The Case of the Sharaku Murders (6 page)

As Yosuke had pointed out, over the past ten years Professor Nishijima had moved away from the study of Sharaku. But he was still the leading scholar on the subject.

This was the scenario Ryohei envisioned: he would tell Nishijima his new theory about Sharaku and the professor would respond with his honest opinion. There was no room for power politics. This was what research was all about.

But when Ryohei reflected on how, over the years, Nishijima had attacked every scholar to come along with a new theory about Sharaku, he grew less sanguine.

He could understand the professor's position. As the leading authority on Sharaku, endorsing a new theory was an implicit admission of its truth. This had enormous implications. In the absence of incontrovertible proof, it was only natural that the professor should adopt an ambivalent position or come out against such a theory. Rather than singling out some scholars for praise, the wisest course of action was to criticize everyone. Though Ryohei had always understood this tactic of Nishijima's, he never in his life thought that he might find himself on the receiving end of it.

“RYOHEI, dear, you're late!”

Stepping into the restaurant, Ryohei immediately heard the voice of the proprietress, Yurie, calling to him. From her position behind the counter she playfully put her fists on top of her head with her index fingers pointing up in the air like horns, as though pretending she was jealous. Having been to the restaurant, one of Professor Nishijima's favorites, on numerous occasions, Ryohei's face was a familiar one. It was past seven o'clock.

“Where's the professor?” Ryohei asked hurriedly.

With her eyes, Yurie motioned toward a private room at the back of the restaurant. Laughter spilled out through the closed sliding doors; Ryohei recognized the voices of Yoshimura and Iwakoshi.

Ryohei slid open the doors and stepped inside. About ten people were already there. The professor sat at the head of the table away from the door. The others were arrayed on either side; all were former students.

“Hey, you're late!” Yoshimura reprimanded Ryohei. Though not yet forty he was already developing a middle-age paunch.

“Sorry. I had some work to attend to at the department.”

“He's been acting strange all day,” Iwakoshi cut it. “He's had his nose buried in reference books and painting catalogues.”

During this exchange, the professor sat talking to Fujisawa, pretending not to notice.

“It's not polite to keep people waiting,” added Yoshimura for good measure, clucking his tongue in disapproval. Then, seemingly satisfied, he turned his attention back to the professor and resumed his conversation.

“I apologize,” said Ryohei with a polite bow, sliding into the space that had been left open for him near the door next to Iwakoshi. Being the youngest person there, Ryohei's seat was the one farthest from the professor.

“Hiroshi's finished his speech. Here—” Iwakoshi whispered to Ryohei, handing him a copy of the book Fujisawa had just published. The book was inside a paper bag, on the front of which was written Ryohei's name. Ryohei removed the book and glanced at it. It had been put out by Geichosha, a major publisher of art books where another of Professor Nishijima's former students, a man by the name of Yamashita, worked as an editor.

“Yamashita's proposed we put together a journal and get Geichosha to publish it,” said Iwakoshi, his body shaking with laughter. “He says now's our chance: it seems Saga's death has thrown the enemy into disarray. He's been ranting about how it's time to crush
Ukiyo-e World
.
”

Ukiyo-e World
was an art journal put out by the Ukiyo-e Connoisseurship Society. It focused mainly on nikuhitsu-ga and
shunga
—
erotica—and lately had seen a surge in circulation.

“But their approach is fundamentally different from ours. We can't compete with them.” Scholarly articles did not sell magazines.

“True. That's why, Yamashita says, we should write about shunga. That'll knock their socks off. The enemy would never expect us to do that, not in a million years. And if we can undercut their price they'll go out of business within a year. That's the plan, anyway.”

“Has he talked to Professor Nishijima about it yet?”

There's no way the professor will sign on to that
,
thought Ryohei. Nishijima's contempt for shunga was famous. He never missed an opportunity to argue that, but for the existence of shunga, ukiyo-e would have been recognized as a legitimate field of academic study long ago. He was always going on about how shunga was the source of all manner of ridiculous misunderstandings about ukiyo-e.

“Of course,” replied Iwakoshi. “The professor says if that's what it takes to exterminate the true believers in shunga once and for all, then that's what we'll have to do.”

Astonished, Ryohei stole a glance in Professor Nishijima's direction.

“'Exterminate the true believers,' huh?” he mumbled. It was such a bizarre, antiquated notion that it didn't even make Ryohei angry. All he felt was how pathetic it was to have to work for someone who could voice such thoughts without batting an eyelash.

Iwakoshi continued talking but Ryohei had lost interest. He just sat there, mechanically lifting his sake cup to his mouth and drinking more than he should. The party went on until nine o'clock. All pretense of celebrating the publication of Fujimura's book had long vanished and the only thing anyone talked about was Yamashita's proposal. For the most part, Ryohei stayed out of the discussion. He had lost the desire to broach the subject of Sharaku with Nishijima. It no longer seemed the time or place.

As soon as Yoshimura had called the proceedings to a close, Ryohei got up and made to leave. He was feeling quite drunk.

“Ryohei, one moment.”

It was Nishijima. The professor motioned with his chin in the direction of the bar. Presumably he wanted Ryohei to wait for him there. Leaving the room ahead of the others, Ryohei went over and took a seat.

“YOUR USUAL, professor?” asked Yurie, the proprietress, as Nishijima slid into the seat next to Ryohei's.

“Thanks,” Nishijima replied, taking off his silver-rimmed spectacles and wiping his face with the wet hand towel she had placed in front of him. His face was oily.
If you ask me, he's had a few too many
,
thought Ryohei. He wondered what the professor could want to talk to him about. Just then, Yurie reappeared with a flask of sake. Without saying a word, Nishijima held out his cup. Ryohei picked up the flask and began pouring. The sake overflowed the cup and spilled onto the counter.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Ryohei mumbled, wiping up the spill with his hand towel.

“Quite alright—don't worry about it. Now tell me, Ryohei, do you want to go to Boston next year?”

“Huh?” Ryohei could hardly believe his ears.

“To the Museum of Fine Arts, that is,” Nishijima repeated, a big grin on his face. “The Agency for Cultural Affairs wants me to recommend a few people to send over there to have a look at the MFA's collection of Japanese art. There's room for one ukiyo-e specialist. The only thing is, it's government work—no telling how many years it will take. So it has to be someone who's not married.”

Ryohei thought he might have a heart attack then and there. The museum was famous for its ukiyo-e collection, which contained well over sixty thousand prints. Even the Tokyo National Museum had fewer than ten thousand. It was one of the best museums in the world. What's more, from Boston, Ryohei would be able to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Freer Gallery in Washington. All had large collections of ukiyo-e; easily more than four hundred thousand prints put together. In Japan it would take over fifty years to see half that many. This was his big chance. Ryohei looked into the professor's face with a feeling of disbelief.

“I haven't spoken about this to anyone except Yoshimura,” the professor went on. “He looked pretty disappointed when I told him it had to be someone who wasn't married.” The professor smiled amiably.

Ryohei did not doubt for a moment that Yoshimura had been sorely disappointed. He was an ambitious man. He was not one to be satisfied spending his entire career working for a small private museum. But the fact that it might take several years had probably given him second thoughts. If it had been a fixed period of six months or a year, Yoshimura would surely have got the job by hook or by crook.

“You and Iwakoshi are the only ones who are still single. The others are all too young. If I'm to recommend somebody it has to be a person who will impress the Americans. My reputation is on the line, after all.”

“Then you've also spoken to Iwakoshi…”

“No. Yoshimura's suggested I recommend him for a job at a museum in Kyoto. I think that'll suit him better—emotionally, he's a bit unstable if you ask me. I don't want him going psycho on me in Boston. No, if someone's to go, it has to be you.”

“Thank you, professor, I'm flattered. But I can't help feeling bad for Iwakoshi…”

“That's not your concern. It's my decision. If he's going to gripe about it I don't need him as my research assistant. Forget about him. Now that's out of the way, I assume you accept?” asked Nishijima with a rather menacing look.

“Of course,” replied Ryohei shrinking. “That is, as long as my absence won't inconvenience you…” It seemed a win-win proposition.

“It's settled then. Of course, it won't be official until I've heard back from the Agency for Cultural Affairs. Your parents won't mind, I suppose.”

“No, that shouldn't be a problem.”

“Good. Let's drink to it.” The professor filled Ryohei's sake cup.

“By the way,” he went on, loosening his necktie. “I hear you've been doing some research.” Having settled the matter of who to send to Boston, Nishijima appeared more relaxed. “Iwakoshi says you were at the university since early this morning.”

“Yes. You see, I came across an interesting book recently.”

“Really? What kind of book?” asked the professor with obvious curiosity. Ryohei hesitated for a moment before deciding to go ahead and tell Nishijima everything.

“It has to do with Sharaku.”

Ryohei proceeded to explain at length how he had come across The painting catalogue. When he mentioned Chikamatsu Shoei, the professor looked thoughtful for a moment. “Never heard of him,” he replied. Then Ryohei reached into his backpack, removed the book and handed it to Nishijima.

The professor read Kiyochika's preface and began slowly perusing the catalogue. Eventually, his eyes fell on Shoei's painting of a lion. Noticing this, Ryohei sat up and pointed to the inscription. “This is what I was talking about,” he said. The professor's eyebrows flickered and his gaze took on an unexpectedly intensity. Ryohei's heart beat faster. In all the time he had known the professor, he had never seen him look this way.

Nishijima kept his eyes riveted on the page. For a long time, he said nothing.

“Well, what do you think?” Ryohei asked eagerly.

“Hmm…” The professor finally looked away from the book and sat silently sipping his sake. He seemed to be searching for words.

Is there something to it, or is he just trying to let me down easy? Ryohei's doubts came flooding back as he thought about how the professor was usually quick to give his opinion.

“It's…” began Nishijima, at last opening his mouth, “…difficult to say. To be honest, the lines are completely unlike his usual work. It doesn't have any of the characteristics of Sharaku's painting.”

Ryohei's heart sank.
Just as I feared
,
he thought.

“On the other hand,” Nishijima went on, “this painting is clearly based on a copperplate engraving. That would suggest the artist consciously adopted a different style from his own. It's meaningless to compare a Western-style painting like this to a woodblock print; they're apples and oranges. Just because the lines are different from one of Sharaku's actor portraits doesn't mean it's definitely not by him.”

How stupid of me!
thought Ryohei. For the past two days he had been pouring over the painting, placing it next to Sharaku's prints and scouring it for points of similarity, intent on trying to prove to the professor it was by Sharaku.

“Up until now,” continued the professor, enunciating each word slowly, “theories about Sharaku's identity have been based entirely on perceived similarities between Sharaku's work and woodblock prints or Japanese-style paintings by other artists—the way he's drawn these ears is like Hokusai; the pleats of this kimono are reminiscent of Buncho; those eyebrows are exactly the way Okyo would paint them… Taken in isolation, each of these theories has points I find convincing. But when it comes right down to it, in each case the styles are different. You can't say something about a painting based on one detail. It doesn't matter how closely the ears or the eyebrows resemble Sharaku's style if the rest of the work doesn't. Sharaku's work has a distinctive look. If another artist's work doesn't have that look you'll never convince me he was Sharaku. But this painting here doesn't fit into that model. The style of painting isn't comparable in the least. If it weren't for this inscription no one in the world would ever think of connecting this work to Sharaku. That's what makes it difficult to say for sure.” The professor folded his arms, leaned back and closed his eyes. “Now, it's also possible the artist who painted this picture forged Sharaku's signature…”