Sherlock Holmes In Japan

by Vasudev Murthy

  Sherlock Holmes

  in

  Japan

  VASUDEV MURTHY

  writing as

  AKIRA YAMASHITA

  HarperCollins Publishers India

  In memory of my mother

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  A Letter from Yokohama

  The Voyage Begins

  Murder on the North Star

  Alexandria

  Alexandria to Bombay

  Meiringen – Vladivostok – Yokohama

  Shigeo Oshima

  Masako Nohara

  Bombay

  A Journey through India

  Bodh Gaya

  Calcutta

  Angkor Wat – Saigon – Nagasaki

  Kyoto

  Tokyo

  The Imperial Palace

  Closure

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Footnotes

  Foreword

  I first encountered the Sherlock Holmes Society of London in 2001 when I was invited by a friend to accompany the Society on a Baltic cruise to celebrate its fiftieth anniversary. My wife and I were given plenty of notice for the trip, but a few weeks beforehand we learned that a number of the visits en route would need to be conducted in the contemporary costume of 1895 – when Holmes was thriving. Some hasty visits to costumiers ensued.

  As we visited various countries on that trip, we were struck by the international popularity of Sherlock Holmes. In Copenhagen we were taken on a trip round the canals by the local Sherlock Holmes Society to do ‘canonical boat spotting’. Owners of boats on the canals had been encouraged to rename their vessels after characters and places in the Sherlock Holmes stories and we had to identify them. In Stockholm, the local society presented us with the skeleton keys to the city. And in St Petersburg, we met a Russian fan who had travelled for two days from Siberia to join our celebrations.

  Sherlock Holmes is clearly a character who has captured the imagination of people all around the world. And of course the stories have been replayed endlessly on stage, TV and film, almost from the time that the stories first appeared in print. Beyond this, however, the characters of Holmes and Watson have been used in countless pastiches: new stories and films that have portrayed them in new situations.

  Some commentators have wondered about the attitude of the Sherlock Holmes Society of London to these newcomers, expecting us to be the guardians of the purity of the original stories and characters, resisting the possibility of any transgression. The reality is the reverse: we welcome these new explorations of Holmes – some of which continue to be set in Victorian London, but others that bring him into the current day.

  Jazz fans will be familiar with this attitude. Great musicians will take classic ballads and perform them with a new twist, giving a fresh interpretation of how the tune might sound. So it is with the characters of Holmes and Watson when authors write them into new milieux and situations.

  Of course, Sherlock Holmes was not concerned only with crime, although his description of himself as a ‘consulting detective’ would perhaps lead to that conclusion. ‘Private investigator’ is a more accurate description of his profession and many of the stories involve no crime at all; they are about resolving mysterious circumstances. No surprise then that many of the stories are headed ‘The Adventure of …’. There is plenty of scope for authors to place Holmes in situations that are far removed from the classical detective genre.

  Vasudev Murthy and I met in the course of our work some years ago but it was only on a train ride out of London that we discussed our shared interest in Sherlock Holmes. Vasu confided in me that he was hoping to write a novel about Holmes’s adventures during what fans call the ‘great hiatus’. This is the period from May 1891 to April 1894, between the supposed death of Holmes at the hands of Professor Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls and his reappearance in ‘The Adventure of the Empty House’. It is not at all clear what Holmes was up to at that time; he was less than open with Watson, or it may well be that Watson himself was being discreet or indeed deliberately not revealing all the details that he knew. Holmes does admit though to having travelled to Tibet, Mecca and Khartoum; who knows where else he may have been during that period?

  Well, India is a distinct possibility. In 2012, the Sherlock Holmes Society of London began planning a trip to India in early 2014. Although none of the adventures are set in India, Doctor Watson would almost certainly have passed through during the time of his military service in Afghanistan and there are other references to events and characters associated with India, notably in ‘The Sign of Four’. Moreover, there is a sense of India being part of that essential pulse of the Victorian times: a presence affecting almost every family in some way.

  But I remembered that Vasu conjectured that Holmes would have spent some of his absence in Japan. This would have been at a particularly turbulent time in the country’s history. Until the mid-nineteenth century, Japan was all but closed to foreign influences. Changes introduced during the Meiji restoration accelerated the opening of the country to the world and entailed a rapid industrialization that bridged feudalism to the modern age in just a few years. Even at the end of the century, Japan would have been an exotic destination for most Victorians. It would certainly have appealed to Sherlock Holmes.

  So we now have a new adventure set in new locations.

  In the Sherlock Holmes stories, Doctor Watson is the primary narrator; there are a few, however, in which Sherlock Holmes himself tells the story. In Vasu’s story, there are a number of voices – admittedly reported by Doctor Watson – but each contributing to the tale in a unique way.

  One of the joys of the Sherlock Holmes stories is the incidental detail – of weather (notably fogs, which were exacerbated by the coal-burning homes and factories in London in those days often creating a thick smog), of travel by road, sea and train and the manners and entertainments that Holmes and Watson enjoy. It is giving nothing away about this book to say that it involves travel halfway around the world to Japan and of course this was a much more challenging endeavour at the close of the nineteenth century than it is today. Trips that today take a day or two would then have taken several weeks and had a far greater sense of the exotic than the commoditized experience air travel provides now.

  This story has great richness of voice and will take you on a fascinating journey. It is both an adventure and a colourful experience.

  Enjoy it!

  London, December 2012 CALVERT MARKHAM

  Treasurer of the Sherlock Holmes

  Society of London

  Every morning

  We gaze into our mirrors

  Which are unblemished;

  Oh, that we could attain

  Such a purity of soul.

  A Waka poem by Empress Shoken

  9 May 1849 – 9 April 1914

  Prologue

  O Stranger

  Let the first red rays of the rising sun caress your eyelids

  while you meditate

  Let the Buddha of Kamakura speak to you in silence

  The early hours of the morning at Sagami Bay are like those on any other day: the Pacific lapping at the beach, the sound of crashing waves, the hiss of the mist, the salty tang in the air. From beneath the sea, the fish look up as the first rays of light diffuse into the restless water. The terns and gulls squawk unpleasantly but with happiness. In the death of others is the guarantee of their own life.

  Many men have left the shores of Yokohama and returned as tormented ghosts held in an embrace by the spray of the surging waves. Time continues to paint everything gently. Love evaporates and ki
sses the restless gull; ambition disintegrates into the sand and slides down, down, several feet below. No man shall be spared death. The Amitabha Buddha of Kamakura will watch over acts of passion and hate, of evil and tenderness.

  The fishing boats will take an hour to return from their overnight journeys. Hideo, the vagrant philosopher-poet, sits quietly on his haunches on the beach, letting the water touch him from time to time. Yes, there is a hint of red in the clouds and slowly, with a vicious intent, the red spreads over the bay. Hideo now sees a sea of blood in which even the ghosts have been drenched.

  He walks along the beach wondering what the sea may have decided to reject today. It is the usual – dead fish, a couple of writhing eels approaching the inevitable, many shells and pieces of wood from ships that rest in the sea several fathoms below.

  In the swampy area far from the harbour, he sees a larger shadow. Ah, perhaps a whale or a shark. He walks through the muck and the weeds, his feet making a sucking noise as he moves one leg and then the other. A few nesting birds squawk in alarm and anger and fly away, the sound of their flapping mixing with the dull thunder from below the sea.

  A shark? An octopus? No. The light is not strong enough. He ventures closer and looks carefully.

  A body hugs the swamp, face down. A man in a Western suit. Who is he? Why did he depart this way? Was he asked to? Who shall say?

  Hideo looks back at Sagami Bay. The red is even more profound, but again, a sliver of sunlight edges up and meets a passing cloud.

  The Buddha of Kamakura continues to meditate, his gentle smile frozen as it has been for so many years.

  Two gulls fly upwards in joy, silently.

  The Rt. Hon. Walter Campbell Esq.

  Secretary

  The Publishers’ Guild

  Wimpole Street

  Cavendish Square

  London

  June 25, 1909

  Dear Sir,

  I may be excused for presuming that my name is already known to you, given the not-inconsiderable publicity that my chronicles of the adventures of my distinguished friend Sherlock Holmes have attracted over the past several years through the good offices of members of your own Guild. I humbly accept the fact that my own modest fame, if any, is a direct consequence of a fortuitous association with a very eminent man, who will always be remembered as someone of exceptional intellect.

  I write this formal letter of complaint with considerable reluctance. However, given the gravity of the matter, I have decided, after due consideration and after consulting my solicitors, that candid communication is best. You – and indeed the public, for I have chosen to make this letter public – have a right to understand my anguish.

  At the outset, I would like to express my admiration and regard for the high degree of professionalism that members of your Guild have exhibited over the years that I have known them. At no stage or time has an editor found it necessary to advance more than a few constructive suggestions on my writing; these have mostly pertained to the need to expand on a particular point to assist the reader in understanding a possibly arcane reference. I have always respected the judgement of the editor and our association has been noted for its harmony. Perhaps I am fortunate that my writing has always met the rather stringent and exacting standards you have set; nothing has been altered between the time I wrote something and the time it reached the public.

  However, without wishing to sound pompous and needlessly sensitive, I am compelled, Sir, to formally register my unease, irritation and, frankly, outrage, about a development in your professional community that promises to have serious detrimental repercussions for all involved.

  I refer here to the introduction of a new kind of bold and overly assertive editor, most often a young, educated girl, usually pretty and invariably well-read (perhaps excessively so, at a time when breadth is valued more than depth), with an entirely new lexicon. My publisher, Messrs HarperCollins, a member of your Guild, has, most regrettably, succumbed to this trend and foisted on me one such young lady who insists on providing an endless stream of outrageous, unsolicited, unwanted, unwarranted and presumptuous suggestions, by Royal Mail, telegram, telephone and in person.

  I am a chronicler, Sir, and am unused to young women (admittedly possessing some elements of pulchritude) offering unnecessary suggestions on how I should be writing for the so-called ‘modern audience’. She suggests, repeatedly, that I look into aspects of pace, weaknesses in the plot, apparent contradictions and so on. She would have me believe, Sir, that I am a novice and that I lack the ability to hold the audience’s attention. Indeed her whole manner could be easily construed as pitying and tolerant, as perhaps a missionary might view a heathen in some corner of our overseas territories.

  My contention, Sir, is that I do not write for salacious readers and do not believe that I am obliged to ‘hold’ my audience’s attention. I do not invent or make special efforts to appeal to the morbid and celebrate the sensational. I report facts and do not pander to the ‘modern readership’, which, I am told by this young lady is restless, impatient and suspicious, constantly seeking gratification on every page, in the absence of which a work of rigour is dismissed cursorily. I am not obliged, Sir, to create a racy piece of fiction to solicit cries of delight from an immature readership that relishes murder and mayhem. I report true facts faithfully. To expect that every second of Sherlock Holmes’s life was filled with tension, shocking events, evil men and women and sinister plots is a grave affront to the sensibilities of anyone associated even remotely with him.

  I could certainly point out a few specifics in a recent communication from this young lady.

  The pace slackened at —

  I don’t think this is necessary —

  Holmes is unlikely to say —

  The temerity of this pretty, energetic, bright-eyed junior editor to suppose that she should hold my pen and write on my behalf – this is a matter of the deepest concern. Why then am I necessary, Sir? How dare she say to me, with a touch of patronizing sarcasm, that ‘Holmes is unlikely to have said’. She never met him and never will. I spent many years with him and my faithful notes have stood the test of time and scrutiny. Why should there be an expectation that Holmes speak in precisely one way and not another? He was a linguist, a violinist, a scientist, a great scholar and certainly someone with a gift for disguise. Nothing can be asserted with absolute certainty about him, except that he was a man of the utmost integrity.

  My mind is now filled with grave doubts, Sir, as to whether my work will ever reach the public eye without meddling by this young and overly educated editor. We see now the deleterious effect of Universal Suffrage in the most sacred space – the editorial desk of respected publishers. I have demanded that this letter of protest be included in the final manuscript since I no longer believe that my work will emerge unscathed.

  The modern woman is devious, my dear Sir, and counts on the need of a gentleman to always be a gentleman under all circumstances. However, it is the possible besmirching of the reputation of my distinguished friend Sherlock Holmes that most exercises my mind. Needless to say, I am in discussion with my solicitors Llewellyn, Harwood and Fox, 15, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, W.C. for appropriate legal recourse and recovery of damages should the machinations of this attractive young woman succeed.

  I trust I have succeeded in drawing your attention to this matter and I am confident that your respected organization will institute suitable enquiries and provide correction to Messrs HarperCollins and similar others on their misguided attempts to suffocate writers with the unacceptable attentions of young female editors.

  I remain, Sir,

  Yours truly,

  John H. Watson, M.D.

  221B Baker Street

  London, W.C

  A Letter from Yokohama

  My friend, you may have lived in Osaka and I in

  Nagoya for the past thirty years. And yet the bonds of

  our silent friendship are stronger than the steel ofr />
  a Samurai’s sword.

  When I wrote The Final Problem, advising the public on the circumstances leading to the death of Sherlock Holmes and his arch-enemy Professor Moriarty at Reichenbach Falls near the village of Meiringen in Switzerland, I had not bargained for the reaction. To say that the man on the street felt no embarrassment in joining a collective cry of anguish would be an understatement; his rooms at 221B Baker Street became a veritable shrine for the devout. The costermonger, the clerk in the shipping office, the constable, Holmes’s friends in the criminal class – all stood shoulder to shoulder outside in silence, mourning his passing. My eyes misted when I saw how much love my strange and solitary friend had commanded from the citizenry of the city; of course, he himself would have dismissed such speculation contemptuously, for, in his rational mind, love of any kind had no place except as a lens into the behaviour of the human mind, a tool he frequently used in his investigations.

  Thereafter, a number of unscrupulous individuals attempted to profit from such sentiments by reporting the alleged spotting of Holmes in many places – he was in Bombay trading in Indian antiquities, said one dispatch. A confirmed sighting in Durban, swore an Army colonel. In Santiago as a respected violinist, calmly asserted a returning ship’s captain. An innkeeper in Vaasa, Finland, said the excited wife of the second secretary of our Embassy in that country.

  I, however, reconciled to his death and went back quietly to my country home with my wife. I swore to keep his memory alive and began the onerous task of collecting and organizing his papers, personal effects and correspondence; I was keenly aware of how history would view and idolize the memory of this great man and was not unaware that my association with him would be remarked upon favourably. Holmes’s brother Mycroft most generously handed over whatever he had of his brother’s effects, including his beloved Stradivarius violin, saying, ‘The bonds of blood do not always take precedence over the bonds of loyal friendship, Watson.’ I was deeply touched.