Murder on the Leviathan

by Boris Akunin

  'Very well,' Gauche agreed sarcastically. 'Let us move straight on to the hard facts.'

  'Gladly. I counted five more or less significant elements. Mr Aono is a doctor, but for some reason he concealed that from us. That is one. Mr Aono is capable of shattering a hard object such as a gourd - and perhaps also a head - with a single blow. That is two. Mr Aono does not have a Leviathan emblem. That is three. A scalpel, which might be the one that killed Professor Sweet-child, is missing from the defendant's medical bag. That is four. And finally, five: we have just witnessed an attempted escape by the accused, which sets his guilt beyond all reasonable doubt. I don't think I have forgotten anything, have I?'

  'There is a number six,' put in the commissioner. 'He is unable to offer an explanation for any of these points.'

  'Very well, let us make it six,' the Russian agreed readily.

  Gauche chuckled.

  ‘I’d say that's more than enough for any jury to send our little pigeon to the guillotine.'

  Inspector Jackson jerked his head up and growled in English: 'To the gallows.'

  'No, to the gallows,' Renier translated.

  Ah, the black-hearted English! He had warmed a viper in his bosom!

  'I beg your pardon,' fumed Gauche. 'The investigation has been conducted by the French side. So our villain will go to the guillotine!'

  'And the decisive piece of evidence, the missing scalpel, was discovered by the British side. He'll be sent to the gallows,' the lieutenant translated.

  'The main crime was committed in Paris. To the guillotine!'

  'But Lord Littleby was a British subject. And so was Professor Sweetchild. It's the gallows for him.'

  The Japanese appeared not to hear this discussion that threatened to escalate into an international conflict. His eyes were still closed and his face was completely devoid of all expression. These yellow devils really are different from us, thought Gauche. And just think of all the trouble they would have to take with him: a prosecutor, a barrister, a jury, judges in robes.

  Of course, that was the way it ought to be, democracy is democracy after all, but this had to be a case of casting pearls before swine.

  When there was a pause Fandorin asked:

  'Have you concluded your debate? May I p-proceed?'

  'Carry on,' Gauche said gloomily, thinking about the battles with the British that lay ahead.

  'And let us not d-discuss the shattered gourds either. They also prove nothing.'

  This whole comedy was beginning to get on the commissioner's nerves.

  'All right. We needn't waste any time on trifles.'

  'Excellent. Then that leaves five points: he concealed the fact that he is a doctor; he has no emblem; the scalpel is missing; he tried to escape; he offers no explanations.'

  'And every point enough to have the villain sent ... for execution.'

  'The problem is, Commissioner, that you think like a European, but M-Mr Aono has a different, Japanese, logic, which you have not made any effort to fathom. I, however, have had the honour of conversing with this gentleman, and I have a better idea of how his mind works than you do. Mr Aono is not simply Japanese, he is a samurai, and he comes from an old and influential family. This is an important point for this particular case. For five hundred years every man in the clan of Aono was a warrior. All other professions were regarded as unworthy of such a distinguished family. The accused is the third son in the family. When Japan decided to move a step closer to Europe, many noble families began sending their sons abroad to study, and Mr Aono's father did the same. He sent his eldest son to England to study for a career as a naval officer, because the principality of Satsuma, where the Aono clan resides, provides officers for the Japanese navy. In Satsuma the navy is regarded as the senior service. Aono senior sent his second son to a military academy in Germany. Following the Franco-German War of 1870 the Japanese decided to restructure their army on the German model, and all of their military advisers are Germans. All this information about the clan of Aono was volunteered to me by the accused himself.'

  'And what the devil do we want with all these aristocratic details?' Gauche asked irritably.

  'I observed that the accused spoke with pride about his older brothers but preferred not to talk about himself. I also noticed a long time ago that for an alumnus of St Cyr, Mr Aono is remarkably ignorant of military matters. And why would he have been sent to a French military academy when he himself had told me that the Japanese army was being organized along German lines? I have formed the following impression. In keeping with the spirit of the times, Aono senior decided to set his third son up in a peaceful, non-military profession and make him a doctor. From what I have read in books, in Japan the decision of the head of the family is not subject to discussion, and so the defendant travelled to France to take up his studies in the faculty of medicine, even though he felt unhappy about it. In fact, as a scion of the martial clan of Aono, he felt disgraced by having to fiddle with bandages and tinker with clysters! That is why he said he was a soldier. He was simply ashamed to admit his true profession, which he regards as shameful. From a European point of view this might seem absurd, but try to see things through his eyes. How would your countryman D'Artagnan have felt if he had ended up as a physician after dreaming for so long of winning a musketeer's cloak?'

  Gauche noticed a sudden change in the Japanese. He had opened his eyes and was staring at Fandorin in a state of obvious agitation, and crimson spots had appeared on his cheeks. Could he possibly be blushing? No, that was preposterous.

  'Ah, how very touching,' Gauche snorted. 'But I'll let it go. Tell me instead, monsieur counsel for the defence, about the emblem. What did your bashful client do with it? Was he ashamed to wear it?'

  'That is absolutely right,' the self-appointed barrister said with a nod. 'That is the reason. He was ashamed. Look at what it says on the badge.'

  Gauche glanced down at his lapel.

  'It doesn't say anything. There are just the initials of the Jasper-Artaud Partnership.'

  'Precisely.' Fandorin traced out the three letters in the air with his finger. 'J - A - P. The letters spell "jap", the term of abuse that foreigners use for the Japanese. Tell me, Commissioner, how would you like to wear a badge that said "frog"?'

  Captain Cliff threw his head back and burst into loud laughter. Even the sour-faced Jackson and stand-offish Miss Stamp smiled. The crimson spots spread even further across the face of the Japanese.

  A terrible premonition gnawed at Gauche's heart. His voice was suddenly hoarse.

  'And why can he not explain all this for himself?'

  'That is quite impossible. You see - again as far as I can understand from the books that I have read - the main difference between the Europeans and the Japanese lies in the moral basis of their social behaviour.'

  'That's a bit high-flown,' said the captain.

  The diplomat turned to face him.

  'Not at all. Christian culture is based on a sense of guilt. It is bad to sin, because afterwards you will be tormented by remorse. The normal European tries to behave morally in order to avoid a sense of guilt. The Japanese also strive to observe certain moral norms, but their motivation is different. In their society the moral restraints derive from a sense of shame. The worst thing that can happen to a Japanese is to find himself in a situation where he feels ashamed and is condemned or, even worse, ridiculed by society. That is why the Japanese are so afraid of committing any faux pas that offends the sense of decency. I can assure you that shame is a far more effective civilizing influence than guilt. From Mr Aono's point of view it would be quite unthinkable to speak openly of "shameful" matters, especially with foreigners. To be a doctor and not a soldier is shameful. To confess that he has lied is even more shameful. And to admit that he, a samurai, could attach any importance to offensive nicknames - why, that is entirely out of the question.'

  'Thank you for the lecture,' said Gauche, with an ironic bow. 'And was it shame that made your client at
tempt to escape from custody too?'

  'That's the point,' agreed Jackson, suddenly transformed from enemy to ally. 'The yellow bastard almost broke my wrist.'

  'Once again you have guessed correctly, Commissioner. It is impossible to escape from a steamship, there is nowhere to go. Believing his position to be hopeless and anticipating nothing but further humiliation, my client (as you insist on calling him) undoubtedly intended to lock himself in his cabin and commit suicide according to samurai ritual. Is that not right, Mr Aono?' Fandorin asked, addressing the Japanese directly for the first time.

  'You would have been disappointed,' the diplomat continued gently. 'You must have heard that your ritual dagger was taken by the police during their search.'

  'Ah, you're talking about that - what's it called? - hira-kira, hari-kari.' Gauche smirked into his moustache. 'Rubbish. I don't believe that a man could rip his own belly open. If you've really had enough of this world, it's far better to brain yourself against the wall. But I won't take you up on that either. There is one piece of evidence you can't shrug off - the scalpel that is missing from his medical instruments. How do you explain that? Do you claim that the real culprit stole your client's scalpel in advance because he was planning the murder and wanted to shift the blame onto Aono? That just won't wash! How could the murderer know the professor would decide to tell us about his discovery immediately after dinner? And Sweetchild himself had only just guessed the secret of the shawl. Remember the state he was in when he came running into the saloon!'

  'Nothing could be easier for me than to explain the missing scalpel. It is not even a matter of supposition, but of hard fact.

  Do you remember how things began disappearing from people's cabins after Port Said? The mysterious spate of thefts ended as suddenly as it had begun. And do you remember when? It was after our black stowaway was killed. I have given a lot of thought to the question of why he was on board the Leviathan, and this is my explanation. The negro was probably brought here from darkest Africa by Arab slave traders, and naturally he arrived in Port Said by sea. Why do I think that? Because when he escaped from his masters, the negro didn't simply run away, he boarded a ship. He evidently believed that since a ship had taken him away from his home, another ship could take him back.'

  'What has all this got to do with our case?' Gauche interrupted impatiently. 'This negro of yours died on the fifth of April, and Sweetchild was killed yesterday! To hell with you and your fairy tales! Jackson, take the prisoner away!'

  The commissioner set off decisively towards the door, but the diplomat grabbed his elbow in a vice-like grip and said in a repulsively obsequious voice:

  'Dear M. Gauche, I would like to follow my arguments through to their conclusion. Please be patient for just a little while longer.'

  Gauche tried to break free, but this young whippersnapper had fingers of steel. After his second attempt failed, the commissioner decided not to make himself look even more foolish. He turned to face Fandorin.

  'Very well, five more minutes,' he hissed, glaring into the insolent youth's serene blue eyes.

  'Thank you. Five minutes will be more than enough to shatter your final piece of hard evidence ... I knew that the runaway slave must have a lair somewhere on the ship, so I looked for it. But while you were searching the holds and the coal-holes, Captain, I started with the upper deck. The black man had only been seen by first-class passengers, so it was reasonable to assume that he was hiding somewhere close by. I found what I was looking for in the third lifeboat from the bow on the starboard side: the remains of his food and a bundle of his belongings. There were several pieces of coloured cloth, a string of beads and all sorts of shiny objects, including a small mirror, a sextant, a pince-nez and also a large scalpel.'

  'Why should I believe you?' roared Gauche. His case was crumbling to dust before his very eyes.

  'Because I am a disinterested party who is prepared to confirm his testimony under oath. May I continue?' The Russian smiled his sickening little smile. 'Thank you. Our poor negro was evidently a thrifty individual who did not intend to return home empty-handed.'

  'Stop, stop!' cried Renier, with a frown. 'M. Fandorin, why did you not report your discovery to the captain and me? What right did you have to conceal it?'

  'I didn't conceal it. I left the bundle where it was. But when I came back to the lifeboat a few hours later, after the search, the bundle was gone. I was sure it must have been found by your sailors. But now it seems that the professor's murderer got there before you and claimed all the negro's trophies, including Mr Aono's scalpel. The c-criminal could have foreseen that he might need to take . . . extreme measures and carried the scalpel around with him as a precaution. It might help to put the police off the scent. Tell me, Mr Aono, was the scalpel stolen from you?'

  The Japanese hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly.

  'And you did not mention it, because an officer of the imperial army could not possibly possess a scalpel, am I right?'

  'The sextant was mine!' declared the red-headed baronet. 'I thought . . . but that doesn't matter. So it turns out that savage stole it. Gentlemen, if someone's head is smashed in with my sextant, please bear in mind that it is nothing to do with me.'

  Bewildered by this final and absolute disaster, Gauche squinted inquiringly at Jackson.

  Tm very sorry, Commissioner, but it seems you will have to continue your voyage,' the inspector said in French, twisting his thin Hps into a smile of sympathy. 'My apologies, Mr Aono. If you would just hold out your hands . . . Thank you.'

  The handcuffs jangled plaintively as they were removed.

  The silence that ensued was broken by Renate Kleber's frightened voice:

  'I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but then who is the murderer?'

  PART THREE

  Bombay to the Palk Strait

  Gintaro Aono

  The 18th day of the fourth month

  In view of the southern tip of the Indian peninsula

  It is now three days since we left Bombay, and I have not opened my diary even once since then. This is the first time such a thing has happened to me since I made it a firm rule to write every day. But I made the break deliberately. I had to come to terms with an overwhelming torrent of thoughts and feelings.

  The essential significance of what has happened to me is best conveyed by a haiku that was born spontaneously at the very moment when the inspector of police removed the iron shackles from my wrists.

  Lonely is the flight

  Of the nocturnal butterfly,

  But stars throng the sky.

  I realized immediately that it was a very good poem, the best that I have ever written, but its meaning is not obvious and requires elucidation. I have meditated for three days on the changes within my being, until I think I have finally discovered the truth.

  I have been visited by the great miracle of which every man dreams - I have experienced satori, or catharsis, as the ancient Greeks called it. How many times has my mentor told me that if satori comes, it comes when it will and on its own terms, it cannot be induced or impeded! A man may be righteous and wise, he may sit in the zazen pose for many hours each day and read mountains of sacred texts, but still die unenlightened. And yet the radiant majesty of satori may be revealed to some ne'er-do-well who wanders aimlessly and foolishly through life, transforming his worthless existence in an instant! I am that ne'er-do-well. I have been lucky. At the age of 27 I have been born again.

  Illumination and purification did not come to me in a moment of spiritual and physical concentration, but when I was wretched, crushed and empty, when I was reduced to no more than the wrinkled skin of a burst balloon. But the dull clanking of those irons signalled my transformation. Suddenly I knew with a clarity beyond words that I am not I, but . . . No, that is not it. That I am not only I, but also an infinite multitude of other lives. That I am not some Gintaro Aono, third son of the senior counsellor to His Serene Highness Prince Simazu: I am a small and yet
precious particle of the One. I am in all that exists, and all that exists is in me. How many times I have heard those words, but I only understood them . . . no, I only experienced their truth, on the 15th day of the fourth month of the nth year of Meiji, in the city of Bombay, on board an immense European steamship. The will of the Supreme is truly capricious.

  What is the meaning of this tercet that was born of my inner intuition? Man is a solitary firefly in the gloom of boundless night. His light is so weak that it illuminates only a minute segment of space; beyond that lie cold, darkness and fear. But if you turn your frightened gaze away from the dark earth below and look upwards (you need only turn your head!), you see that the sky is covered with stars, shining with a calm, bright, eternal light. You are not alone in the darkness. The stars are your friends, they will help you. They will not abandon you in your distress. And a little while later one understands something else, something equally important: a firefly is also a star like all the others. Those in the sky above see your light and it helps them to endure the cold darkness of the universe.

  My life will probably not change. I shall be the same as I was before - trivial and absurd, at the mercy of my passions. But this certain knowledge will always dwell in the depths of my soul, my salvation and comfort in times of difficulty. I am no longer a shallow puddle that any strong gust of wind can spill across the ground. I am the ocean, and the storm that drives the all-destroying tsunami across my surface can never touch my inmost depths.

  When my spirit was flooded with joy at this realization, I recalled that the greatest of virtues is gratitude. The first star I glimpsed glowing in the blackness around me was Fandorin-san. Thanks to him I know that the world is not indifferent to me, Gintaro Aono, that the Great Beyond will never abandon me in misfortune.