"Hmm...” Hanshichi remained pensive.
Lawlessness had been rife in Edo ever since the sails of Commodore Perry's “black ships” were spotted off the coast of the Izu Peninsula in 1853. Gangs of self-styled ronin roamed the streets of the capital threatening rich merchants into handing over money as contributions to a so-called military fund for quelling the barbarian invaders. Needless to say, few of these men were true ronin. Most were corrupt retainers of the shogun, dissolute second sons from good families, or simply common city scoundrels. Birds of a feather, they had banded together to rob people indiscriminately and force them to loan them money in the name of a patriotic cause. Hanshichi imagined that the two shady characters at Kumazo's bathhouse were in fact using it as their base for just such operations.
"Well, I guess tomorrow I'll have to go check it out myself."
"I'll be expecting you. If you come around noon, they'll be there for sure,” Kumazo promised.
The next morning, before going out, Hanshichi marked the end of the New Year by eating the traditional bowl of rice porridge flavored with spring leaves. Then he dropped in to see his boss in Hatchobori, who advised him that, due to a public outcry, they were under orders to step up their ongoing investigation of a string of burglary-arsons; Hanshichi was to give it top priority. He grew even more suspicious of the goings-on at Kumazo's bathhouse.
It was eleven o'clock by the time Hanshichi left his boss's house, whereupon he made a beeline for Atagoshita. Though New Year's was long past, the streets were still full of people out making belated New Year's calls. He could hear the lively accompaniment of a lion dance being performed in the street.
Arriving at the bathhouse, Hanshichi slipped in via the back entrance. He found Kumazo waiting for him inside.
"You're just in time, boss. One of the men is here—he's taking a bath right now."
"Is that so? Well, then, maybe I'll just have a dip myself."
Hanshichi went back around to the front and paid the entrance fee like an ordinary customer. At midday, the bathhouse was practically empty. Painted on the low doorway leading through to the bath itself was a picture of a fearsome warrior. Inside, someone could be heard cheerfully singing a popular love song. Entering, Hanshichi saw four or five other men already there. He had a quick dip to warm himself up, then threw on a kimono and went upstairs. Kumazo quietly followed him.
"Was it that fellow closest to the tub?” Hanshichi asked, sipping his tea.
"That's right. The young one."
"He's no imposter—that's for sure."
"So you think he's a genuine samurai?"
"Just look at his legs."
A samurai always wore a pair of swords—one short, the other long—on his left side, which tended to make his left leg more muscular and the ankle thicker than the right. Having had the chance to observe the man without his clothes on, Hanshichi had no doubt about his credentials.
"So, you figure he's a shogunal retainer?"[4]
[FOOTNOTE 4. Gokenin, a direct vassal of the shogun, similar to a hatamoto but lower in rank (and income) and without the privilege of having audiences (ome-mie) with the shogun.]
"No, his topknot is tied differently ... he must be a samurai from a provincial fief."
"I see,” Kumazo nodded. “Then listen to this, boss—this morning I saw him hand Okichi something to take care of. It was a bundle wrapped in cloth ... seemed pretty heavy. Shall we take a look at it?"
"By the way, where is Okichi? I haven't seen her."
"Things are slow in here right now, so she's gone out front to watch the lion dance ... she likes that kind of childish stuff. This would be the perfect time to sneak a peek at that bundle before anyone shows up. There's no telling what kind of clue we might find."
"Good point."
"I think Okichi stuck it in the clothes cupboard ... wait here a second."
Kumazo went back to search the shelves. He returned with a bundle wrapped in a dark-blue cloth, which he proceeded to untie. Inside, there was another, yellowish-green cloth wrapped around what appeared to be a pair of boxes.
"I better take a quick look around downstairs ... I'll be right back."
Kumazo climbed down the ladder. He returned a moment later.
"It's all right. I told the attendant downstairs to cough to let us know when the guy comes out of the bath."
Unwrapping the second cloth, they found two old lacquer boxes of the kind used for storing Noh masks. Each was tied shut by a flat, charcoal-gray length of cord, which was attached to the bottom of the box, crossed over the lid, and knotted tightly. Full of eager curiosity, Kumazo hurriedly undid one of the knots.
Even with the lid removed, neither man could make out exactly what was inside. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in some sort of stiff, yellowish substance like fish skin or oil paper.
"What the hell... !"
Kumazo could not suppress a cry of astonishment as he undid the wrapping. There, before their eyes, was a severed human head. It was clearly ancient, but so shriveled that it was impossible to tell how many hundreds—if not thousands—of years old it was. The skin had a blackish-yellow hue like decaying leaves. It was not even apparent whether the head was male or female.
For a while the two men just stared at the grotesque object, hardly able to breathe.
* * * *
[2]
"What do you think it is, boss?"
"Beats me. Anyhow, let's look in the other box."
Kumazo opened the remaining box with obvious distaste. Another carefully wrapped head came tumbling out. This time, however, it was clearly not human but seemed to belong to some monstrous creature—a dragon or a serpent, perhaps—with a large mouth, fangs, and small horns on its head. The flesh was black and shriveled like the first, and as hard as wood or stone.
The combined effect of these two grotesque discoveries left the two men feeling extremely shaken.
"Maybe he's some sort of huckster,” Kumazo suggested. The man probably went around exhibiting the bizarre heads at sideshows and such places. Hanshichi, however, was disinclined to accept this theory, adhering to his belief that the man was a genuine samurai. Even so, why in the world would a samurai carry such objects around with him? And why had he casually deposited them with a woman on the second floor of a bathhouse? And what exactly were the objects, anyway? Hanshichi found his wits sorely tested by this riddle.
"I'll be damned if I can figure it out,” he admitted.
Just then, they heard the attendant downstairs clear his throat loudly. Hurriedly, the two men returned the objects to their boxes and shoved the bundle back in the clothes cupboard. The lion dance had moved on, its music fading into the distance. Okichi came back inside. Soon, the samurai appeared at the top of the ladder with a damp towel in his hand. Hanshichi put on an innocent look and sat sipping his tea.
Okichi, who knew Hanshichi by sight, had somehow managed to discreetly tip off the samurai to the detective's presence. Without speaking to anyone, the man went and sat in a corner. Kumazo tugged at Hanshichi's sleeve and together they went downstairs.
"I saw Okichi give that fellow a meaningful look, and he tensed up,” Hanshichi said. “He's on his guard now, so I don't think we'll get anywhere today."
"Well, I'll keep a close eye on what they do with those boxes,” Kumazo whispered to Hanshichi, clearly annoyed.
"What do you think has happened to that other fellow?” said Hanshichi.
"Yes, he's late today—I wonder why?"
"Anyway, keep your eyes open. I'm counting on you."
With that, Hanshichi left the bathhouse and headed over to Akasaka to look into another case. As he walked through the streets, absorbing the hustle and bustle of early spring, Hanshichi was racking his brains all the while for the key to the riddle of the boxes. But no convincing explanation presented itself. “Perhaps those two samurai practice black magic, and the heads are for incantations or casting spells or something.... Or could they be Christian outlaws?"<
br />
Since the arrival of the American Black Ships, the government had stepped up its persecution of Christianity.[5] If the two men were indeed adherents of that faith, then the matter demanded serious attention. Whatever the explanation, Hanshichi felt that the two samurai should be closely watched.
[FOOTNOTE 5. Christianity had won many converts, primarily in southern Japan, since Portuguese missionaries first arrived in 1549. The Tokugawa shogunate tried various measures to limit the influence of missionaries and eradicate Christianity from the 1610s onward, including confining foreigners to Nagasaki and persecuting large numbers of Japanese converts. In 1639 all missionaries were expelled from Japan, and the remaining Japanese Christians were forced to practice their religion in secret at the risk of execution.]
His business in Akasaka concluded, Hanshichi returned home. The rest of the evening proved uneventful and he soon went to bed. But the next morning, before it was even light, Bathhouse Bear came bursting into the house.
"Boss! Boss! Something awful's happened! They've finally done it! We were too slow, and now they've gone and..."
According to Kumazo's report, the previous night two men dressed as samurai had burst into a pawnshop called the Iseya, not far from Kumazo's bathhouse, and demanded that the proprietor hand over all his available cash for the “military fund.” Meeting with some resistance, the men had drawn their swords and wounded the pawnbroker and his head clerk. Then they'd grabbed all the money they could find—about eighty ryo—and fled. Their faces had been covered, but their general descriptions matched those of Kumazo's two suspicious customers.
"It was them. There's no doubt about it now—they've been using my place as a base for their raids. We've got to do something quickly!"
"Yes, I suppose we oughtn't to let them get away,” Hanshichi said as though to himself.
"Suppose ... ? Look, boss—if someone else catches them before we do, you won't be the only one who comes off looking bad. I and my bathhouse will lose face, too."
This was enough to catapult Hanshichi into action. There was nothing he hated more than having a case he was working on swiped from under his nose. On the other hand, he couldn't very well arrest the two men at the bathhouse without any evidence. They were samurai after all, and one had to tread carefully; to go butting in might very well bring retaliation later.
"All right, Kumazo I want you to go home and keep your eyes open to see if the two samurai show up today. I'll head over there as soon as I'm ready."
After sending Kumazo home, Hanshichi had a hasty breakfast, then got ready to go out. Before going to Atagoshita, however, he had something else he wanted to do along the way. He was passing through Hikagecho when he caught sight of a young samurai, seated in front of a swordsmith's called the Aizuya, engaged in some sort of negotiation with the clerk. Looking more closely, he realized it was the owner of the bizarre boxes whom he'd seen yesterday in the room over the bathhouse.
Hanshichi paused and observed the man from a distance. After a while, the clerk handed the samurai some money, and he hurried off. Hanshichi's first instinct was to follow him, but deciding he might learn more if he stayed, he retraced his steps and entered the swordsmith's shop.
"Good morning."
"Ah, Inspector. Good morning.” The clerk recognized Hanshichi.
"Pretty cold this spring so far, isn't it?” said Hanshichi as he sat down. “Hope you don't mind my asking, but was that samurai who just left here an acquaintance of yours?"
"No, I've never seen him before. He'd been going around trying to sell this. He was turned away from two or three places before he managed to foist it off on me.” The clerk gave a wry smile. Next to him lay some sort of hard object wrapped in oil paper.
"What is it?"
The clerk unwrapped the package to reveal what appeared to be a fish covered in blackish mud. He explained that it was a sharkskin to be used for covering sword hilts and scabbards.
"Sharkskin, you say? It looks pretty disgusting if you ask me."
"Well, it hasn't been cleaned up yet,” the clerk replied, turning the sharkskin over to show Hanshichi. “As you know, these sharkskins are imported from overseas. They're covered in mud when we get them, but by the time they're washed and polished, they're beautiful and white. It's a time-consuming business, and if we're not careful, we stand to lose quite a bit of money. Because of all the mud, we can't tell if they've got any scrapes or bloodstains on them until we've cleaned them. We can deal with scrapes, but bloodstains are a big problem. You see, when the sharks are killed, blood sometimes seeps from the wound into the skin. No amount of washing and polishing will get it out, and no one wants to buy white sharkskin with black spots on it. Of course, we can hide the spots by staining the skin with lacquer, but then it's not worth half as much. If we buy a sheaf of, say, ten sharkskins, we figure on finding three or four bloodstained ones. We average those into the total price that we're willing to pay. But until they've been cleaned, you never know for sure what you're getting—that's why it's a tricky business."
"I see.” Hanshichi nodded as though impressed. To the untrained eye, it seemed incredible that a dirty bit of skin could be polished, like a jewel, into the lustrous beauty of a sharkskin hilt.
"You mean that samurai came to sell you this?” Hanshichi said, turning the sharkskin over and inspecting it.
"It seems he purchased it in Nagasaki.[6] We were haggling over the price—he wanted me to pay quite a lot for it. It's not that I didn't want to buy it, seeing that this is what I do for a living, but I'm a bit uneasy about purchasing something like this from a rank amateur—even if he is a samurai! You can see how muddy it is, and it's just one skin. If I got stuck with a bloodstained one, I'd feel I'd really been had. Well, I tried refusing him, but he was insistent, said he'd take anything for it, so I ended up paying a very modest sum. Even so,” the clerk concluded with a rueful laugh, “my boss will probably yell at me."
[FOOTNOTE 6. Nagasaki was Japan's main port of foreign trade. From 1616 to 1859, it was one of only two ports open to non-Chinese foreign ships.]
The man seemed too disheartened about the whole affair to reveal how much he'd actually paid. For his part, Hanshichi refrained from asking. Rather, he was pondering the strange array of objects that the samurai seemed to possess: two shriveled heads—one human and one belonging to some monstrous creature—and now this grubby piece of sharkskin. He sensed that there must be something behind it all.
"Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you."
Gulping down the cup of coarse tea, which a shop assistant had served him out of a large pot, Hanshichi left the Aizuya and headed straight for Atagoshita. When he reached the bathhouse, Kumazo darted out to meet him as though he'd been eagerly awaiting his arrival.
"Boss, that young guy who was here yesterday showed up a while ago and went out again straightaway."
"Was he carrying anything?"
"He had a long, narrow bundle with him, but I don't know what it was."
"Is that so? I saw him on my way over. What about the other fellow?"
"Like before, the tall one hasn't shown up yet."
"All right, Kuma. I'm sorry to send you off like this, but I want you to go back to the Iseya and find out exactly what was stolen from the pawnshop apart from the money."
Having issued his instructions, Hanshichi went upstairs, where he found Okichi sitting idly in front of the charcoal brazier. This was the detective's second appearance in two days, and a look of unease seemed to creep into her eyes, but she forced herself to smile.
"Hello, Inspector,” she greeted him affably. “Cold today, isn't it?"
She brought him tea and cakes and hovered over him attentively. But Hanshichi paid her scant attention. Instead, he filled his pipe and lit it; then he took out some money wrapped up in paper and gave it to her, saying it was a tip because he'd troubled her so much of late.
"Thank you very much, sir."
"By the way, are your mother and brother well
?"
Okichi's older brother, he knew, worked as a plasterer, and her mother was in her fifties.
"They're both well, thank you."
"Your brother's still young, but your mother's getting on in years, isn't she? So remember the old saying: ‘Don't postpone filial piety until our parents are in their graves.’ Now's the time to be a good daughter, you hear?"
"Yes, sir,” Okichi blushed, her eyes downcast.
For some reason, she seemed to be embarrassed, guilty, and frightened all at the same time. But Hanshichi pressed ahead.
"By the way,” he said in a bantering tone, “I heard some talk of a romance in your life. Is it true?"
"Oh, Inspector ... really!” Okichi blushed an even deeper shade of red.
"Actually, everyone's talking about it—they say you've become real pally with one of those two samurai who started coming in here last year."
"Well, you could put it like that."
"What do you mean, ‘put it like that'? Actually, Okichi, that's what I've been meaning to talk to you about. What fief are those two samurai from? They look like west-country types to me."
"So I've heard,” Okichi answered vaguely.
"Well, I'm sorry to say this, but sooner or later I might have to ask you to come down to the watchpost with me. I just wanted to warn you in advance."
Okichi did not miss the note of intimidation in Hanshichi's voice, and a look of fear crept into her eyes again.
"What is it you want to ask me, Inspector?"
"About those two samurai. Or would you prefer to tell me everything now, without having to come to the watchpost?"
Okichi tensed and fell silent.
"Tell me, what line of work are they in? All right—so they're in service to some provincial lord here in the capital. But you can't expect me to believe they spend all their time loafing around on the second floor of a bathhouse, day in and day out—even at New Year's! They're running some shady business on the side, aren't they? Now, don't tell me you don't know anything about it—I know you do. C'mon, why don't you come clean? What's in those boxes they left in that cupboard?"
AHMM, May 2008 Page 15
