The Case of the Sharaku Murders (18 page)

“Wait—there's more,” Kato continued. “Some years later, the dealer was talking to a man who collected the same artist's work. With great gusto, he related what had happened—leaving out the part about snipping off the signature, of course. The collector became very interested and asked him who'd bought the painting in the end. The dealer replied he didn't know since it'd sold at auction. He took out a photograph of the painting and showed it to the collector. The man took one look at it and gasped. It turned out it was genuine after all! Not only that, but it dated to the best period of the artist's career. If the dealer could track it down, the collector said, he'd give him eight million for it.”

Ryohei, Saeko and Kudo involuntarily gasped in unison.

Kato summed up his story: “The dealer had taken a genuine masterpiece and turned it into what amounted to a fake. It'd be laughable if it weren't so tragic. No one will buy a painting if it's bad, but they won't buy it if it's too good either. What a way to make a living!” concluded Kato, smiling all the same.

“What you said just now about the dealer having a photograph of the painting,” said Ryohei, “Was that by chance?”

“No, lots of us keep photos of what we sell—for our own reference, not as a memento, you understand. It's useful to have something you can carry around and show to customers, to get a sense of what they're after. Since Polaroids came along, more and more dealers are doing it.”

“So a dealer who specializes in the Akita School might have photographs of every painting he's ever sold?”

“I expect so… Ah, I get it. You want to look for works by Shoei, is that it?”

Ryohei nodded.

“The only problem,” Kato went on, “is that even if a dealer has photos, he might not be willing to show them to you. Dealers often jot down critical information on them, such as how much the work sold for.”

“How complicated,” sighed Ryohei.

“Unless you were a trusted customer or…” Kato paused for a moment, contemplating the downcast expression on Ryohei's face. “Okay,” he said at last. “I'll see what I can find—seeing as I'll be making the rounds of the antiques shops in Kakunodate anyway. I'm also going to visit a major art dealer in Yokote. He might well have some Akita School paintings. I'll be back home in Morioka the day after tomorrow, so give me a ring then.”

“Thank you very much.” Ryohei gave Kato a deep bow.

“WHAT A STRANGE GUY,” whispered Saeko to Ryohei as they waved goodbye to Kato.

“You thought so? Seems fairly normal to me.”

“I couldn't decide if he's good or bad,” said Saeko. “But I guess you have to be that way to make it in this business.”

“Exactly. Even though he's the youngest antiques dealer in Morioka he's already made quite a name for himself. He's got a sharp eye.”

“I bet he does. Imagine running your own business at his age.”

“Is Kozukata Antiques that big shop near the park?” asked Kudo.

“That's the one. Kato's not originally from Morioka—Yamagata or someplace like that, I think. So it's not like he simply inherited his business from his father. He's pretty impressive. Until now we've never spoken much. I don't know whether it's just his reserved nature or whether he sized me up as not much of a business prospect. Anyway, he's usually a bit aloof.”

“He seemed pretty friendly just now,” observed Saeko. Kudo seconded this view.

“I think he's got the hots for you,” said Ryohei, chuckling. “He's single, after all.”

“A dandy like that? No way!” said Saeko. She made a disparaging remark about the thin red scarf Kato had been wearing around his neck. “It suited him,” she said, “but I didn't like the way he acted as though he
knew
it suited him.”

“I'll never understand women,” said Ryohei, though he sounded strangely relieved. Then he said, “Anyway, we learned something really important.”

“You mean that Shoei's paintings might have been altered to pass them off as someone else's?”

“Exactly. If that's the case then our search is hopeless. Shoei might have signed all his paintings ‘the artist formerly known as Sharaku' and we'd never know because some dealer cut the signatures off.”

“No one would do
that
,
would they?”

“Well, let's hope not. But Shoei's lion painting is extremely good, plus it's a copy of a copperplate engraving. If a dealer took it into his head to forge Naotake's signature on it, no one would know the difference.”

“But surely no one would cut off
Sharaku
's signature.”

“Remember, up until the late 1930s everyone believed Sharaku was Saito Jurobei, a Noh actor from Awa province. Think of the story Kato told us. The problem wasn't the painting, it was the signature. Someone from Awa couldn't have painted an Akita School painting, people would say. Look in any standard reference work from the time; they all say the same thing. Even
I
would have concluded Shoei's lion was a fake. No, unless Shoei's works have been kept in private hands all this time—instead of being put up for sale long ago—there's a good chance they've been altered.”

“Hmm, I wonder.”

“Look, we can assume that not long after Sato Masakichi died his collection was sold off. After all, there wouldn't have been much of a market for Akita School paintings in Shizuoka. No, however you look at it, things don't seem promising.”

“But if we could find photographs of the unaltered works, that would constitute proof, wouldn't it?” asked Saeko.

“That's not what bothers me,” replied Ryohei in a desultory tone. “It's the thought of Shoei's paintings floating around the country, all evidence linking them to Sharaku erased, but failing to pass as authentic Shozans or Naotakes, or whatever forged signature they now bear. A moment ago I was hoping Kato might turn up some photographs we can identify as Shoei's paintings, but now I pray he doesn't. It would be too depressing.” Ryohei paused for a moment. “Plus,” he continued, “while I was talking to Kato I remembered something else: there's evidence to suggest Sharaku painted with oils.”

“You're kidding!”

“A long time ago, a scholar named Inoue Kazuo published a book citing an alternate text of
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
that apparently states, under the entry on Sharaku, ‘Also an accomplished oil painter; used the sobriquet ‘Yurin.'”

“
Apparently
states?” queried Saeko.

“I haven't actually seen this alternate text myself. Recent scholars have dismissed Inoue's theory. Today, it's pretty much ignored.

“Do you mean we have to add another name to the list of Sharaku suspects?”

“The trouble is Inoue wrote his book before the war when it was believed Sharaku and the Noh actor Saito Jurobei were one and the same. So what Inoue actually says in his book is
Saito
Jurobei
was an oil painter. Later, when the Saito Jurobei hypothesis collapsed, it took Inoue's theory down with it. The modern print edition of
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
,
published by Iwanami Bunko, contains no reference to Sharaku's oil paintings or, for that matter, to the existence of an alternate text. That's not surprising. It appears the editor—one Nakata Katsunosuke—never believed what was written in Inoue's alternate text. These days, no art historian does. It's simply been written off as impossible.”

“But if Shoei was Sharaku, then Inoue's theory…”

“Might be correct. Exactly. I should have thought of it sooner. But neither the professor nor Yosuke brought it up. It goes to show how ignored Inoue's theory is these days.
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
is so closely associated with the Saito Jurobei hypothesis, it hadn't occurred to me to use it to establish Shoei's connection to Sharaku. It's quite possible whoever added the information about oil painting to the entry on Sharaku in Inoue's version of
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
did so after seeing a painting by Shoei made
after
he'd returned to Akita but
before
he changed his name to Chikamatsu—in other words, when he was still using the name Sharaku. Inoue must have read it and concluded Saito Jurobei had made oil paintings. You can't blame him. At that time, Sharaku and Saito Jurobei were synonymous. If Sharaku painted oils, that meant Jurobei painted oils.”

Saeko looked puzzled.

“You see, this has nothing to do with the Saito Jurobei hypothesis. The entry doesn't say, ‘Saito Jurobei painted oils.' All it says is, ‘Sharaku painted oils.' Inoue went and conflated the two.”

“In other words, Sharaku was an accomplished oil painter—is that it?”

“Yes, but it meant about Shoei!” said Ryohei, his voice rising in excitement.

“What made you think of it only now?”

“I was musing about Shoei's paintings floating around the country as forged Shozans or Naotakes. That got me wondering: what would have happened to them before Western-style painting became popular with collectors? From the early Meiji period until World War Two, Sharaku's signature on a Western-style painting would have actually
hurt
its value. But before the 1870s, there was no market for Western-style paintings of any kind, period. It wouldn't have been worth altering one of Sharaku's works unless there was lots of money to be made, would it? So perhaps there were paintings in circulation at that time with his name on them. Of course, they wouldn't have fetched much money. That's when I suddenly remembered Inoue's book.”

“I see.”

“Then it hit me: if the Saito Jurobei hypothesis hadn't gone unquestioned for so long, the mystery of Sharaku's identity would probably have been solved long ago. Even Kurth, in rehabilitating Sharaku, took
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
at face value. It would have been next to impossible for anyone to contradict the Jurobei Hypothesis. Come to think of it, that may be why Kiyochika never wrote anything about Sharaku after Sato's catalogue was published. Yosuke speculated it was because he hadn't noticed the signature on Shoei's painting, but I think even if he had he would have dismissed it as absurd. That was a time when people talked about Saito Jurobei being Sharaku as though it were a historical fact.”

“A slip-up in the initial stage of the investigation…”

“Exactly. One that's led to forty years of wasted effort. In the meantime, Sharaku's paintings have been tampered with and scattered across the country,” said Ryohei, biting his lip in frustration.

“I understand how you feel,” said Saeko, “but we don't know for sure that's what happened. There's still a chance they've survived intact.”

“I hope so. But I think it's more likely the signatures have been altered, as Kato says. Shoei was a great painter, but from a purely commercial standpoint, he's just not famous enough.”

“And Sharaku's signature is even more of a liability. What a bizarre situation,” murmured Saeko.

“In the antiques business it's not what's real that matters, it's whether you can convince people it's real.”

“And people will never be convinced Sharaku painted oils.”

“This is giving me a headache,” groaned Ryohei. “At this rate, I think we'll have to write off Kakunodate too. Maybe we better just stick to sightseeing,” he said with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

“But, Ryohei, it was nothing short of a miracle you found that signature in Sato's catalogue. I don't think anyone else would have noticed it. You must be channeling Sharaku or something,” said Saeko, smiling at him.

“I'm starting to wish someone else had noticed it,” replied Ryohei managing to return her smile.

OUTSIDE THE HOTEL, Ryohei and Saeko said goodbye to Kudo, who was going to take advantage of the long holiday weekend to make a long overdue trip to Morioka to visit his parents. Then the two headed straight for the local folklore museum.

Kakunodate's folklore museum was located on an old street lined with former samurai mansions. It was only a short walk from their hotel. The historic center of the town was divided into two parts: Uchimachi, where the samurai once lived, and Sotomachi, which was the merchants' quarter. Their hotel stood on the border between the two, facing an open space known as “Firebreak Square” because that was where, in Edo times, there had been an area of land left vacant to prevent fires from spreading from one side of town to the other.

Across the square, a wide straight avenue stretched away from their hotel. It was lined on both sides with Edo-period samurai mansions shielded by high black wooden fences. From behind these fences, the long willowy branches of hundreds of large weeping cherry trees hung down over the street, their branches shimmering as they swayed in the autumn breeze. The Japanese government had designated them a national monument. There was not a soul anywhere to be seen.

“What a beautiful, quiet place!” Saeko exclaimed as she strolled along, gazing up at the enormous trees.