The Case of the Sharaku Murders (14 page)

“It seems to be an open-and-shut case. So why are you still so hesitant?” asked Saeko.

“All our evidence so far is circumstantial. How well did Shoei really know Tsutaya? When was he in Tokyo, and when did he return to Akita? Why did he abandon ukiyo-e? Unless we can get some hard answers to these questions, our argument won't fly. Just because we've eliminated all the other suspects doesn't mean Shoei's our man. Unfortunately, he's not mentioned in any known historical documents. That's why I've been tearing my hair out. With just the painting catalogue as evidence, all we've done is add one more inconclusive theory to the pile.”

“But Professor Nishijima thinks it's promising, right?”

“Promising, yes—but not convincing,” said Ryohei. “Scholarship's not that simple.”

On that note, Ryohei brought the discussion to an end.

All the other customers had left the café; Ryohei and Saeko had been so engrossed in their conversation that neither had noticed. Ryohei looked at his watch. It was already ten o'clock. They had to leave the hotel at nine thirty the next morning. The two stood up and returned to their respective rooms. Ryohei's voice sounded a bit hoarse from having talked so much.

4

The Akita School

N
ovember
1
      “WHAT a beautiful day!”
      The sky was blue as could be. Saeko stretched out her arms as she came out of the hotel. It was unusually warm for November.

“We better get going or we'll be late.”

“What time is our train?”

“9:38.”

“What? We've only got ten minutes! Are we going back to the same station as yesterday?”

“No. To get to Kosaka we have to take a private line. The train leaves from a different station. According to Kudo it's not so far.”

The two broke into a run.

“What a tiny station,” Saeko whispered in Ryohei's ear as they took their seats in the waiting area. There was still some time to go before the train was due to depart. The waiting area was hardly more than three hundred square feet. A stove sat in the middle of the room, a small fire burning inside and only five other people were waiting.

Soon the station attendant appeared and announced that the ticket gate had opened. The two got up and followed the rest of the passengers out toward the platform.

“What in the world…?” Ryohei blurted out. There, in the middle of the long platform, a one-car red-and-yellow train was waiting.

“A one-car train—how romantic!” said Saeko. “Hey, look. That's the man who punched our tickets just now.” She pointed in surprise at the train driver, who had just gotten onto the train behind the other passengers.

The train threaded its way through the folds in the mountains. Along the way it made several stops where passengers got on and off, but the number of people inside the car never exceeded about ten. All of them sat next to a window alone, staring out at the passing scenery.

On the surrounding hillsides, the autumn foliage was at its peak. The trees spread their luxuriant branches over the single-track line, the bright colors of their leaves shining into the car and occasionally falling onto Saeko's cheek, coloring it by turns red or yellow or orange.

As they emerged from the last of three long tunnels, the landscape suddenly opened out in front of them and they saw the tiny village of Kosaka nestled against the foot of the mountain. Bathed in a warm gentle light, it looked as pretty as a postcard. Ryohei had a feeling it was going to be a good day for research.

As they emerged from the station onto the street he heard a voice call out, “Ryohei Tsuda?” A black two-door Nissan Skyline was parked at the curb in front of the station. Beside it stood a young man, who bowed to them. He appeared to be in his early twenties. He had a black leather jacket on—unzipped and not on quite straight—and tight-fitting blue jeans. Like most men his age, his hair was cut short.

“I got a call from Kudo…”

“You must be his friend, Nara Yoshiaki.”

“That's correct,” the young man replied politely. He walked over to them. Ryohei and Saeko introduced themselves.

“I hear you two are here on important business. Kudo tells me Kosaka's gonna to be famous. ‘Least you can do,' he says, ‘is take the day off and show them around.'”

“But I thought today was your day off anyway…” said Saeko in surprise.

“Don't mention it. I owe him one—don't know how many times he's done the same for me over in Odate,” replied Nara, casting aside her concerns. “Now, where do you two want to go? It's a small place, so there's not much to see,” he said with an affable smile, opening the door of the sports car for them. The two climbed inside.

“I hear you work at the mine,” asked Ryohei.

“Yeah. Not exactly office work.”

“Is there some sort of company archives room there?”

“A reference room? You want to know something about the mine?”

“Not exactly—just about its history.”

“Can't help you there. Not much interested in history myself. Anyway, I don't think there's anything like that at the mine.”

“I see…” mumbled Ryohei, disappointed.

“But there
is
a brand new local history museum in town. It's not only about the mine though…”

“Really? That's perfect. Could we go there first?” asked Ryohei, surprised at their luck.

The local history museum was about a five-minute drive from the station. A smart redbrick building, it looked more like a church than a museum.

The three went inside.

On the front wall of the entrance lobby hung an enormous photograph mounted on a panel; at least, that's what Ryohei thought it was at first. But as he drew near, he realized it was made up of numerous white tiles, each about eight inches square, onto which pieces of a photograph had been developed before being assembled. The photograph, which showed Kosaka as it looked long ago, was sepia-toned, giving it an old-fashioned feel. One could clearly make out figures walking along the street. Smoke billowed from a large smokestack, practically filling the sky; clearly the mine was thriving.

“This must have been taken around the time Sato Masakichi lived here,” mumbled Saeko, reading a plaque next to the panel.

“1913… about seven years after he died,” said Ryohei, passing his eyes over the text. “Before coming here I read somewhere that Kosaka was the first town in Tohoku to get electric lighting.”

“Really? Because of the mine?”

“Uh-huh. Even though it was a small town, it was way ahead of the rest of the region, culturally speaking. It even had a kabuki theater with a revolving stage.”

“No kidding? Maybe that's why Kiyochika came here,” said Saeko, turning her attention back to the photograph.

After a few moments, the three climbed the stairs to the exhibition rooms on the second floor. Contrary to what Ryohei had been expecting, most of the items on exhibit were related to local life and customs.

“This isn't much help,” said Nara, who seemed to have figured out what Ryohei was looking for.

“I can't say I'm all that surprised. It's not like Sato was famous or anything,” said Ryohei. “But I thought there might be some record of the 1907 flood.”

“Wait a minute,” said Nara. “I know someone who works here. I'll go ask him.” He disappeared downstairs.

After a while, a voice called to Ryohei from downstairs. He and Saeko returned to the lobby to find Nara seated on a bench talking to an older man. Ryohei and Saeko bowed and sat down beside them.

“My name is Chiba,” said the man, making a slight bow. He was thin and small in stature. “What is it you're looking for?” he asked, removing his glasses and wiping them with a cloth.

“I'm trying to find out about a man who lived here in the early 1900s.”

“I see… What's his name?”

“Sato Masakichi.”

“Hmm… he lived in Kosaka, you say?”

“Yes. Probably from about 1902 to 1907.”

“Did he work at the mine?”

“I'm not sure.”

Ryohei took a photocopy of the catalogue of Sato's painting collection out of his bag and handed Chiba the page containing Kiyochika's preface. The man lit a cigarette and ran his eyes over the words.

“I see,” he said after a few moments. “So he died in the flood of 1907. Then he must have worked at the mine. The town was mostly unaffected when the Oyu River flooded that year.”

“What,
that
little stream?” asked Nara.

“Yes. It runs past the mine. Long ago there used to be a dam upstream with a hydroelectric plant. The heavy rains burst the dam and all the houses up on Mt. Gen were washed away. If I'm not mistaken over fifty people were killed,” Chiba explained.

“Is that so? The mine where
I
work is on Mt. Gen,” Nara said, surprised.

“But it's odd…” said Chiba, tilting his head to one side. “This Sato must have been pretty well-to-do to collect paintings. But Mt. Gen was where the unskilled laborers lived. I wonder what he was doing up there?”

“Maybe he just happened to be visiting the mine,” suggested Nara. “When he heard about the flood he would have gone to help, then got swept away in the waters himself.”

“Hmm… I suppose it's possible,” said Chiba, nodding.

“I thought Sato's house was swept away in the flood too,” said Saeko.

“Kiyochika's preface says nothing about his house,” replied Ryohei. “Only that his paintings were spared. But now it's starting to make sense. I always thought it was a bit strange that only Sato should have died in the flood while the rest of his family survived.”

“Yes I see,” said Saeko. “That's a good point.”

“But if Sato didn't live on the mountain then where might he have lived?” Ryohei asked Chiba.

“Perhaps on the hill just above the town,” replied Chiba. “It's a bit far from the mine, but that's where the company houses for all the managers were.”

“Are any of the old houses still standing there?” asked Ryohei excitedly, sensing a glimmer of hope.

“Not one, I should think. They've built a housing complex for the miners there now.”

Ryohei could not help feeling disappointed.

“How would one go about finding out about the people who died in the flood?” Saeko asked Chiba, noting the disappointment on Ryohei's face.

“Let's see now… There are no records like that here at the museum. I imagine they'd be pretty hard to track down. In the old days, a mining town was a strange place—lots of people from outside came looking for work. No one bothered much about names,” said Chiba. “Of course, things are different now,” he added, looking at Nara.

“Isn't there a memorial to the victims?”

“Not as far as I'm aware. All I know is that a lot of people died.”

“But Sato Masakichi wasn't just
any
mineworker,” persisted Saeko.

“I suppose the town hall might have something. But he was from Shizuoka, right? His family register is probably there. I doubt he would have brought it with him.”

“Meaning?”

“Without a family register, a death can't be recorded. Even if he died here in Kosaka, it'd be up to the town hall that holds his family register to remove his name from it.”

Of course
,
thought Ryohei.
Why didn't I think of that?

“In those days it wasn't as easy to change one's permanent residence as it is now. Or you might say that back then, people didn't worry so much about bureaucratic procedures. Anyway, how about going over to the town hall and checking there?” Chiba's patience seemed to be wearing thin.

“Could I just ask one more thing?” Ryohei was not ready to give up just yet. “Would you happen to know anything about a painter named Chikamatsu Shoei? He belonged to the Akita School.”

“The Akita School? You should check out the public library next door. They have a reference room devoted to local history. You can probably find out something there.” Chiba pointed to a building visible from the window.

Thanking Chiba for his help, the three left the museum and headed over to the library.

Although not a large building, the library was quite impressive for a small town. On the left as they entered, there was a long hallway leading to the main reading room. Halfway down the hall on the right was the local history reference room. Entering, they found a small room about twelve feet square lined with bookcases. In the middle there were four tables. No one was in the room, although apparently visitors were free to browse at their leisure. The shelves were filled with books about Akita and bound volumes of official reports and local literary magazines.

“Wow, I never even knew this place existed,” exclaimed Nara, gazing at the bookshelves.

“Where should we begin?” asked Saeko enthusiastically.

“Let's see,” said Ryohei. “Why don't you go through all the books on art that look as though they might have anything to do with the Akita School. I'll look through historical materials.”

He began scanning the bookshelves from left to right.
The Land and Climate of Akita
,
Akita Fief and Kubota Castle
,
History of Kosaka
… Whenever his eyes lighted on something promising, he opened the book and scanned the table of contents. There wasn't time to sit down and study each one properly. He remained standing by the bookshelves and quickly flipped through their pages, his hand reaching for one volume after another.

Saeko pulled down several large art books and painting catalogues from the shelves, piled them up on one of the tables, and began looking through them. Nara, somewhat at a loss, picked a book at random off the nearest shelf and began browsing through it.

Ryohei kept his eyes open for any mention of Sato Masakichi, Chikamatsu Shoei, or the Akita School. He found nothing. He did come across a few accounts of the 1907 flood—including one in a multi-volume work whose title proclaimed it part of
The Local Historical Documents Series
—
but none mentioned the names of anyone who had died. Finally, having exhausted everything else, he turned his attention to the various local literary magazines and municipal reports, thinking one of the town elders might have written something of relevance to their quest. They had wasted an hour in the room already. Ryohei was growing impatient.