The Case of the Sharaku Murders by Katsuhiko Takahashi Page A

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.
    â€œRYOHEI, 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.
    â€œWhere’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.
    â€œHey, you’re late!” Yoshimura reprimanded Ryohei. Though not yet forty he was already developing a middle-age paunch.
    â€œSorry. I had some work to attend to at the department.”
    â€œHe’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.
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œHiroshi’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.
    â€œYamashita’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.
    â€œBut their approach is fundamentally different from ours. We can’t compete with them.” Scholarly articles did not sell magazines.
    â€œTrue. 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.”
    â€œHas 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