The Tokyo Zodiac Murders (2 page)

I will purify their bodies and mine with a mixture of wine and an assortment of ashes. Next, I will remove the desired body parts from each young woman with a handsaw. These parts will be carefully assembled onto a carved wooden cross on which I will create Azoth. I could use nails to affix Azoth to the cross—in the same way Christ was—but I do not want to incur damage from the nails. The body I will decorate with small lizards, as it is said in the oracle of Hecate. Then, I shall prepare the “hidden fire”. Hontanus interpreted the term as an actual fire, as did many alchemists… only to see their experiments fail. “Hidden fire” or “fire that burns without flame” really refers to a certain kind of salt
and incense. To this mixture is added the flesh of a sheep, a cow, an infant, a crab, a lion, a virgin, a scorpion, a goat and a fish—all astrological symbols. Frogs and lizards will be added as well. And I will prepare the type of furnace that alchemists call an “athanor”.

I will intone from an invocation written in the ancient
Philosophoumena
of Origen of St Hippolytus:

The mixture will then be removed from the furnace and sealed within a “philosopher’s egg”. It will be incubated until it becomes a panacea. With this panacea, each part of the body will be glued to form a whole, to become an eternal life. And when the perfect woman appears in the light, I will become an adept.

This is the “magnum opus” of so-called “Alchemy”. It is often referred to as witch’s work, even though it cannot be denied that alchemy contributed greatly to the progress of chemistry, just as astrology was the foundation of astronomy. I think it is absurd that people should deny the significance of their ancestors’ beliefs. The goal of alchemy is more profound than what many people may think today: its aim is to embody the true nature of things, such as “supreme beauty” or “supreme love”. Our consciousness tends to be vulgarized by daily life. But through the process of alchemy, we can purify our soul and rise above worldly things. In the East, Zen is the correspondent to this. The true aim of alchemy is the creation of an “eternal circle” or universal relief.

Some people have attempted to create gold with alchemy, but more likely this was done as a joke or a trick. Many have searched in underground mines for the “first element”, but elements are not necessarily metal or mineral. Paracelsus said:
“You can find it everywhere, and children are playing with it.” My belief is that it resides in the bodies of women. Where else could it be?

I am well aware of my reputation as a lunatic. I may be different from others, but that is what makes me an artist. Art is not to copy the work of another; real art exists only in difference. Although it would be easier, I could never follow in the footsteps of someone else. I prefer to make my own path! I am not a violent man, but I admit to extreme excitement when I witnessed the dissection of a human body for the first time. I am unaccountably attracted to the distortion of human bodies. I love seeing a dislocated arm, and how a dying man’s muscles go through changes. I wish I could have a chance to draw such things. I am sure that many other artists share my leanings.

Now I want to tell you about my past. I discovered the marvels of astrology when I was a teenager. Astrology was not common in Japan back then, and the man who introduced me to it was the first astrologer in Japan. My mother had learnt of his reputation and desired his insight. I was reluctant to go with her, but she took me along. As I watched this fortuneteller in action, I was astonished. He could see into a person’s past as well as their future! I was fascinated, and later I became his student. Originally, this man had come from Holland as a missionary, but he had been dismissed because of his negligence towards his mission. From that point on, fortune-telling became his sole work.

I was born in Tokyo at 7.31 p.m., on 26th January 1886. My sun is in Aquarius, and my ascendant is in Virgo, which is ruled by Saturn. Therefore, Saturn, the symbol of my life, holds my destiny. It was Saturn that guided me to alchemy.
Saturn represents lead, one of the basic chemical elements. This understanding caused me to believe that alchemy would hone my craft. Saturn implies challenges and perseverance. The fortune-teller told me that I would struggle with my inferiority complex all my life, and that I would suffer from poor health, especially in childhood. I was advised to be careful of getting burnt. His advice was correct, if unheeded. In elementary school, I fell on a brazier, and my right foot was severely burnt. I still have the scar.

The fortune-teller also predicted that I would be involved in an illicit love affair; and, in fact, I have two daughters born of different mothers in the same year. He also predicted marriage complications: although my Venus is in Pisces and, therefore, I am naturally attracted to Piscean women, I would in fact marry a Leo, and my family obligations would increase when I was twenty-eight. Tae, my first wife, was in fact a Pisces. I took to painting ballet dancers, influenced by Degas. Masako, a married woman, was one of my models. Almost by force, I made love to her. We had an affair, and Yukiko was born—at around the same time that Tae gave birth to a daughter. I divorced Tae and took custody of the baby, Tokiko. Then I married Masako. This all happened when I was twenty-eight!

Today, in Hoya, Tae sells tobacco at the house I purchased for her. At the time of our divorce, I was concerned about Tokiko, who would live with the other girls in my home. But she seemed to get along with them without any problems. Twenty years have passed since the divorce, but still I feel guilty about Tae. If Azoth becomes the masterpiece of my life, I intend to give the fortune I will make to Tae to assuage my guilt.

My horoscope, according to the fortune-teller, also suggested a tendency towards secrecy and loneliness, and the possibility of being locked up in a hospital or an institution—in other words, I would spend a life apart from others. And today, in fact, I seldom see my family, who live in the main house. I spend most of my time in my studio, which I converted from the old storehouse in the backyard.

I have two planets—Neptune and Pluto—in the ninth house, which is rare. Moreover, planets in the ninth house have a greater influence than planets in other houses. The latter half of my life has been dominated by these planets. The ninth house implies mystical power and a fascination with paganism. The fortune-teller said I would become involved in witchcraft and roam foreign countries. He said that, given the movement of the moon, my departure from Japan would occur when I was nineteen or twenty years of age, and that the trip would mark a turning point in my life. As it turned out, I left for France at the age of nineteen, and it was there that I was drawn to mysticism.

I had not given myself over to astrology, but everything the fortune-teller said came true. I even tried to go against his prophecy, but to no avail. My family seems also to be manipulated by fate—especially the women, who have had little luck in love or marriage. Tae is divorced from me, and now that I have chosen to kill myself, Masako will be widowed soon. My mother failed in her marriage, as did my grandmother. Kazue, Masako’s first daughter, was recently divorced.

Tomoko is now twenty-six, and Akiko twenty-four. They live in the spacious main house and are close to their mother. If necessary, they can make a living by teaching piano and ballet,
so they have the option of remaining single. With tensions between Japan and China heightening, young men will soon be drafted. Masako dislikes soldiers, and she will see to it that her daughters remain virgins.

Everything seemed to be going along fine, but then Masako and her daughters started having ideas about doing something with the family property, which has a total area of 2,400 square metres. They kept barging into my studio, urging me to build an apartment building. “You can do whatever you want after I die,” I told them.

It is not really fair to my brother Yoshio that I control the Umezawa family land just because I am the eldest son. He and his wife have always been welcome to live in our main house, but they have politely declined my invitation even though their daughters moved in. Perhaps there is incompatibility between Masako and Ayako, Yoshio’s wife. If an apartment building is built after I die, however, Yoshio and Ayako would gladly live there, saving money that would otherwise go to rent elsewhere. Anyway, I am the only one who is consistently opposed to this plan. Masako—the ringleader—and her daughters have become frustrated in the extreme. I worry that if this situation continues they will cause me bodily harm; perhaps they will poison me. Recently, I have been thinking a lot about Tae. She is a modest, obedient woman; she does not excite me, but she is an angel compared to Masako.

The reason I keep turning them down is my love for my studio, which is in the north-west corner of the yard. After I inherited this property in Ohara—in Meguro Ward in Tokyo—from my mother, I renovated the old storehouse and made it into a studio. I spend most of my time here. It’s surrounded
by trees, so my privacy is protected. If we built an apartment building, the studio could be left as it is, but the trees would have to be cut down. My studio would no longer be a hideaway. How could I concentrate on my work with tenants coming and going around me? It would be impossible.

Ever since I was small, I have loved the gloom of this storehouse. It is where I often played. My preference for closed-in spaces did not change until recently. In order to get more light into the studio, I had two large skylights put in. For security, I put iron grilles under them. I put grilles inside the windows on the ground floor, too. I love the skylights. In afternoons in autumn, I can see leaves falling onto the glass. The grille and falling leaves create shadows on the studio floor that look like musical notes. They are so beautiful that I am moved to sing my favourite songs—‘Isle of Capri’ and ‘Orchids in the Moonlight’. I also installed a bathroom and a kitchen. I sleep alone on a military bed. It has casters, so it can be rolled anywhere I want in the room.

I took out the first floor, doubling the height of the ceiling, and the studio became very spacious. Now I can store large paintings and the space also allows me to view my artwork from a distance. Because they faced a stone wall, the windows on the north and west side of the studio did not get much light, so I sealed them. Now I can stand paintings against the walls. I have eleven large paintings standing there now. They are part of my series called “The Twelve Signs of the Zodiac”. The sketch for the twelfth, Aries, is almost done. I will start to create Azoth very soon. When I complete her, I will depart from this world for ever.

I went to Paris in 1906. I was young and restless. Japanese tourists were scarce back then. My meagre knowledge of French
deepened my loneliness, and I felt as if I was the only man living in the world when I took a walk under the moonlight. As my language ability gradually improved, my loneliness lessened and I began to feel more comfortable. I began to visit the Latin Quarter. Autumn in Paris was stunning. I loved the rustle of fallen leaves being blown by the wind, and the contrasting colours of the leaves were very beautiful against the grey stones. The curtains drawn around my heart slowly parted to reveal the dramatic stage set of Paris.

I discovered the works of Gustave Moreau. I remember the gold plate bearing the inscription “14” on his house in Rochefoucauld Avenue. I added him to my list of greatest artists, along with Van Gogh. Moreau influenced me tremendously.

One day in late autumn, at La Fontaine de Médicis, one of my favourite places, I saw a young woman. In the cold air, the trees were extending their bare branches under a dark sky. They reminded me of the blood vessels of old men. Winter was just around the corner. What I didn’t realize at first was that spring was right there in front of me, leaning on the metal handrail and deep in thought. Realizing that she was also Asian, I walked up to her. She looked timid. I sensed the same kind of shyness that many Japanese girls have, but I could not be sure. She might have been Chinese. However, she seemed relieved to see me. Taking a chance, I spoke in French, saying it seemed that winter was on its way: “
On dirait que l’hiver arrive
.” In Japan, one would rarely approach a stranger this way, but speaking in a foreign language made me bolder. She didn’t seem to understand me. With a look of depression, she shook her head and started to leave. I decided to ask if she was Japanese: “
Kimi
wa nihonjin desu ka?
” She
stopped and turned back, and her sullen expression turned into a beautiful smile. We fell in love immediately. Her name was Yasue Tomita.