The Case of the Sharaku Murders (37 page)

Also, I had a strong urge to understand the scholarly underpinnings of this catalogue Mr. Saga had labored over so obsessively. I knew it wouldn't be possible for you to base an entire theory solely on the evidence in the catalogue. Mr. Saga had put all of his considerable scholarly ability into crafting his plan. I was sure he had devised it in such a way that some crucial bit of evidence would emerge in the course of research. For the record I'd like to say that more than the desire for revenge, it was my own scholarly curiosity that caused me to pursue this course and delay my revenge
.

There would be time later to think things through carefully. For the time being, I decided to say nothing to you
.

You went off to Akita to pursue your research. While you were away I did some research of my own on Sharaku. I learned all about Hiraga Gennai and the comic poets of the period, and for the first time in ages I felt fulfilled. “What a fascinating subject!” I thought, envying you for having continued your study of ukiyo-e
.

It was just chance that I looked up Odate in my encyclopedia of Japanese place names when I heard you were staying there. Even now I don't know why I thought of it. I wonder if Mr. Saga was really reading that far ahead when he chose to make Odate the place where Shoei lived. But knowing him, he probably was. He probably realized that sooner or later someone would discover what I did—in 1795 the daimyo of Akita established a district magistrate's office in Odate. His plan was worked out brilliantly. I've never been so surprised in my life as I was at that moment
.

Meanwhile, in Akita, you dug up some information about Shoei yourself. You'd even uncovered a possible apprentice by the name of Eiwa who lived very close to Honjo, the town Shoei supposedly had moved to when he retired. For a moment
I
even forgot the catalogue was a fake and became convinced that Shoei had been Sharaku
.

I think you found out more than Mr. Saga ever imagined. Of course, since Shoei was a samurai from Akita it wasn't surprising you should have delved into the Akita clan. But I don't think even Mr. Saga could have predicted your theory about the connection between Tanuma Okitsugu and Tsutaya Juzaburo, and the Akita clan's central role in shaping late-eighteenth-century Edo culture. I think Mr. Saga had picked up on the relationship between Tsutaya and the Akita clan chamberlain Tegara Okamochi (a.k.a Hoseido Kisanji), but he probably thought the mere fact that Shoei was a Western-style painter from Akita who was in Edo when Sharaku was active and who returned to Odate in 1795 would be enough to get Nishijima to take the bait. Once Shoei's bona fides had been accepted, everything else came down to the catalogue's supposed date of publication—1907. Who in the world would dare question the authenticity of a painting signed by Sharaku that had appeared in a book published before Julius Kurth?

You returned from Akita. I was bowled over when you explained your theory to me. I had never thought you would be able to connect Sharaku to Shoei so perfectly. Not only that, but you had found incontrovertible evidence that Shoei's works had found their way onto the art market by the early 1930s. You said that Shoei's signature would have been removed and replaced by that of some other artist. If one didn't know that the catalogue was a fake, one would have to say that you proved your case decisively. But that was impossible. The catalogue of Shoei's paintings had been created out of whole cloth by Mr. Saga only recently. There was no way one of the paintings could have been sold by a dealer in Yokote in 1937
.

At first I thought this too was all part of Mr. Saga's intricately devised plan. And how ingenious it was! It meant that if one of Shoei's paintings were to come on the market now no one would be able to claim it was a forgery
.

With today's technology, no matter how skillfully forged a signature might be it can't stand up to careful scientific scrutiny. If the forgers had simply tried to sell one of Shoei's paintings as is on the open market, the forgery would undoubtedly have been uncovered in less than a month
.

But what if the paintings were to appear on the market bearing the signature of some other artist? Thanks to the catalogue it would already have been established that the paintings had originally been signed by Shoei. In other words, everyone would immediately know that Shoei's signature had been removed and that of the other artist had been added recently. Subjecting the signature to scientific analysis would only confirm what everyone already knew—that the signature was recent
.

Therefore, Shoei's signature could only exist on the painting in the context of the catalogue. No amount of modern technology could determine the age of a signature on a painting in a photograph. All the forgers had to do was remove Shoei's signatures from the paintings and add those of some other artist. Then no one in the world would be able to say they were fakes. It was truly the perfect crime
.

As I was thinking all this through, I had a flash of insight: Mr. Saga would never have faked the evidence from the dealer up in Yokote. All he wanted to do was use the catalogue to destroy the professor's career. No, this must have been Mizuno's idea. That meant you must have encountered one of his associates on your recent research trip to Akita. I casually asked Saeko about it. When I heard her answer, the first thing I thought was that Kato must be one of Mizuno's associates. But according to her, it had been
your
idea to ask Kato to search for photographs of Akita School paintings. But there's simply no way Mizuno could have prepared the photographs in advance knowing you would ask such a question on your own. I was perplexed. The dealer in Yokote had definitely said 1937. I began to suspect him of being part of the plot too, but if Kato wasn't in league with Mizuno after all, that would mean it was pure chance he had put you in touch with the dealer in Yokote. I was thoroughly confused
.

A few days later I figured out their scheme. Kato was Mizuno's associate and the dealer in Yokote was a fiction. But the idea to remove Shoei's signatures from the paintings occurred to them only
after
talking to you. They hadn't thought so far ahead. Something you said must have made Kato realize that doing so would be greatly to their advantage
.

I think Kato must have been trailing you from the time you arrived at Kosaka. But then Saeko spotted him in Kakunodate and, knowing he'd been recognized, he decided to approach you. As he was chatting with you, you happened to say something about how it might be helpful if you could track down some photographs of Akita School paintings. It must have struck him as an intriguing idea. After you two parted he immediately telephoned Mizuno, who was enthusiastic about the idea. He went and removed Shoei's signature from the paintings, replaced it with that of Tashiro Unmu and took some Polaroids. It was probably Mizuno who took the Polaroids to Morioka to give to Kato
.

Meanwhile, Kato had been scraping together any images he could find of Akita School paintings in order to make an album. He told you the Yokote dealer had sold many of the works to museums
,
but in fact he made that up—he just took images from museum catalogues to forge a catalogue of a collection, which lent an air of legitimacy to his fictional art dealer friend up in Yokote. Then he put these into an album together with the Polaroids which Mizuno had taken and photocopied it. This way he was able to disguise the fact that they were Polaroids and images cut out of museum catalogues. Then Kato sat back and waited
.

When you turned up at his shop Kato put on an innocent look and showed you the album. You of course discovered the works by Shoei right away and asked him where he had got the album. Then Kato called another of his accomplices. The dealer in Yokote was of course a complete fabrication. But it wasn't Mizuno. You had met Mizuno. They weren't ones to take such a risk. Anyway, the man on the telephone explained to you that the paintings had been sold in 1937. Then he casually proffered the information about Nagatoro. At this point, anyone would have been hooked
.

In this way Mizuno and his associates succeeded both in fabricating evidence that Sato's catalogue was indeed very old and, at the same time, convincing the world of the convenient “fact” that Shoei's paintings were now circulating in the art market under another artist's forged signature—Tashiro Unmu's
.

This doesn't mean I blame you. It was simply your passion for Shoei that gave rise to the album. It's not your fault
.

But this “fact” made the assertion that Shoei was Sharaku irrefutable. For any doubters who might have wondered why Shoei hadn't been recognized until now, this provided the answer. Everyone in the world would accept the Shoei hypothesis as true. So long as I kept my mouth shut it would become the prevailing theory. Now everything depended on me
.

At this point I found myself in a dilemma. Should I unmask the catalogue as a fake or not? My indecision made Sharaku's supposed relationship to Tanuma seem all the more intriguing—for the first time Sharaku began to feel like a real person to me. I don't think Mr. Saga had gotten as far as Tanuma in his thought process. But while talking to you I began to think maybe Sharaku
really had been
an Akita School painter—perhaps not Shoei but someone else, it didn't matter if it wasn't Shoei, your theory was still valid. How else could one explain the fact that you had managed to uncover such a convincing web of human relationships? Mr. Saga had set out to create a forgery, but what if he had stumbled upon the truth? No, there could be no doubt—Sharaku
was
from Akita. You'd been chasing a lie but had ended up solving mystery of Sharaku at least in part. Of this I was now convinced
.

So what to do? If I unmasked the catalogue as a forgery I'd destroy the basis of the very theory I believed was true. From a scholarly perspective what was the right thing to do? If I wanted to keep the Shoei/Akita School hypothesis alive I couldn't come out and say the catalogue was a fake
.

Then again, this was a question the world should decide on its own. Your theory was too compelling to simply sink back into obscurity
.

I decided to do nothing. Mr. Saga's plan had taken on a life of its own. This was now
your
discovery. I had no right to destroy it
.

But there was still one thing that worried me, and that was what the professor might do. Knowing him, I'd a strong feeling he wouldn't leave it all in your hands. If the professor tried to pass off your work as his own… At that point, I wouldn't hesitate to act. If he would stoop so low as to nip the career of a promising young scholar like yourself in the bud, then he no longer deserved to be allowed to preside over the ukiyo-e establishment. I wouldn't regret seeing the Akita School hypothesis ruined in exchange for destroying the professor. But at the same time, deep down, part of me still wanted to trust the professor. I couldn't bring myself to believe he would really rob one of his own students of such a momentous discovery
.

But, as you know, that wasn't the way things turned out. At the EAA's general meeting on December 21, the professor made his position perfectly clear
.

I was dumbstruck. It pained me terribly to think of how you must feel. I decided to act. But before I did, I wanted to let the professor know what I thought of him. If, as a scholar, he agreed to do the right thing and come out and repudiate the catalogue as a fake, he could spare the ukiyo-e establishment any trouble. If he did that, I wouldn't pursue the matter any future. Because, somewhere inside me, I didn't want to completely give up on the professor
.

On the night of January 1 I telephoned the professor. I said I had something very important to discuss with him regarding the catalogue and asked when it would be convenient to see him. He said to come the following night. He would be at home alone. From the tone of my voice, he must have realized it was something serious
.

The next night I went to the professor's house just after nine o'clock
.

I didn't show him Mr. Saga's notebook. I told him only that the catalogue was a forgery. He didn't believe me. I pointed out that the catalogue seemed to have been printed using offset printing. When he heard that the professor suddenly went as white as a sheet. He jumped up, removed the catalogue from the safe and began pouring over it. The look on his face at that moment is burned into my memory: it became all contorted, like he was about to burst into tears. Then he hit me—he had understood
.

For a while after that the professor stood stock-still. Then he took out a lighter and moved it toward the catalogue as though to light it. If the catalogue were destroyed, the evidence that it had been printed using offset printing would be lost. No one would be able to prove it had been a forgery. Understanding what the professor intended to do, I lunged and grabbed the catalogue away from him. The professor leaped on top of me. But I was stronger. I pinned him to the ground and scolded him for his despicable conduct. Suddenly, he began bawling like a baby. It was all so sad and pathetic. Unable to stand it any longer, I rushed out of the house, leaving the catalogue behind. As I fled, I could still hear him sobbing.

The next morning the professor was found dead. I figured he must have taken his own life, unable to bring himself to come out and announce that the catalogue was a fake. This whole torrid affair had begun with Mr. Saga's suicide and ended with the professor's.