The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Japan (20 page)

No,
this
temple hall was entirely different. Well-maintained, bright and –
fresh
, is as best as I can describe it. In some of those other temple halls, such as I have just attempted to describe, one could possibly imagine something lurking in the shadows; something that might somehow have caused this monk’s death.

But here…

Here there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

‘There is nothing I can say,’ said Holmes then, almost echoing my own thoughts. ‘Except…’

‘Except, Holmes-
san
?’ prompted the fox-faced priest.

‘Well,’ sighed Holmes, ‘with the assistance of my doctor friend Yoshida-
sensei
here, maybe I should examine this monk’s – that is, Abe-
san
’s – body, before it is taken away… This
might
serve to throw up some possible explanation as to the cause of death… Really, it is all I can suggest…’

‘We are in your hands, Holmes-
san
,’ returned the priest, the senior monk nodding his head in agreement.

Holmes knelt down, and closely scrutinized the monk’s face and neck. The eyes were wide open, but still somehow rather ‘hooded’ in appearance. Then Holmes took hold of one of the hands – the left. He pulled it out from under the body, under the area of the heart, and so exposed the fact that the little finger was missing, down to the first knuckle. 

‘Did Abe-
san
ever explain what happened here?’ asked Holmes, glancing up at the priest.

I watched that man’s expression closely, but nothing was betrayed as he gave a slight shrug, stating –

‘Yes, he did. Soon after he joined the Temple of Eternal Light, some eight years previously…’

‘Ten,
Jushoku
,’ said the senior monk quietly, addressing the priest by the appropriate title. ‘It was ten.’

‘Quite,’ continued the priest. ‘Anyway, he said that he’d once been bitten by a snake, and that this bite had quickly gone bad. That is, in order to save the hand – and ultimately Abe-
san
’s life – it had been necessary to amputate that finger.’

‘Yes,’ nodded Holmes. ‘That would seem a feasible explanation. And yet…’

With these words, he quickly pulled the corpse’s right arm partially free of the
kimono
, thereby exposing a tattoo of a red dragon upon the bicep. The colors were dull, something which served to show that the tattoo had been done many years before, when the dead monk had still been a young man.

The priest exhaled a low breath, as the senior monk’s eyes widened in amazement.

‘I assure you, Holmes-
san
, that this is the very first time I have ever seen
that
,’ he declared. He paused, clearly trying to think of the right words to say, and then continued –

‘We here at the Temple of Eternal Light always wear the appropriate, full
kimono
, and we do not bathe together. So I would not have had any opportunity to see this tattoo before…’

‘And if you had…?’ said Holmes quietly.

‘Then I may very well have refused this monk admittance into my temple,’ returned the monk firmly. ‘Let us not beat around the bush here. This is a tattoo of the type sported by these so-called ‘Crazy Ones’, who revel in committing all sorts of violence – murder, even.

‘I am partially aware (who is not?) of the punishments meted out to its members for a variety of ‘crimes’ – such as failing to properly carry out the orders of a ‘boss’ or senior member – which commonly include self-amputation of a finger.

‘So,’ finished the priest, ‘you may say that I no longer believe that story of an infected snakebite being the cause of the loss of his little finger…’

‘Abe-
san
– but this was perhaps not his real name – was once a member of the Crazy Ones; that much, at least, seems certain,’ declared Holmes. ‘At some point he had a change of heart – or maybe had reason to flee that large group, subsequently forced to also go into hiding from them – and so covering up his tattoo, and inventing a story for his missing finger, he commenced training as a Buddhist monk, ultimately being accepted to work at this temple.’

‘Nothing in the way he spoke ever betrayed such a background, Holmes-
san
,’ said the senior monk. He was somewhat shorter than the priest, and had a wide, honest face. ‘The Crazy Ones, I know, have that abhorrent slang of theirs; a way of talking which at once identifies them as being a member of that feared, lawless gang as effectively as their hairstyle or tattoos…

‘But Abe-
san
was a very quiet, gentle man, fond of praying and meditating by himself. Indeed, that is why we often had him perform the short service in this hall each morning, before the Buddha statue – because he clearly enjoyed just such a duty.’

‘Always on his own?’ asked Holmes.

‘Well, yes,’ returned the senior monk immediately. He looked a little bemused, as if the answer was obvious. ‘If it was not Abe-san then it was one of the other two monks, or on occasion me.’

‘But not you,
Jushoku
,’ declared Holmes.

The priest shook his head.

‘Such duties are more the responsibility of those of a less senior position, if I may be excused any unintentional arrogance,’ he said dryly.

‘Quite,’ said Holmes. ‘So, here was this man, a former member of the Crazy Ones, who had for whatever reason turned his back on such a life, instead disguising his past as he became a monk at the Temple of Eternal Light, inventing a story for the missing little finger – self-amputated for some digression – and always ensuring that he kept his dragon tattoo (which is not overly large, in any case) covered up.

‘And now he lies dead, here in this bright hall before this golden statue of the Buddha, with this remarkable expression of amazement still upon his face…’

A slightly awkward silence followed Holmes’s words.

‘Err… Thank you, Holmes-
san
, for your summary,’ said the priest then. ‘But you have no idea as to what might have
caused
this monk’s death – or was it just natural causes, the facial expression remarkable but ultimately unimportant…?’

Two monks now appeared at the entrance into the hall.

‘We would like to take Abe-
san
’s body away, and prepare it for burial,’ said the priest. ‘If you have no further need to examine it, Holmes-
san
…?’

I thought I detected a certain edge to the priest’s voice. Almost some insinuation that Holmes’s scrutiny of the corpse had been rather disrespectful – and also unnecessary.

I wondered if the priest was not considering that the dead priest’s past need not have been exposed… That ultimately it had no bearing on how he died, and that everyone was – after all – entitled to a second chance in life. (Although, surely that tattoo would have been discovered as the body was prepared for burial?)

‘I do not. You may remove it from this hall,’ said Holmes firmly. ‘I have no need to trespass any further upon your valuable time, either. But, if I may, I would like to remain in this hall a while longer, to see if anything… occurs to me, as it were. I need only be accompanied by my friend here.’

‘You may do as you please, Holmes-
san
,’ returned the priest, and now there was no mistaking the sharp tone to his voice. He may have agreed to this latest request from the famous foreign detective – but it was obvious he considered it to be a strange one.

The two monks who’d just entered picked up the corpse by its shoulders and feet, and followed by the senior monk and the priest they left the hall.

This left just Holmes and me in that brightly-lit, spacious room, with its fresh
tatami
, glowing windows of rice-paper and the altar, upon which was the life-size golden statue of the Buddha, other gold ornaments and the fruit and flowers placed either side of him.

2

Silence. Sherlock Holmes did not speak and so naturally neither did I. He looked all around him, a thin smile upon his lips. Then he looked back at that golden statue of the Buddha, its body robed in magnificent garments of green and blue, slightly in the Chinese style.

‘And yet,’ said Holmes suddenly, ‘looking at this statue of the Buddha, I have to ask myself one question. Where is the natural, slight protrusion upon the throat, which would indicate that this statue is supposed to represent a male – that is, Buddha himself?

This caused me to look closer, at this particular area of the life-sized golden statue – and I all but started. It was true, there was no such protrusion of the throat. The whole area was as smooth as a woman’s!

‘Speak, statue!’ said Holmes then, so that I transferred my gaze to him, wondering if he had gone quite mad.

‘Speak as you spoke to that monk Abe, there as he performed the usual morning service alone in this hall. A golden statue supposedly of the Buddha suddenly opening its mouth and talking –
that
was what caused the expression of amazement upon that monk’s face, and his heart to then give out.’

‘
You are absolutely correct, Holmes-
san…’

These words emerged from the statue’s mouth, which moved just slightly, the lips still twisted in that slight smile which is so often depicted upon a statue of the Buddha. A slim,
Japanese-style statue of the Buddha, that is – not the laughing, large-bellied caricature so beloved of the Chinese. And yet, I say again, the actual
clothing
placed upon the statue was, with its bright colors, still slightly in the Chinese style.

  ‘
I intended to kill Abe, once I’d finished talking to him. For that reason, I still have several
shuriken
or throwing stars lying in the palm of my right hand – which is concealed by my left.

‘But Abe robbed me of this pleasure by suddenly clutching his chest and collapsing to the ground, almost the moment I’d finished my explanation – which was somewhat concise, I must say. For I did not know at what point someone else might enter into this hall, and disturb us. I had to say what I needed to say, and quickly.

‘And as for
you
, Holmes-
san
and friend, what shall I do? Throw these
shuriken
, and so conclusively silence you forever? Or trust in this reputation you have, that sometimes you act as your
own
law, deciding for yourself who is the innocent party – and who is the guilty
…’
  
  

I must confess, at these words my mouth went dry, and I looked to the entrance of the hall – the wooden door of which had been slid shut – in a bid to plot my escape. Yet, somehow I knew that any attempt to flee would be futile. In a moment – less, even – one of those
shuriken
would be launched from the hand of this mysterious female assassin with the soft, indeed almost
caressing
voice, who’d so ingeniously posed as a statue of the Buddha, and I would drop down dead... 

‘Maybe it would be best,’ began Holmes, ‘if you told us exactly
why
you desired to go to such great lengths to kill this monk named Abe. Although, I strongly suspect that it has something to do with his past – when he was undoubtedly a member of these so-called ‘Crazy Ones’.’

‘
You’re correct about that,
’ returned the woman, her body remaining absolutely motionless. Only her lips moved slightly, as she spoke. (I need hardly say that she had, of course, shaved her head for this role. Just like all the exposed parts of her body – face, hands and so on – it was perfectly golden in color.)         

And only now did she open her eyes, brown and perfectly calm in that otherwise entirely golden face.

‘
But then, you saw the tattoo, and the missing little finger – all the usual, subtle indications of a man who leads a less than law-abiding life…
’

‘Tell your story,’ said Holmes shortly. He did not seem in the least concerned about these
shuriken
the woman claimed to have in the palm of her hand, and which – I’d absolutely not the slightest doubt – she could use with lethal effect.

Also, while he was, of course, expert at detecting various minute details that most other people would entirely overlook, I was still reeling from the fact that he’d managed to recognize this female assassin – disguised as a statue of the Buddha, seated in meditation, golden in color and wearing an exotic Chinese-style
kimono
– in the first place.

It sounds absolutely absurd, and yet – the disguise was perfect. Even that priest and the monks who presumably visited this hall daily, for however many years, hadn’t noticed that the
real
statue of the Buddha had been replaced by this…