The Case of the Sharaku Murders (22 page)

“No doubt he was close to Tsuchiyama too. It stands to reason, given their common interest in kyoka as well as Kisanji's official role as Lord Satake's chamberlain,” replied Yosuke.

“This is getting interesting!” exclaimed Ryohei.

“Now, this is where Tsutaya comes into the picture,” went on Yosuke. “He bet his whole future on wooing Tosaku. If he could work his way into Tosaku's entourage, he'd be able to get Nampo and the other kyoka poets to join his stable of writers. Plus, through Tsuchiyama, Tosaku could provide Tsutaya with an entrée to Tanuma's inner circle, giving him access to Gennai, the most popular writer of the day. Winning over Tosaku wouldn't just be like killing two birds with one stone, it'd be like killing dozens of birds with one stone! Fortunately, Tosaku wasn't like Nampo and other samurai. In addition to his literary activities he ran a tobacco shop in Shinjuku. He was even rumored to dabble in financial speculation. In short, for a commoner like Tsutaya, Tosaku was very approachable.”

“You're right about Tsutaya considering Tosaku one of his most important writers,” added Ryohei. “When Tsutaya started publishing kyoka books in 1783, he asked Tosaku to write
Who's Who in Kyoka
,
which came out later that year.”

“Uh-huh. And did you know it lists Tosaku in the top rank of kyoka poets.”

“No, I hadn't realized that.”

“Making friends with all the important kyoka poets of the day was what launched Tsutaya's success: Kisanji, Nampo, Koikawa Harumachi… even Santo Kyoden, who wrote kyoka under the penname Migaru Orisuke… not to mention Torai Sanna, a student of Nampo's who became indispensable to Tsutaya in the 1780s as a writer of popular fiction… Tosaku opened lots of doors for Tsutaya. It was only because of him that Tsutaya became Edo's leading publisher.”

“And Tosaku had connections to Gennai and Tsuchiyama, Tanuma's inner circle. He was
the
man to know,” said Ryohei.

“
All
the kyoka poets of the day were probably part of Tanuma's clique. In fact, most of those who ran afoul of the Kansei Reforms of the 1790s had some connection or other to kyoka.”

“You're right!” exclaimed Ryohei. “Nampo, Sanna, Kyoden, Kisanji… They were all kyoka poets. And didn't Harumachi commit suicide over something he published which displeased the authorities?”

“Yes, and what's more, Tsutaya published
all
of them,” said Yosuke. “A blow to Tsutaya was a blow to the kyoka crowd, and cracking down on kyoka was an attack on Tsutaya's influence. His closeness with Tosaku essentially made him a member of Tanuma's clique.”

“But how was it that Kisshu alone managed to escape punishment? He was one of the leading poets.”

“Kisshu was a member of the Tayasu house, one of the three junior branches of the Tokugawa clan, meaning he was a vassal of Matsudaira Sadanobu's.”

“Is that so?” said Ryohei, surprised.

“Around the time Tanuma fell from power and Sadanobu became chief senior councilor,” explained Yosuke, “Kisshu and Nampo had a falling out for some reason and Kisshu broke from the group. Now, this might be reading too much into it, but I can't help feeling the political rivalry between the ancien régime and the new order were at play.”

“That makes perfect sense,” admitted Ryohei. “There's no question Tsutaya was part of the Tanuma clique. I've been pursuing the problem from the Akita angle, but in the end it all comes down to Tanuma.”

“Tosaku was a frequent visitor to Gennai's house, so he must have been friendly with Naotake, who'd taken up residence there. It's easy to imagine that Shoei, having heard about Tosaku from Naotake, would have gone to see him when he arrived in Edo. Through him, he could have met Tsutaya. At least, that's the way I was looking at it. But you're right. It's more likely Shoei met Tsutaya on the basis of his Akita connections alone.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” said Ryohei. “The fact both were involved only helps prove our theory that Shoei was Sharaku.”

“Maybe you're right,” conceded Yosuke.” When you look at it that way, it's easier to believe Sharaku was a plan hatched by Tanuma's clique. In 1789 Tsutaya more or less stopped publishing kyoka books; or rather, he was forced to. The kyoka poets' resentment of Sadanobu, plus the enmity of Shoei and others in the Akita clan, combined to create the perfect storm. Like kyoka, Sharaku's ukiyo-e prints were very satirical—that's why Tsutaya couldn't reveal his true identity. If Sadanobu had known the Akita clan was behind it… No, wild horses couldn't have dragged the truth out of Tsutaya.”

Yosuke seemed to be trying to convince himself more than Ryohei.

“You know,” he went on, “there's a legend that Gennai didn't actually die in jail like everyone believed, but went to live in Shizuoka, Tanuma's home fief, for a number of years.”

“Really?”

“Tanuma was at the height of his power at the time, so he could have easily pulled something like that off—that is, substituting someone else's body for Gennai's and whisking him away to Shizuoka. It's said when Gennai died in jail he'd been on a hunger strike for almost three weeks, but some people think that was just a ruse to alter his appearance and provide a pretext for his supposed death. How else to explain someone in perfect health dying suddenly like that? Supposedly, later, when Tanuma fell from power, Gennai fled up north to Dewa province—modern-day Akita and Yamagata prefectures—and lived well on into the 1800s. Apparently there's a tombstone up there just a line from one of Gennai's puppet plays with no name on it.”

“Sounds pretty far-fetched to me,” replied Ryohei skeptically.

“What's more far-fetched is the story that someone as important to Tanuma's regime as Gennai died in jail for killing one of his apprentices. Any tyrant worth his salt could have quashed so minor a scandal, and Tanuma was certainly a tyrant. I used to think the Gennai legend was idle speculation—but if one can accept the theory Sharaku was an obscure painter from Akita, then it's hard to rule out the possibility Gennai might have lived to a ripe old age.”

“So what are you saying?” Ryohei asked.

“Simply this: the reason Tsutaya took such pains to hide Sharaku's true identity was that if anyone found out who Sharaku was, it might lead them to Gennai.”

Ryohei remained silent.

“The Tanuma clique knew Gennai was alive,” went on Yosuke. “But after Tanuma was deposed in 1786 they had to make sure no one else found out about it. If word got out, they'd all lose their heads. It would have been the perfect excuse for Sadanobu to crush the Tanuma faction once and for all. It was a terrible secret each of them had to guard with their lives. Then they spent a fortune turning an unknown artist into an overnight sensation. It was a stroke of genius worthy of a modern marketing guru. Tsutaya was a brilliant businessman, but could he really have hatched such a stratagem? No, I think this has Gennai's fingerprints all over it. After all, he's the one who supposedly advised Tanuma to open up trade with Russia—national pride be damned. He's the one who made his patented ivory combs all the rage in Edo by handing them out to high-class geishas to wear. Only he could have come up with something so counterintuitive.”

Ryohei was listening intently, hanging on Yosuke's every word.

After a short pause Yosuke resumed his story:

“Shoei's surname was Chikamatsu, right. Well, right around the time Tsutaya was publishing Sharaku's prints, the writer Jippensha Ikku was living at Tsutaya's house.”

“So?”

“So it's possible Ikku knew who Sharaku was. That much is fairly common knowledge, but do you know what name Ikku used when he was writing puppet plays?”

“Remind me.”

“Chikamatsu Yoshichi.”

“No kidding!”

“It might just be a coincidence but… Shoei didn't start out life with the name Chikamatsu. Assuming he adopted it after leaving Edo and returning to Akita, I think he might have borrowed it from Ikku… Then there's the question of Sharaku's picture of that boy sumo wrestler.”

“You mean Daidoyama?” asked Ryohei.

“That's the one. I've always thought it strange Sharaku should have made that print, but I think it could have something to do with—”

“Dewa?” Seeing where Yosuke's train of thought was heading, Ryohei gave a wry smile. Daidoyama was from Dewa province, and Dewa was where Gennai had supposedly fled. “Isn't that a bit of a stretch?” he asked.

“Did you think I was talking about Gennai? Hardly. I was thinking of Nagatoro.”

“That village near Kakunodate?”

“No, that's written with different Chinese character. I mean the one near Yamagata city. That's where Daidoyama came from.”

“Is it?”

“C'mon, get with it. It says so right on Sharaku's print. Shoei must have had some connection to the other Nagatoro, the one you're talking about. Then along comes this seven-year-old sumo prodigy from a place with the same name—which is not far away actually—and becomes a sensation in Edo. It's not surprising he caught Sharaku's attention.”

Ryohei realized Yosuke was onto something.

“Remember your theory about how Sharaku was especially popular with children?” asked Yosuke. “This fits perfectly. Sharaku drew Daidoyama to appeal to children, not adults. I'm sure of it.”

“Yes. You must be right. Daidoyama was a hero to children in Edo. This clinches it—Shoei
was
Sharaku!” exclaimed Ryohei loudly. The other customers seated nearby in the café looked at the two men in surprise.

“Yes. Shoei was Sharaku,” repeated Yosuke. “And you're the one who figured it all out.”

Yosuke chuckled as he contemplated the look of childish glee on Ryohei's face.

November 8

“IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE—I don't see any room for doubt.”

Nishijima folded his arms and let out a deep sigh. It had already been two hours since Ryohei had arrived at his house carrying an armful of research materials. Ryohei was dripping with sweat. The professor's study was climate controlled to protect all his many books and warm air filled the room.

“This is enough to convince most scholars,” went on Nishijima. “It's a major discovery. Your theory that Sharaku was an offshoot of the Tanuma regime is a bit radical, but it's true some considerable forces must have been at play to bring Sharaku into existence. I think you've got ample evidence Tsutaya had connections within the Akita clan. Now it's just a question of how you want to unveil your theory to the world.”

There was a strange glint in Nishijima's eyes.

“Do you want to write something for Geichosha's journal,” he continued, “or announce it to the media first and then follow it up with an article in
The Edo Art Association Journal
?
Our annual general meeting is coming up next month, so you should probably give a presentation. Anyway, whatever you chose to do, you don't want it to come across as the latest in a long list of theories. You need to present it in such a way that everyone will have to accept it. After all,” Nishijima said with a hearty laugh, “you've got an iron-clad case. But don't worry about all that now—the first thing you need to do is write up your results. In the meantime, leave Sato's catalogue with me; I'll decide the best way to proceed. The sooner we act the better. But remember,” Nishijima concluded, emphasizing his point, “don't say anything to Iwakoshi or the others. I don't know what the Ukiyo-e Connoisseurship Society crowd might do if they got wind of this. Let's just keep it between you and me for the time being.”

“So you convinced the professor?” Yosuke, on the other end of the receiver, said in surprise. “I thought he was a bit more cautious than that. I mean, not that anyone could fail to be convinced.”

He gave a gleeful laugh.

“But,” Yosuke went on, “I don't know why he had to bring the UCS into the discussion. That seems to be going a bit far. After all, without Sato's catalogue as evidence there's not much they can do.”

“I thought it was a bit strange too,” conceded Ryohei.

“It's a good sign that he asked you not to talk to anyone about it. That means he's hooked. You've scored a rare coup.”

“Speaking of which, you don't think the professor might be thinking of trying to pass the theory off as his own, do you?” asked Ryohei.

“You must be kidding! Stealing his own student's work? Not even the professor would stoop
that
low.”

“But somehow I got that impression. Not that I'd really mind all that much.”

“What!” exclaimed Yosuke. “How can you say that?”

“What I mean is, the theory's just not as persuasive coming from me,” explained Ryohei. “Everyone would accept it at face value if the professor presented it as his own. In the end, that would be better for Sharaku.”

“Did you tell the professor that?” asked Yosuke.