The Case of the Sharaku Murders (20 page)

“This links Shoei to both Tsutaya and Hoitsu!” said Saeko, flabbergasted.

Ryohei tried to remain calm as he asked Konno where he had come across this information.

“It's all here in this book,” said Konno, opening
Painters and Calligraphers of Akita
and showing Ryohei the entries on Bantoku and Okamochi.

“Where can I buy a copy?” asked Ryohei. He wanted to read it cover to cover.

“Any local bookstore will have it,” Konno replied matter-offactly.

RYOHEI AND SAEKO caught a taxi back to town.

It was already past three. They would need to hurry if they wanted to see Naotake's grave. Their taxi passed in front of their hotel, sped through Sotomachi—the old merchant quarter—and turned left in the direction of Kakunodate Station. Then it came to a halt. Without saying a word, the driver pushed a switch, opening the automatic rear door. The two got out. Right in front of them, they saw the gate of an old temple. On it, a sign read, “Shoan Temple.” It was smaller than Ryohei had imagined.

Immediately to their right as they passed through the gate stood a six-and-a-half-foot high stone slab in the shape of a leaf. On it, in thick bold characters, was carved, “In Memory of Odano Naotake.”

Ryohei took a picture of the front of the monument and then walked around behind it. On the back was another inscription carved in smaller, more closely spaced characters. Ryohei raised his camera and pressed the shutter button several times, trying his best to avoid the glare of the winter sun, which shone in his direction.

“‘Born the eldest son of Odano Naokatsu in Kakunodate on December 11, 1749, Naotake had a prodigious talent for painting…'” read Saeko. “It says this monument was erected in 1936.”

“That recently, huh?”

“Hey, according to Kato, wasn't that around the time Akita School painting became very popular with collectors?”

Ryohei nodded.

Turning away from the monument, the two stood facing the main hall of the temple and bowed. Then they made their way around behind the temple to the place where Naotake's grave was located.

They came to a small cemetery. Here, in an area of about a tenth of an acre, closed in by houses on either side, several hundred tombstones stood in neat rows. Though they had thought Naotake's grave would be easy to find, they looked for some time without success.

“Perhaps it would be faster if we asked someone,” suggested Saeko to Ryohei, who was some way off, as she walked around peering at the tombstones.

“Yeah. Let's do that,” replied Ryohei, giving up and turning back towards the main hall.

Just then, Saeko called out, “Wait—I think I found it.” Naotake's tombstone stood practically hidden behind another grave.

It was small—only about four inches thick and sixteen inches high. The lower half had turned black, suggesting it had been partially buried in the ground for a long time, and there was a long crack running diagonally through it where it seemed to have broken in two at some point and the pieces been joined back together using cement. It was a sorry sight. The two stared silently at it for some time. If it had not been for a small signpost next to it that read “Naotake's Tomb,” no one would have imagined that beneath it lay the illustrator of Sugita Genpaku's
New Anatomy
.

“It looks like a child's grave,” Saeko said sadly as she compared it to those around it.

“It's almost like it's been tucked away behind this other one so no one will find it,” said Ryohei. “There's hardly even any room to leave flowers.”

“Wait a sec. I'll go buy some.” Saeko turned on her heel and dashed off in the direction of the main hall.

As Ryohei stood in front of Naotake's tomb, eyes closed and palms pressed together in prayer, the sound of Saeko's shoes clicking over the cobblestone pathway receded into the distance.

Zetsugaku Genshin
—“
Seeker after Supreme Learning and the Source of Truth
.
”

Naotake's posthumous Buddhist name popped into Ryohei's head. It felt as though a force beyond the grave was rejecting his prayers.

It's not just me. He refuses everyone
…

As the sky clouded over, Ryohei felt a melancholy mood descend on him.

THE LIGHTS of Kakunodate glimmered silently outside the restaurant window.

It didn't even take twenty minutes to cross from one side to the other of the old town, which straggled along the main thoroughfare. How many times had they crossed it that day? After leaving the temple, Ryohei—wanting to walk the same streets Shoei had walked and see the same places Naotake had seen—had spent two hours with Saeko traipsing up and down back streets, from one side of the main thoroughfare to the other.

Though physically exhausted, Ryohei was satisfied he had now become one with Shoei and Naotake. There was no doubt in his mind that if Shoei had arrived in Kakunodate, Naotake would have welcomed him into his home with open arms. It was the sort of friendly, laidback small town that naturally fostered such free and easy connections between human beings.

“What are you thinking?” asked Saeko, following the direction of his gaze.

“Just that I'm glad we came…”

At that moment, the bottle of wine they had ordered arrived at their table.

“Let's make a toast,” said Ryohei, filling Saeko's glass. “To our trip—it wouldn't have been the same without you.” He really meant it. “You must be dead tired—we walked for hours today.”

“A little bit… But it was fun, so I don't mind.” Saeko smiled as she raised her glass. “Now getting back to what you were saying earlier,” she continued, visibly more relaxed.

“About the Akita clan?”

“Yeah. I think you touched on some really important points.”

As they explored the town on foot, Ryohei had been talking passionately about the profound impact the Akita clan had had on Edo culture.

“I don't know where Tsutaya got the idea of using Shoei to create Sharaku's prints,” said Saeko, “but it seems pretty certain the publisher knew him.”

“Providing Okamochi—Kisanji, that is—and Shoei were close friends, which is likely, since they both lived at the Akita clan's Edo residence. Kisanji was also friends with Ota Nampo. Like Kisanji, Nampo was one of the brains behind Tsutaya's success. Anyway, I think if we look hard enough we'll find a connection.”

“Hasn't anyone else noted the connection between the Akita clan and Tsutaya?”

“No. But who could have imagined that a place like Akita way up in the sticks could have exerted such an influence on cultural life in the capital Edo? On the other hand, Tsutaya published several books by Kisanji, so it wouldn't have been all that surprising if someone had put two and two together by now. That said, Kisanji was actually from Edo; although his wife's family—which had adopted him because they had no male heir of their own—came from Akita. Other scholars might have assumed his connection to Akita was irrelevant.”

“How curious.”

“Just now, back in my room, I was trying to piece together what we know…”

“What is it? Not another diagram…”

With an apologetic smile, Ryohei reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper folded into quarters. He opened it up and spread it out on the table.

“This shows the connections between the Akita clan and various other important figures.”

“This one is a lot more complex,” observed Saeko, looking at the diagram in surprise.

Tanuma
Yoshimi—Shozan—Gennai—Naotake
Sogai—Bantoku—Kisanji—Nampo—Kokan
Shigemasa—Hoitsu—Buncho—Shoei
Kyoden—Tsutaya

“In addition, the Akita clan had an official painter in Edo named Sugawara Dosai, who was married to Tani Buncho's younger sister. The two had a son who married one of Buncho's daughters.”

“You found that in
Painters and Calligraphers of Akita
?
” asked Saeko, staring at Ryohei incredulously.

“Hard to believe, isn't it?” laughed Ryohei. “But the diagram is still not complete. I think further research will turn up more connections. Edo might have been a small world, but even so, this seems unusual. I'm starting to get the feeling Shozan was the biggest patron of the day. He was a far cry from your average daimyo who dabbled in the arts.”

Saeko said nothing.

Ryohei continued: “This is just a hunch, but I think Sharaku might have been Tanuma's love child, in a manner of speaking.”

“Love child? How so?”

“Tanuma's rise and fall seems to have had a profound impact on the fortunes of Tsutaya and the Akita clan. If Tanuma's administration had lasted longer, we might never have had Sharaku. The fall of Tanuma's regime laid the groundwork for Sharaku's appearance.”

“You've discovered something, haven't you?” said Saeko, who had gotten good at reading between the lines of Ryohei's speech. She beamed at him.

“It's just a suggestion. I'll have to do some careful research once I get back to Tokyo. But I
can
say this much: Shozan fell ill and died right around the time Tanuma fell from power. He was only thirty-eight. I'm beginning to think he might have been murdered for political reasons.”

“By who?”

“His chief vassals. They saw Shozan had become too close to Tanuma, and after he fell they were afraid he'd bring the clan down with them, so getting rid of Shozan was the only solution. Just as they were quick to discard Naotake earlier over the Gennai affair.”

“But wait a minute. This is different; Shozan was the daimyo,” Saeko said, looking at Ryohei in disbelief.

“In 1784, the whole house of cards started to collapse on the all-powerful Tanuma's head. His son, Okitomo, was cut down in Edo castle itself. It was an extreme act of protest against Tanuma's administration. It's said the murderer, a shogunal vassal, or
hatamoto
,
by the name of Sano Zenzaemon, was widely hailed as the ‘Great Reformer.' The incident made it abundantly clear to everyone Tanuma's days were numbered. Shozan died in June the following year. Then, in 1786, just as everyone had expected, Tanuma resigned from the shogun's senior council on the pretext of ill health, undoubtedly having come to the realization his power was dwindling. Tanuma was replaced as Chief Senior Councilor by Matsudaira Sadanobu, who proceeded to purge the government of Tanuma's supporters. Akita clan officials only escaped getting the axe because Shozan
just happened
to have died the previous year. It's the timing of Shozan's death that's so suspicious; it was just a little
too
convenient.”

Saeko was listening attentively.

“Meanwhile, there are hints Tsutaya benefitted substantially from his ties to the Akita clan.”

“So you were right.”

“Yes. Tsutaya went into publishing in a big way after getting to know Kisanji in 1776. His business grew rapidly over the next ten years; by 1789 it was the largest publishing house in Edo. Now—this is the critical part—of the hundred or so titles Tsutaya published between 1776 and 1786, about seventy percent were either books of popular fiction written by Kisanji or collections of comic verse. Now, none of those poetry books are directly attributed to Kisanji, but we know Tsutaya gained entrée to Edo poetry circles through Kisanji. In other words, after meeting Kisanji, Tsutaya's business suddenly took off. It's even possible that Kisanji was funneling money to Tsutaya's business on behalf of the Akita clan.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Tsutaya was undoubtedly a brilliant businessman, but publishing requires huge sums of capital. Sound business sense only gets you so far. To have grown so big, so fast, Tsutaya must have had a patron. Now, I haven't come across any evidence for this theory just yet, but when you consider the timing, it doesn't seem farfetched to suppose the Akita clan recognized Tsutaya's ability and decided to back him. In those days, it wasn't unusual for a clan to run its own publishing house. Tsutaya had a little bookshop just outside the Yoshiwara, and he must have seen Bantoku and Kisanji coming and going on a daily basis. Tsutaya probably latched onto them as his ticket to success.”

“Tsutaya's shop was near the Yoshiwara, was it?”

“Uh-huh. He started out selling guidebooks beside the main gate.”

“What kind of guidebooks?”

“To the brothels. They ranked them by class and gave the names of the prostitutes, where they were from, how much they cost… just about anything a customer might want to know.”

“Is that so? I never knew such things existed.”

“They were called
saiken
.
Apparently it was quite profitable but the bottom of the barrel as far as publishing went. If Tsutaya had wanted to branch out into other genres, he would have had to join a different publishers' guild, and that was very expensive. In 1776, he at last managed to join the prestigious Kabuki Script Publishers' Guild. That gave him the foothold he needed to grow his business.”