“Sorry,” Nori says, swallowing a mouthful of yakitori. She guiltily nudges the plates of food closer to Robin. “I’m eating more than my share. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” Reluctantly, she reaches for her purse. “How much do I . . .?”
“Nothing. You don’t owe me anything. I—” She winces. “I’m sorry I had anything to do with landing you in so much trouble.” Then she startles Nori by scrambling to her feet, nearly upsetting the table.
“Moshiwake gozaimasen! Moshiwake gozaimasen!” she cries, bowing as stiffly and deeply as a fallen pop idol.
“Hey, no, stop it.” This is too embarrassing. “Sit down. Please. Don’t say that.” The absurd level of formality is way out of line, but Nori sees the look on Robin’s face. She actually means to be sorry, not insulting. “You don’t have to apologize, all right? And certainly not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . I don’t know . . . a politician caught with his pants down.” As Robin self-consciously folds herself back onto her cushion, Nori gives in to her curiosity. “Is that the way people apologize in your country?”
“No!” Robin gives a nervous laugh. “But . . . isn’t that how you do it here?” Now she sounds worried. “I mean, that’s the right phrase, isn’t it? The one they use on TV?”
“You learned to apologize by watching TV?”
“Well,” Robin cringes. “Sort of. I mean, I took four years of classical Japanese in college—had to, so I could study medieval Japanese literature—but as soon as I got here, I found out it was completely useless for talking to real people. I can read The Tale of Genji in the original, but when I tried to order a beer, everyone would burst out laughing. Finally, someone explained I wasn’t exactly making mistakes, but only poets from the 1700s talked like that. From then on, I made myself watch TV for two hours every night: news, high school dramas, gangster movies, anything but period pieces. I guess it worked, because now I can usually order a bowl of noodles without being the funniest foreigner in the room.” She grimaces. “The only time I accidentally revert to medieval bard mode is when I meet clients for the first time.” Shooting Nori an embarrassed look, she says, “That’s why you thought I was an idiot the first time we met, isn’t it? You didn’t want Hikitoru being evaluated by someone who couldn’t even speak normal Japanese.”
“No, of course not,” Nori quickly replies. Then she admits, “Well, maybe a little. But I thought you were doing it on purpose. To put me in my place. Which,” she concedes, “I deserved. I thought because you weren’t Japanese, you couldn’t possibly know anything about, uh . . .”
“. . . an obscure Edo Period potter named Yoshi Takamatsu? If it makes you feel any better, there are only about five foreigners who do. And I was wrong to be offended that you didn’t know I was one of them.”
Robin tops up Nori’s beer, then Nori surprises herself by taking the can from her and returning the favor.
“Thanks.” Robin’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “Shall we start over?”
She raises her glass, and after a slight hesitation, Nori does too. They sip, then Robin shifts to a more comfortable position and asks, “Are you ready to hear how we might be able to make the police case against you go away?”
Nori sets down her glass and says, “I’m listening.”
“Okay.” Robin takes a deep breath. “Anzai-san is threatening to prosecute you for ‘intent to sell stolen goods,’ right?”
“That’s what he says.”
“But what if he doesn’t know who the goods were stolen from? Or when?” She explains how she went to Shigaraki and discovered that Hikitoru had originally been stolen from the potter himself, more than sixty years before it was given to Senkō-ji. That Yakibō had made Uchida-bōsan’s ancestor promise to make an offering with it on his behalf, but the tea bowl had disappeared before the priest could fulfill that vow. That Uchida-bōsan has a document corroborating this story, but it can’t be made public until after he performs the ceremony that his ancestor promised the dying potter.”
She leans in.
“But what if Hikitoru was returned to Uchida-bōsan just long enough for him to do what he has to do? He doesn’t need to own the tea bowl, he just needs to use it to perform the ceremony. Once Yakibō’s spirit is laid to rest, he can give Hikitoru back and show me his ancestor’s document. It’ll prove that Senkō-ji never really owned it, their claim on the tea bowl will disappear, and so will the charges against you.”
“Do you really think that could work?”
“I’m sure of it. The thing is, I need to borrow Hikitoru and take it to Shigaraki to make that happen.”
“Your boss will let you do that?”
“Not in a million years. But the ceremony needs to be performed before Monday, or they’ll arrest you and hand Hikitoru over to the head priest at Senkō-ji. Which neither of us wants, right? I think I’ve figured out a way to get it out of the office . . .” Her eyes slide away. “But I can’t do it alone.”
Ah. There it is. Now she knows why Robin made a special trip to Kappabashi, bearing a bag of expensive food.
“You want me to help you.”
“It would be worth it, wouldn’t it?”
“Unless we get caught.”
“Which we won’t. Look, I’ve worked at Fujimori Fine Art for over three years, and I know their security systems inside and out. If we ‘borrow’ it tomorrow, I can take it to Uchida-bōsan first thing Saturday morning, and have it back in the safe before anyone arrives for work Monday morning. If you agree to help me, we can work out the details tonight.”
Robin is trying to keep the pleading from her voice, but Nori can hear it, and she doesn’t understand why the art assistant is willing to commit what is—no matter how she tries to pass it off as “borrowing”—grand theft. Robin Swann has something important riding on this, something she’s not telling. Until Nori finds out what it is, she isn’t about to get into any more trouble than she’s already in.
“No,” she says. “Unless you tell me why you’re really doing it.”
Robin flushes.
She’s right. There is another reason. She sips her beer and waits.
Haltingly, Robin begins to explain. Her unfinished doctorate, her dream of studying Saburo’s poetry instead of working as Hashimoto’s pottery-testing minion. Her stalled life in Japan. The loneliness of being a stranger in a strange land, but how little awaits her back in America if she doesn’t get her degree.
“And then you walked into my office with Hikitoru,” she says. “If I can connect it to Saburo’s Eight Attachments and those empty boxes of Uchida’s, I can write a paper that will change Japanese poetry scholar-ship forever. And,” she adds, a little shame-faced, “after they give me my doctorate, I’ll be able to quit my job as a lab slave and get paid to do what I love instead.” She drains the last of her beer, then sets down her empty glass with a twisted smile. “So. Now you know everything. Not such a selfless do-gooder after all, am I? Feel free to kick me out now.”
“Why?” Nori says.
Robin looks up, surprised.
“My grandmother taught me never to trust people who claim they’re doing something for noble reasons.” She divides the last of the beer between their glasses. “But self-interest? That I understand.” She picks up her glass. “So, what’s the plan?”
48.
Present-Day Japan
FRIDAY, APRIL 11
Tokyo
Nori closes her eyes, takes a moment to gather her thoughts as the elevator rockets to the twenty-second floor. Head down, don’t look up at the cameras. She nervously tightens her grip on the ordinary Shigaraki-ware tea bowl she’d found in the back room when she was looking for Hikitoru, and prays that the receptionist won’t recognize her in the mom-like black dress and wig that had been left behind in her parents’ abandoned room, relics from the funerals and other occasions when her mother had found it expedient to appear in a conservative black bob rather than her usual bleache
d curls.
The doors open on the Fujimori Fine Art lobby. It’s impossible to avoid glancing nervously at the graying uniformed guard who had attempted to inspect her carrying cloth when she was here before, but she makes it across the plush carpet and speaks her lines to the receptionist without any further blunders, remembering to identify herself as Ai Tanaka, the forgettable name that’s on her visitor badge.
When Robin appears, she’s wearing the white lab coat again.
“Good morning.” Her coconspirator bows deeply. “Are you the esteemed visitor who hailed our humble organization from the lobby, with a request to authenticate an Edo Period tea bowl?”
“Yes,” Nori replies.
“On behalf of the executive director, I extend our thanks for this generous opportunity,” Robin continues. “We would very much like to examine your tea bowl, but I fear you have caught my humble self in the midst of some important tests in the lab. I deeply apologize for not being able to give you my undivided attention at this moment, but if you will forgive me for monitoring the equipment while we speak, I can examine your admirable tea bowl there.”
Nori murmurs her agreement and follows her down the hall.
So far, so good. She watches as Robin swipes her keycard outside a white room with workbenches lining three walls. As they cross the gray industrial carpet, she manages not to look up at the cameras glaring down at her from all four corners, but it feels like being at the beach without any sunscreen. They aim for the white counter across the room, which is cluttered with glass labware, squeeze bottles labeled with chemical names, tiny power tools, and an assortment of electronic probes that Nori can’t even begin to guess the purpose of. A collection of Bizen-ware teacups occupies much of the workspace, along with one object she recognizes: Hikitoru’s wooden box.
Robin flips the notebook closed and pushes aside a pair of measuring calipers to make room to unwrap the bowl, then takes the box from Nori and pries off the lid. Taking out the ordinary Shigaraki bowl, she removes its gold brocade wrapper and gives it a cursory onceover. Is obviously not impressed.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Tanaka-san,” she says, for the benefit of the security cameras, in case they capture sound as well as video. “This bowl wasn’t made in the Edo Period. I’m afraid it’s a modern piece.”
“How do you know?” Just like they practiced. Don’t overdo it. “How do you know, without testing it?”
“I’ve authenticated hundreds of pieces of pottery, Miss Tanaka. I know a modern tea bowl when I see one. For one thing . . .” Robin hefts it. “It’s too heavy.” Flips it over. “And there’s a potter’s mark, which means it’s not old enough to be from the Edo Period.” She rewraps it in the gold brocade. “I’m sorry it’s not what you hoped it would be.”
Now come the lines Nori would never have the nerve to speak in real life.
“Nothing you’ve told me is proof. Would it be possible to get a second opinion? From your superior, perhaps?”
Offended, Robin replies, “I can’t waste her—I mean, that’s completely unnecessary. Look, if you don’t believe me, I can prove it.”
With the brocade-wrapped decoy in one hand, she crosses to a black-hooded machine in the corner.
“This thermo-luminescence chamber measures the accumulated radiation a ceramic piece has absorbed since it was made,” she explains. “The older a piece is, the brighter it glows. A tea bowl made centuries ago should have visible luminescence.”
Last night, Robin had explained what thermo-luminescence testing actually is—the analysis is done by scraping a tiny sample from the piece and affixing the dust to slides read by an array of equipment sitting at the other end of the counter, not by looking at it inside the apparatus shrouded by a big, black hood. The hooded device is a tabletop photo booth, used to shoot authentication details under controlled lighting. But if Robin is ever questioned about the security footage, she’ll say this was the quickest ruse she could think of to get rid of a walk-in attempting to pass off a cheap modern piece as something more valuable.
She flips a switch on the photo booth and takes the ordinary Shigaraki bowl inside. Unwraps it.
“I should have a reading in . . . ah! I knew it. There isn’t the faintest glow coming off this tea bowl.” She emerges and invites Nori to take her place. “See?”
Inside the hood, all Nori can see are the decoy and Hikitoru, which Robin had placed inside to photograph before she arrived. She nervously flips it over, checks the foot. No security sensor. Good. Robin must have found the right solvent. She backs out.
“All right. I can see it’s not glowing.” Time to be irritated, defensive. “Tests can be wrong, you know.”
“Not these tests. Our equipment is extremely accurate.”
Robin ducks back inside and wraps Hikitoru in the gold brocade from the other bowl. She emerges and packs it into the box belonging to the decoy, then hands it to Nori.
“I regret to say, this is not the sort of piece we can represent.”
Wilted with faux disappointment, Nori follows Robin back out to the lobby.
A different guard has come on duty while they were in the lab. A young man, with a military haircut. He steps between Nori and the elevator with a crisp bow.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but all packages leaving our security area must be inspected.”
“That’s all right, uh,” Robin reads his nametag, “Hato-san. I’m Robin Swann, Hashimoto-san’s assistant. I’ll vouch for Miss Tanaka. I was with her the whole time she was inside the security gate.” She pushes the elevator button.
The guard regards her impassively for a moment, then turns to Nori.
“I’m afraid I must insist. Company policy. If you’d be so kind . . .?” He reaches for the box in her hands.
Oh no. Nori was afraid this would happen. What are they going to do when he—
“Allow me,” Robin commands, intercepting the bundle. “I wouldn’t want to be held responsible if you drop it,” she adds, using her haughtiest Art Expert voice. “The only thing in this box is the tea bowl Miss Tanaka brought with her. But if you insist, I’ll show you it’s a Shigaraki red clay bowl with gray glaze, from the Sakamoto kiln, just like it says on the lid.”
Robin shows the guard the kiln stamp on the box, then opens it and peels back one corner of the brocade to give him a glimpse of Hikitoru’s red clay and grayish glaze.
“See?” She tucks it in again, begins rewrapping the box. “Unfortunately, this one isn’t an example of their Edo-era work. I wish it were.”
The elevator pings.
Robin raises an eyebrow. “Are we done here?” The guard bows and retreats.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Tanaka,” Robin says, handing Hikitoru back to Nori. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
The doors eclipse their mutual farewell bows. Nori exhales, but her pulse is still hammering.
Hold it together. Almost there. Robin will go back to the lab now, pack the decoy tea bowl in Hikitoru’s box and lock it in the safe. It matches Hikitoru’s description closely enough that if the guard who performs the random weekend security checks opens the box, he’ll mark a Shigaraki-ware tea bowl as present and accounted for.
The doors part.
Shoulders back, chin up, Nori returns her visitor badge at the gleaming hardwood desk, and walks Hikitoru out through the doors, to freedom.
49.
Present-Day Japan
SATURDAY, APRIL 12
Shigaraki
Four hours, four trains, and two bottles of green tea later, Robin gathers her empties and steps onto the platform at Shigaraki Station. Clutching the carrying cloth with Hikitoru inside, she squints in the mid-morning sun. Up before dawn, she didn’t dare sleep on the train, all too aware she was holding her future in her lap.
She pushes the tea bottles into the recycle bin, stops in the last ladies’ room she can be sure of for a while, then makes her way to the curb outside. Stops to fill her lungs with fresh mountain air. It’s
a beautiful day, and that feels like a good omen. The sky is a clear and promising blue, the air warmer than when she was last here. She studies her phone map, planning to walk the kilometer and a half to Uchida-bōsans temple, when a boxy, compact car rolls up and stops at the curb.
“Swann-san?”
The king-sized priest is leaning toward her across the passenger seat, calling to her through the open window.
“Good morning! Want a ride?”
She finds herself grinning in reply, and not just at the prospect of catching a lift. There’s something about the genial priest that gladdens her heart, and as she pulls open the passenger door, she’s struck with a giddy premonition that this will be a day she’ll remember for the rest of her life.
“Thank you,” she says, folding herself gingerly into the small car. It sags slightly beneath her, but although it looks much too small to accommodate two larger-than-average passengers, it’s surprisingly spacious inside.
“It’s great not to have to slouch, isn’t it?” Uchida says, as she cautiously straightens her spine and discovers her head doesn’t bump the roof. He pats the dashboard. “Looks like a sake crate on wheels, but that’s a small price to pay for headroom, don’t you think?”
They exchange smiles, sharing a moment of outlier solidarity before he drops his gaze to the bundle in her lap.
“Is that it?” he asks.
“Yes. As promised.”
“I was surprised to get your message,” he admits, putting the car in gear. “How did you convince your boss to return Hikitoru without the proof you said you’d need? You must be the most persuasive woman in all ofJapan.”
“Trust me,” she says, with a short laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
She’d thought long and hard about how much to tell him. In the end, she’d decided not to burden him with the questionable means she’d used to get the tea bowl here today. She doesn’t want to give him any reason not to perform the ceremony that’s the key to gaining access to his ancestor’s document. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The moment that tea bowl is back in the office safe on Monday morning, it’ll be as if it had never been gone.
The Last Tea Bowl Thief Page 25
