Sweaty as I was, I felt like taking a quick dip, so I took a shower. Since I had been up early and was feeling terribly drowsy, I took a one- or two-hour nap in bed. Afterwards, when I strolled through the Gion geisha district over to this so-called Yasui Kompira-gu Shrine, I found a shrine buzzing with female worshipers. Apparently, it was a “sanctuary to sever bad relationships and bind good ones.” Naturally, in a place like Gion where geiko and cabaret hostesses gather from all over the country by the dozen, such a service would be in high demand.
As I wandered around looking for “Kumiko,” browsing the cobblestone alley lined with the red lanterns of ochaya teahouses, dusk gradually fell. Tucked deep inside a narrow alley, the small sign hung over a house of barely five tsubo—about sixteen square meters. Above the sliding lattice door, a cute, round exterior lamp of yellow frosted glass was lit. At a glance, it looked like a teahouse, but it could just as easily pass for someone’s private home. This had to be the place. The surrounding area was densely packed with similar houses, all of them strictly non-rebuildable properties according to zoning laws. A real underworld. There was a time when I used to like townscapes like this, but after looking for a house myself and learning a bit about real estate, I couldn’t bring myself to want to live here for the life of me.
The door was closed, but unlocked. When I announced, “It’s Enomoto,” a woman’s voice replied from inside, “Welcome,” so I stepped in.
A middle-aged proprietress, effortlessly pulling off a chic tie-dyed yukata, greeted me while wiping her hands on a towel. Thanks perhaps to her green eyeshadow, she had the heavy, flamboyant makeup typical of a Gion mama. She must have been past fifty. She had undoubtedly been a beauty in her youth, though now her double chin and barrel-like physique were quite age-appropriate. She must have led a complicated life.
“Nice to meet you. My name is Kumiko Yamaga.”
Even before she introduced herself, it was glaringly obvious that she was Yuriko’s mother, Kumiko.
“Please, Master Godo, come right this way to the back tatami room.”
Though she said “back room,” it was nothing more than a tiny three-tatami mat space. The woman sitting in the shadows there, messing with her smartphone, appeared to be Yuriko.
“No, that’s alright. It’s actually harder to talk back there. The counter is fine.”
“What would you like to drink?” Yuriko stepped out and asked me. She was wearing hardly any makeup, just as she had been earlier.
This was supposed to be a business discussion, but if they were offering drinks, I wasn’t about to refuse.
“A bottled beer, then.”
Without missing a beat, Kumiko passed a glass and a small side dish over the counter to me, and personally poured my bottled beer. The foam rose all the way to the rim of the bottle, swelling into a round dome, reflecting my face for a fleeting moment before popping softly. Then Yuriko brought over a warm hand towel.
“I hear the Nishikyogoku family are descendants of the Reizei family,” I said to Kumiko, moistening my throat with a sip of beer.
“That’s incorrect. They are not of Teika’s bloodline. They are descendants of Fujiwara no Morozane.”
“Morozane? What, really? That means they’re from the Sekke—the regent families, doesn’t it?”
“Are you familiar with Morozane?”
“Well, in a general sense, yes. Morozane was Michinaga’s grandson and Yorimichi’s son. Morozane was the youngest son, born to some obscure woman Yorimichi was involved with, so he wasn’t originally meant to become the head of the Fujiwara clan (Tōshi no Chōja). But because the legitimate wife’s son died, and the concubines’ sons were either sent out for adoption or became monks to avoid outshining the legitimate wife, he got lucky and ended up as the heir.”
“An ‘obscure woman,’ you say? Goodness, what a terrible thing to say. Morozane’s mother was of the Murakami Genji clan. She was the niece of Takahime-joō, Yorimichi’s principal wife, you know.”
“Huh. Is that so?”
“Takahime was the eldest daughter of Prince Tomohira, son of Emperor Murakami. Morozane’s mother, Gishi, was the daughter of Prince Tomohira’s illegitimate son, Fujiwara no Yorinari—her name was Ohogao.” Ohogao (大顔; big face)—what a name, I thought. She must have had an enormous face. “Since Takahime couldn’t bear children, she had Yorimichi’s illegitimate son Michifusa marry Genshi, daughter of Minamoto no Morofusa of the Murakami Genji, making Michifusa the heir. But when Michifusa passed away, Takahime installed her niece Gishi as Yorimichi’s concubine, and when Gishi gave birth to Morozane, he was made the heir. Since Morozane also had no daughters of his own, Gishi adopted Katako of the Murakami Genji and introduced her into Emperor Shirakawa’s court.”
“Aha. So that’s how it connects to Minamoto no Katako, the consort of Emperor Shirakawa.”
Morozane flourished during the reign of Emperor Go-Sanjō, and during the era of Emperor Shirakawa, he rose to Senior First Rank, serving as Regent (Sesshō), Chancellor (Kampaku), and Grand Minister of State (Daijō-daijin). Reaching the absolute pinnacle of court nobility—he was the very definition of it. Since Yorimichi’s son Morozane had no daughters of his own, he adopted Katako, daughter of Minamoto no Akifusa of the Murakami Genji, and brought her into Emperor Shirakawa’s court. That the Murakami Genji continued as a prestigious noble family all the way up to the time of Kitabatake Chikafusa was entirely thanks to this Katako.
“Indeed. Morozane had a child named Moroyasu. Moroyasu is the founder of the Nishikyogoku family.”
Moroyasu? Hmm, Fujiwara no Moroyasu? Never heard of him. Who on earth is that?
There isn’t a soul alive who fully grasps the entire family tree of the Fujiwara clan, descendants of Nakatomi no Kamatari—not any expert, nor any great scholar. Even I once tried to research it exhaustively before throwing in the towel. There are tens of thousands of Fujiwaras whose names remain in historical records alone.
If what this woman, Kumiko Yamaga, was saying turned out to be true, the Nishikyogoku family was an extraordinarily ancient and prestigious lineage—going back two hundred years earlier than the Kamakura period, when the Reizei family split from Teika’s bloodline. Assuming it’s true, that is.
“Let me ask you point-blank, Ms. Yamaga. Do you know where the hidden Buddha is?”
“Yes,” she stated categorically.
“Oh?” I was careful not to let my surprise and impatience show on my face. “And this hidden Buddha is unknown to anyone else?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the Nishikyogoku family has kept it a secret from all other families for generations. Ever since our founder, Moroyasu.”
“You’re saying they managed to keep it hidden for nearly a thousand years?”
“Yes.”
Impossible. Does this woman even comprehend the sheer magnitude of a thousand years?
“Is it the property of the Nishikyogoku family?”
“No. It is currently my own personal property.”
“Meaning?”
“I received it from my husband, Nishikyogoku. Because I was his common-law wife, I have no right of inheritance.”
Aha. Now it all connects. This woman, Kumiko, was the common-law wife who had fought with Kiyomasa over who would be the chief mourner.
“Therefore, I received it as a gift from my husband while he was still alive. Once he died, the Tokyo Nishikyogoku family would inherit the entire estate. That is why my husband hurried. I also have the land deed. The title has been transferred from my husband to me.”
“A land deed? You mean the hidden Buddha is enshrined in a temple or something? And the deed is for that temple?”
“It’s not a temple. There might have been something built there in the past, but there is nothing now. It’s just a thicket deep in Sagano, but carved into the mountain is a stone chamber.”
“Are you saying that is the tomb of Minamoto no Katako?”
“Yes.”
My back teeth began to chatter. If this story was true, it was an unbelievably massive deal.
“And what exactly is this hidden Buddha?”
“It is a seated wooden statue of Kannon, covered in gold leaf, housed within a zushi—a miniature shrine—inside the tomb. It is said that Emperor Shirakawa had it made in the likeness of Katako. I don’t know much about the quality of Buddhist statues, but I think it’s a very graceful, beautiful figure. It is about life-sized, and in extremely good condition. The gold leaf and paint remain intact, and not a single piece is chipped.”
It perfectly matched the characteristics of the copy Kiyomasa had mentioned. I pulled a silk handkerchief from my hip pocket and wiped my forehead. Normally, this was just a prop I’d hold in my mouth while appraising a hanging scroll to look the part of a professional for clients.
“Kumiko Yamaga-san. You’ve cooked up quite an interesting story. You’re trying to con me, aren’t you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There’s no way a story that good could be true. If you’re trying to sell me a forgery at an inflated price, I won’t be fooled.”
“Nonsense,” Kumiko shot back with flat composure. “I haven’t given a moment’s thought to having you buy it or trying to jack up the price.”
“If what you’re saying is true, I ought to contact the Agency for Cultural Affairs right this second. That’s a National Treasure. It’s not something a private citizen should own. And it’s certainly not something I have any right to buy or sell.”
“Please wait a moment, Master Godo. Just hear me out.”
I stared intently at her, scrutinizing every nuance of her expression. I could tell she had something she wanted to say, but she claimed it wasn’t about buying or selling. Then what did she want to consult me about? And why me, a complete stranger?
“Master Godo, You accepted Kiyomasa-san’s request, didn’t you? That house originally belonged to my husband. So did everything inside that storehouse. While we were staying at the temple for my husband’s wake, Nishikyogoku showed up with a locksmith and a lawyer, changed the locks, and seized the house. We can’t lay a finger on anything in that house anymore. Both my daughter and I were evicted.”
“That’s pretty ruthless. If you were to take this to the proper authorities, you might actually be able to keep living in that house, you know.”
“Kiyomasa-san provided us with a substitute place to live. He told us, ‘Live here. I’m giving you this in lieu of severance pay.'”
“An apartment?”
“No, a detached house. A fifteen-year-old secondhand place, but it’s in Awataguchi.”
“Well, isn’t he generous.”
“Yes. It’s in a very quiet, lush residential area, convenient and close to my shop here. It was more than spacious enough for the two of us women to live in, so we just ended up accepting it. Besides, they had a lawyer on their side, and everything was sent to us via certified mail. Just unsealing those envelopes and reading the letters made us panic. Now that six months have passed, things have finally settled down, so it’s fine.”
“Hmm. Be that as it may, why didn’t you two get officially married?”
“It wasn’t my husband’s fault. It was because the Tokyo branch family opposed it.”
“Marriage is a matter of free will between the two individuals, isn’t it?”
“Well… my husband had exhausted his assets, you see, and he had relied on them to act as joint guarantors.”
Good grief. What a bloody complicated story.
“If memory serves, legal precedent dictates that even a common-law wife can be treated as a lawful spouse if they’ve cohabited for over fifteen years. Your daughter Yuriko was born more than twenty years ago, wasn’t she?”
“That’s right. We lived together the entire time.”
Did they really cohabit, though? Kumiko was a Gion bar mama—couldn’t she have just been a mistress? Even if I asked, she wouldn’t give me an honest answer anyway.
“Then I think you’d actually stand a chance if you took a firmer stance.”
“Do you think so? A lawyer acquaintance told us that even if a de facto marriage or common-law relationship is recognized, you don’t become a statutory heir unless you’re a legal spouse.”
“Ah, I see. Then you ought to consult thoroughly with that lawyer of yours.”
“So, anticipating that a day like this might come eventually, I kept the important items in a safe deposit box.”
“Items like… the land deed for Minamoto no Katako’s tomb?”
“Precisely.”
I was already thoroughly fed up. Appraising ancient documents was one thing, but a dispute over inheritance between a main family and a branch family was entirely outside my area of expertise.
“What on earth do you expect me to do?” I asked. “I’ve accepted a formal request from Nishikyogoku and even signed a contract. If I report this to Nishikyogoku, won’t that put you two in a tight spot? Assuming the tomb and the Kannon statue are heirloom treasures passed down through the Nishikyogoku family, you might claim they were officially transferred to you by your late husband. But could a complete stranger like you—regardless of whether you were a de facto wife—actually inherit assets unique to the Nishikyogoku lineage? There could very well be written pledges stating these assets must never be transferred to another family, or wills left by previous heads of the house. Changing the land title to an outsider without the relatives’ consent is bound to become an issue as well. One look at the registry at the Legal Affairs Bureau and it’ll all come to light. You two are guaranteed to be dragged into trouble, and if I side with you, I might get caught in the crossfire myself.”
I paused for breath before continuing. “At any rate, if you want to make that hidden Buddha your own, you should fight it out fair and square in court. Consulting me won’t solve a single thing. And if you simply want someone to appraise the statue, there are plenty of others far better suited for the job. My primary expertise is Edo-period literature, like kibyōshi and yomihon—my knowledge of antiques and Buddhist statues is barely a step above a hobby. As far as this matter goes, I want no part of either of you.”
“Actually…” Yuriko cut in. “I was wavering over whether I should mention this or not, because… my husband swore me to secrecy.”
“What is it now? Don’t beat around the bush.”
“My husband told me to rely on you.”
“Asakura? The guy who tried to become a Tibetan monk?”
“Yes,” she replied. “‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to India,’ he said. ‘You’ll likely run into trouble when my father-in-law passes away, and it worries me that I won’t be there for you when that happens. If that time comes, rely on a man named Enomoto.'”
Okita, Asakura, and I had all been in the same year at Professor Makinouchi’s research lab. If you could call us close, we were close enough, but nothing more than that. Why me, of all people, instead of Okita?
“Didn’t you bring this up to me because you heard about me from Okita?”
“No. Today was just a coincidence. I had intended to consult you directly at some point anyway—either through an introduction from Okita-san or Professor Makinouchi.”
“And what good does relying on me do? Can’t you contact Asakura?”
“I can’t. I’ve tried to get in touch with him so many times, but… he might already be dead.”
“Yuriko-san. You’re his wife—of all people, how can you say something so ominous?”
“My husband always used to say, ‘Just consider me dead.'”
“Asakura and Okita were supposed to be close. Ask Okita for help.”
“That’s a bit…” Yuriko blushed, her cheeks flushing red. “Okita-san was my husband’s romantic rival, you see.”
Well, well. So I was the only one kept entirely out of the loop.
What a creepy, unsettling story. What kind of scheme did Asakura have in mind, dragging me into this? But there was no way to confirm Asakura’s true intentions.
I took a deep breath.
“There are a few possible solutions,” I said. “Regarding the land transfer: if all you received was a plot of forest land deep in the mountains of Arashiyama with practically no real estate value, even if Nishikyogoku notices, he probably won’t bother making a fuss about it. You could just keep it a secret as you have until now, Yuriko-san, and pass it down to your descendants. That’s not a bad option, but there’s zero benefit in it for me. Personally, I’d like to discover the hidden Buddha and gain grand recognition in academia.”
I’m just a petty used-bookstore owner. Every month, I huff and puff just to scrape together the rent for my shop. Besides brick-and-mortar retail, I also sell online via Amazon. Whenever no customers show up, I spend hours glaring at my PC screen, registering each item I’ve sourced one by one. But it doesn’t net me a dime. Sure, if I went purely online, I’d save on shop rent, but who wants to live like a lonely hermit doing that kind of work? As for my pay as an adjunct university lecturer, it’s a mere pittance—chicken feed. Unless I hit the jackpot with some big research breakthrough and secure a tenure-track academic position, I’ll never even be able to get a wife.
“So, if you’re willing to leave this to me,” I told them, “I’ll skillfully pull some strings with the officials at the Agency for Cultural Affairs for you. The Tokyo Nishikyogoku family irresponsibly left Kyoto after the Meiji Restoration and completely neglected the maintenance of the tomb. Meanwhile, the Nishikyogoku branch that remained in Kyoto has preserved and managed that tomb for over a century. And even if only as a common-law wife, Yamaga-san, haven’t you and your late husband kept the family legacy alive and guarded that tomb together for decades up to this day?”
“That is precisely the case,” Kumiko chimed in. “Yuriko is my husband’s only biological child. Yuriko ought to inherit her father’s estate.”
Hmm. That’s a tricky one. The client, Mr. Nishikyogoku, is apparently a cousin of the deceased Kyoto Nishikyogoku head. It’s a very gray area, but depending on how the Family Court rules, we might just be able to pull it off.
“After my husband became bedridden, I did it all by myself—carer for my husband, helped by Yuriko, all while working right here as the proprietress of this Gion eatery,” she added.
“Yep. Sounds good. That’s a great narrative. Let’s go with that,” I said. “So, Yamaga-san, you have a proven track record of managing the tomb, while the Tokyo side has none. The Council for Cultural Affairs at the Agency for Cultural Affairs places special emphasis on whether an owner has the capability and track record to maintain cultural properties. So once the government designates it as a National Treasure, they’ll likely recognize your ownership and grant you the right to manage both the tomb and the hidden Buddha. Once that happens, we’re golden! Tourists will come swarming in. An artifact like this is a once-in-a-blue-moon rare gem. It’ll practically draw a non-stop marketplace right at your doorstep. You two will easily be able to live off the admission fees alone.
In exchange for that—if you will—until things go smoothly, you must absolutely not speak a word of this to anyone other than me. I get to publish this first in my own academic paper. Are we clear on that?”
“That is quite acceptable, Enomoto-san,” Kumiko agreed.
“Just to be safe, let me repeat myself: I don’t want to get involved in your personal squabbles, nor do I have any interest in them. But the hidden Buddha is a different story. I want to be the very first person to unveil it to the public and write the paper on it. If you don’t honor that part, the deal is off.”
“Understood.”
“Now that that’s settled, let’s head to Arashiyama first thing tomorrow. If the hidden Buddha turns out to be a forgery in the first place, none of this matters anyway.”
“I shall guide you there,” Yuriko said. “We’ll be doing a lot of walking, so please be prepared.”
“I’m actually quite a strong walker, despite how I look. Well then, good night.”
I had only intended to stay for a single bottle of beer. I immediately stood up to take my leave, but Kumiko stopped me.
“My, what’s the rush to go home so soon? After you went through the trouble of coming all the way to our shop, too. We have no intention of opening the store after you leave anyway. If it pleases you, why not stay and drink with us until morning?”
As she spoke, it felt like Kumiko was casting a strangely seductive glance at me—or so it seemed.
“No, I’m fine. If I drink too much and stay up late, it’ll ruin tomorrow’s mountain trek.”
“He’s right, Mother,” Yuriko interjected.
To be honest, having a private drinking session until morning with just this mother-and-daughter duo in a small Gion eatery in Kyoto would be quite a thrill. I don’t dislike that kind of fun myself.
However, I make it a rule never to become overly familiar with women I’ve just met for the first time. I prefer to frequent a bar a few times, let them get to know my face, and earn a modest spot among the regulars first. Whether as friends or something deeper, anything like that comes after.
The mess this mother and daughter were tangled in was far too complicated. The aura radiating from this woman Kumiko was far too dangerous. My instincts were telling me not to stick my nose in any deeper than this.
Besides, my mind was already completely consumed with thoughts of that hidden Buddha in Sagano. Tonight, I needed to just go back.