage into paths that we know will lead to nowhere. We cannot prevent them as they jump out into the ocean whose depth we cannot measure, or dive with full abandon into the treacherous quick sand, where we cannot escape. We are sure that their experiments fail no matter how many times they try. In each one, they will surely fail.

But we also see countless examples that there is no creature on earth more hard headed than a person who cannot accept defeat. Mangled out of their wits, eyes shut, finger bones crushed, left to die in the ditch, but still holding on to life like a crazy man saying, “One day will come, the oppressed and the oppressor will disappear and we will witness the equality of all mankind”.

Chapter 2

There in the mammoth ports of Hamburg, north of Germany, flows the coffee that wakes up the whole world.

It was the year 1883 when I boarded the ship going home to Manila. They say this famous city was the richest in the free city of the Hanseatic League since the middle ages in Europe. It remained the largest port in Germany and it became the primary entry point of goods from all over the world that are dispatched to the markets in Germany and other countries in Europe, especially in the Western part. This is where the revolutionary Heinrich Heine was born. They say the large house where he lived still stands and continues to watch over the Lake Alster in the middle of the city. I remember the never-ending and delightful verses he offered for his Prussian countrymen. It runs like this in free flowing Tagalog:

Hetong pedantikong bayan na makunat,
(This stingy pedantic country)

Hetong tila ‘skawla na palakad-lakad,
(This seemingly walking T-square)

Sa pagkatuwid sa kandila’y ‘tinulad.
(In straightness it was compared to a candle)

Sa mukha’y arogancia ang nakabakat
(In its face arrogance has bulged)

Deretsong mistulang nalunok ang patpat,
(Seemingly swallowed straight the stick)

Na sa likod nila dati’y nilalapat.
(That formerly braced its back)

I laugh every time I remember this. The depiction by Heine of his fellow Germans is brave and satirical. Even if my experience of the Germans I have known is far from this. I will never forget their warm welcome for someone like me who was a foreigner and their friendly nature. In hindsight, I only noticed one weakness if there ever was. It’s this characteristic which Heine referred to in his poem. It has something to do with so much idea fija o seeming obsession to order and normality in their everyday life. They call this in their language Alltagsleben. You can trace a gnawing chaos in their faces or a disturbing feeling whenever something or someone is out of place or suddenly appears in front of them in the never changing and turning of their everyday lives. True, some of their most famous scientists and naturalists like Alexander von Humboldt pushed for the spirit of Wanderungslust or that longing to travel to go to the farthest reaches and discover new and unusual things. It is clear to the Germans though that there is a huge gap between traveling into exotic places and the ordinary grind of everyday living.

Despite this we can say this is also strength. We can see this for example in the system of their trains and tramways that is said to be the most efficient and modern in the whole of Europe. The train from Leipzig that I boarded was fast and convenient. It passed through the city of Berlin before heading on to Hamburg. There is nothing out of place nor would there be anything unexpected that one would encounter in riding a train in Germany. Because of this everything runs in the exact time and the train does not arrive one minute early or late. We can say there is no real journey in this kind of travel but just a shifting of the places where a person stands on from one city to another in a span of time filled with the rhythmic hissing and grinding of the machine and with the never ending uniform view of the forest and the deep jungle that runs outside the window. You will not notice that your brain rides with this rhythm. It mimics the machine. It becomes boring.

Good thing, I met someone in my journey. A Japanese man who sparked a conversation with me. I learned that he’s also 25 years old. He wears spectacles and his body is stiff and waifish. His hair is scruff and he sports a thin moustache on top of his smile. It was a coincidence that our seats were next to each other in this journey and because we stood out as both hombre asiatico in this train, we smiled at each other. He was the first one to approach, he held out his hand, while struggling to keep his balance, and he bowed down as he was accustomed with his countrymen and introduced himself in English.

“Sumisamen. I, Kawamot, from Japan country. How do you do? Are you coming from what country?”

I introduced myself and said that I was from Manila in my broken English. I asked him, “Also can speak Spanish or German please? Is hard speak English.”

He smiled and proceeded to sit down on the vacant seat in front of me, no longer asking permission. As if he felt at ease. He proceeded in German, “Good thing, and there’s a fellow Asian around this train who I can talk to. These trips bore me and it’s a hassle to dig through my luggage to find my favorite book to read. Besides, reading on the train makes me dizzy.”

He looked at me closely, “What is your business here in Europe? Are you a merchant or a traveler?”

Here we go again, I thought. As a foreigner, I always have to explain what I’m doing in Germany, in Spain or any other country in this continent. It’s not normal that I’m here. It’s also not normal that he’s here. It’s not normal for the two us to be here in Europe that’s why we have to explain ourselves to each other. But what does “normal” mean anyway? Perhaps it’s more apt to say that it’s not common that we are here, in this far away country, far from the land where we came from.

I answered him; “I studied at the Universidad Compultense de Madrid (UCM) for my Licienciatura en Derecho for the past four years. The course of my study went fine and I was able to finish but I wouldn’t say I was exactly happy with my experiences in Spain. Perhaps if you compare with other countries in Europe that are more modernized, you can say that conservatism and medievalism in their ways and attitude still pervades most of Spain.”

Kawamoto laughed, “Is that how bad the situation is in universities in Spain? I thought the people there were more free and radical ideas can run free like anarchism and communism.”

I continued, “I am worried that if you compare the natural sciences, sociology or literature, fields of study that are now flowering up all over Europe, we can be sure that we can no longer add anything to the knowledge and art in the area of my career of being a lawyer. Thinking about it,” I added, “My study of law is focused on the defense of property of the few against the those who have nothing in this miserable society of man. If you strip down the decorations and the elaborate words, you will see that the basis of our profession is demarcating what’s yours and what’s his. More than this, don’t forget “what’s mine,” or the portion for the lawyer after.

I made Kawamoto laugh and an old German lady who was disturbed from her crocheting looked over her shoulders.

“You have the right idea, my friend. Just as I thought, the ideas are more radical in Spain. Have you heard about the speech of the famous anarchist from Spain who came from the prison in Montjuic? According to them if they remove the instruccion of private property, the profession of lawyers will cease to have purpose in this world. You have to find another career!”

He asked again, “How did you end up here in Germany? Do you have any business here?”

I thought this person was getting really inquisitive but he seemed sincere. “That’s difficult to explain. I am writing a novela social that says something about my country and when I finished my studies, I lived for seven months in Leipzig to try to rebuild the last chapters and find a cheap Gutenberg printing press before I head home to Manila. I haven’t finished what I was writing unfortunately. I have long been struggling with the last chapter and despite all the time I spent in Leipzig I haven’t succeeded in finishing anything.”

I sighed. I haven’t released these feelings of frustration in my writing, “I’m having a difficult time and I need new ideas to inject in piecing together my narrative.”

“Your plan is right. Writing a novel or being a poet is the better alternative to being a lawyer! If you lack any ideas that will give you inspiration, I’m sure I can help you with that!” He was cheerful and full of confidence when Kawamoto said this. He added, “I have three weeks in Hamburg. How long will you stay there?”

“Four weeks.”

“That’ great, we have time!”

He’s pleasant man, I thought. He asked more about the beautiful city of Manila, about the characteristics of its inhabitants and about the system of colonization and exploitation of the Spanish conquistadores over the Indio. We had a difficulty in our conversation because of the broken German but we also couldn’t use any other language. He cannot speak Spanish that I can speak fluently though he is already advance in his German. Obviously, I cannot speak a word of Japanese or him a word of Tagalog. According to his story, he has been studying for some years at the Universidad de Leipzig. According to what I’ve learned, this is one of the more famous and oldest universities in Germany. This is where the great writer Goethe and the philosopher and mathematician Leibnitz studied. In fact, Kawamoto has no trace of being a foreigner in the way he speaks German, a rare feat, in my book.

“Ah, Kawamoto, where did you come from in Japan country and how did you end up here?”

“I grew up in the province of Harima, town of forty Ronins. I come from a long line of warriors or samurais. Even if my family has no means to send me to school, I am fortunate that in my early years I have been known in my deftness in using the soroban of my father that I have been playing with since I was a child. I found it easy to learn.”

Kawamoto reached for a little machine inside his pocket that looks like an abacus from China but it is smaller and looks simpler if I remember correctly.

“By the way, this is my Soroban that has been passed on from different generations in my family. Someon discovered my quickness and precision in using this tool. Using this is very essential to us Japanese. That’s why a rich patron has been sponsoring my education until I reached college at the Universidad Imperial of Tokio.”

He showed me how to use the soroban. Its just a tiny frame with a row of round beans that you can move up and down according to the number being recorded and according to the calculations. I saw this kind of machine being used by vendors in Binondo, but even then it seemed too complicated and even more in those times I journeyed I chose not to think about it.

“You know, if you get used to the soroban, its operations will slowly transfer to your brain. In the beginning you might be seen moving your fingers while you are calculating but no longer have to hold the machine but further you will notice that you don’t even have to pretend that you’re holding the soroban or see the need to move your fingers for the easier solutions and computation in mathematics. You can do all that faster inside your head in a very automatic manner. Even now, the Europeans haven’t invented anything faster than this. That’s why I’m surprised that its only used widely in Russia, as a result of the Mongolian invasion that brought this invention to them. You don’t need to be a genius to learn to use this. You just need to start young and get used to it continuously until it becomes natural.

He demonstrated his skill in using the soroban for half an hour but I began yawning when he began calculating for raiz cuadrado and cubico of five digit numbers. He was asking them from me like a magician. A train passed in a row of houses with red bricks in the middle of a wide expanse of fields and forest. The white face of a lady who peeked through her window followed our train with her the gaze. From the sky, the crows are making their way home. I yawned again. When Kawamoto noticed that I lost interest in the problem of calculating for numeros irracional from the soroban, he put it back in his pocket. He took out a cigarette and lighted it before he went back to his story.

“When I just finished my course in mathematics and philosophy in Tokio, the estate of Meiji chose me to take part in the first batch of Japanese to study military science here in Germany. I am specializing on the philosophy part of this science.”

Kawamoto confirmed what I read in the periodicals. I read the last month, that the Japanese are currently fixing their military system according to the existing Prussian style in Germany, France, and England in order to empower and strengthen their independence and control of their own country which faces so many threats of invasion from what they call “modernity” from the West.

I was compelled to ask, “What was the topic of your dissertation then?”

“It was about the philosophy of war derived from Vom Kriege (On War) by the famous German general Carl von Clausewitz. Have you read it?”

I have heard of the name Clausewitz many times in some conversations by the aggressive regeneracionistas in Madrid who allegedly seek to wake Spain from its slumber. I don’t agree with all of it and in my understanding they also believe in the superiority of the Spaniards over other races. My knowledge of them is limited to those details. I shook my head in disagreement.

Kawamoto continued, “I am currently translating his works into Japanese so our soldiers and generals can study them closely and use them to teach the art of warfare. I have to admit, I am only halfway through.”

I thought that our nation would definitely need these knowledge in military science as soon as possible because of recent political events. My interest has been roused, “Like what you said earlier, that you will help me gather new ideas, I wish for you to explain the primary ideas of Clausewitz if we ever have the chance or time in Hamburg.”

“No problem. If it will help you writing. From now on you should call me Sensei Kawamoto!” He said smiling.

Even if the trains in Germany are fast, the journey would still take long because of the distances they travel. Night was falling upon Hamburg when we got off the train. It was blowing off steam and fire was still raging in the monstrous steel animal that never gets tired. There’s still plenty of fuel inside its bowels. We got off the train station along with the rush of people that quickly spread all over the place and then vanished from my view. Most the houses here are noticeably old and elegant especially in the center of the city, mostly three up to five floors, and some belong to prominent families of rich merchants. On initial observation, the buildings in Hamburg are typical of the northern part of Germany and are truly closer to Holland or Scandinavia. They appear heavy and old and several are made from red bricks. One can also notice that the larger edifices are markets or warehouses for different goods from all corners of the world. They have big billboards of the huge trading companies like HAPAG and NordDeutscher Lloyd that seem to fly all over the city. The gray sky was getting darker and the soft rain seems to be mixing with snow and when the wind blew it sends a chill that runs deep into my bones. I was lucky I made a reservation by mail and a room awaits me along Störtebeker-Straße. I’m hoping it would have better amenities than the cheap ones I’ve occupied in Europe. I will stay there for the whole of 4 weeks until I board a ship bound for Manila.

I glanced at my new acquaintance, “Where are you staying, Kawamoto?”

He was blowing on his palms because of the cold, “Ill go to the Sankt Pauli district near here. I heard from my countrymen who live here that there’s always a room there I can rent for a low price. Until then, tomodachi!”

He gave me the direction to where he was going stay and we parted. I noticed that his windbreaker was thin and even had holes near the elbows. His gloves and hat had also weathered. His only luggage was old and was bursting with documents but his face was happy, maybe because it was only a matter of time before he can go home to his country.

I was walking fast while tugging my heavy luggage filled with books and documents so I can find a horse carriage. I was worried when I looked up the sky and realized I could hardly see anything. When the sun had vanished, the cold had crept on the surface of the earth.

A few minutes and I was able to hail a worn-out carriage run by a tall and thin coachman with huge hands snuggled to a glove, who wears a moustache called a Walrossbart because it resembles the animal. On my way to my lodging, I remember I have one more purpose in Hamburg. Two weeks ago, I received a letter from my sister about the wishes of our family friend, Don Arturo Valdez. His family lives in a big stone house in front of our modest abode in Manila. I took out the folded letter from my pocket and read it again:

Dear Brother,

Greetings! I hope this letter finds you in good health. Fortunately, our conditions here are getting better. I am writing you this instant because I need to let you know something as early as possible. Arturo’s family learned from our parents that you are passing by the city of Hamburg before you head home. I’m sure you remember Arturo, we called him, “Mang Turing”. Do you still remember? He wishes for you to pass by an instrument he left in the city of Hamburg and bring it or send it back home. These were stored in the last house where he stayed in Hamburg (the address and directions are stated below this letter and I am attaching the letter of authorization from his family). The story of Arturo’s stay in Hamburg is uncanny and still mysterious even to his own family. According to them, he held several presentation letters from various academics and scientists in Europe when he went to Germany in August last year to give a demonstration to the scientists there. He said he had in his possession a revolutionary invention. He arrived at the port of Hamburg in the middle of a heavy storm. The thunderstorms and lightning were extra violent during that month. Because of bad weather Arturo cannot proceed with his affairs and he brought out his instruments and performed various dangerous experiments while the storm ravaged on. He failed in his mission because he wasn’t able to go far when lightning struck a piece of metal rod that was put up in the yard of the house where he was staying. This was all according to the sworn statement of the owner of the house where he stayed.

His charred corpse was buried in a cemetery in that city. No one from here was able to attend his burial. I heard that even his nephew Alonzo, who was staying in Madrid, was also not able to attend.

Before Arturo left, he asked permission from me and left the key to his laboratory so I can look after it. But then this tragedy happened. Hope you can help his family.

Our parents would like to greet you and they are hoping that what you studied will be useful for the advocacies we are pushing for. I’m sure you have doubts but we are certain that you have a big role to play in the future of the nation we are trying to build as someone who has studied to become a lawyer. We will need lawyers who can draft our constitution that will fit the kind of free Republic we are all hoping for.

Warmest hugs from your sister.

Maya

It was totally dark when I reached the place where I would be staying. A young man, about twenty years old, approached me. His longish hair was very blonde and he had clear blue eyes. I introduced myself in German. He said his name was Rolf. He helped me bring my luggage and my things up the room I was to occupy. He said he was the one who waited for me because his father had some business to do in Munchën in the south of Germany that would last for one week. He said he was a student in the Universidad de Kiel, a city near Hamburg. He often comes home to help in running the hostel. Aside from an Italian named Galleani who rarely goes out of his room, I was the only one who was boarding with them. He said goodbye and I started to arrange my things in the room before I lied down and slept. At least, I had a small table where I can write and a lamp with a little heat and light. It was so cold in this room that I had to rise to put on a shawl and wear layers of clothing so I can bear with the weather. The strong wind that I hear was like a devil that danced with the branches of the giant trees outside my window. Before I shut my eyes, I thought that tomorrow, before everything else, I need to find the instrument of Mang Turing so I can stop thinking about it for the rest of my stay in Germany. Tomorrow…the cold sunk into my flesh and bones until I felt there was only a fiber of heat that remained in my body. I felt my last breath was hanging on to this thin thread of warmth. I slept while my soul was being devoured by this intense cold.#

About the novelist

Ramon “Bomen” Guillermo is a teacher-activist and scholar on Philippine studies. He obtained his Ph.D. Southeast Asian Studies from the University of Hamburg in Germany. He is the author of several books and articles on indigenization theory, translation studies and digital philology.

Notes and Acknowledgements

A review by Caroline Hau appears on the website of the Kyoto Review. https://kyotoreview.org/book-review/ang-makina-ni-mang-turing/

The Plaridel Journal of the University of the Philippines College of Mass Communication for the profile of Ramon Guillermo.

Ang Makina ni Mang Turing (Mr. Turing’s Machine) by Ramon Guillermo.
Published 2013 by University of the Philippines Press.