The Case of the Sharaku Murders by Katsuhiko Takahashi Page B

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.
    â€œOf 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.
    â€œâ€™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.
    â€œRyohei, 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.
    â€œYOUR USUAL, professor?” asked Yurie, the proprietress, as Nishijima slid into the seat next to Ryohei’s.
    â€œThanks,” 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.
    â€œI’m terribly sorry,” Ryohei mumbled, wiping up the spill with his hand towel.
    â€œQuite alright—don’t worry about it. Now tell me, Ryohei, do you want to go to Boston next year?”
    â€œHuh?” Ryohei could hardly believe his ears.
    â€œTo 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.
    â€œI 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