The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Japan (6 page)

‘Maybe the
bonsai
is allowed to remain as it is – a dwarf; that is, a stunted tree or bush. But more often than not it is trained – shaped by experts – to give the impression, at least, of a much
larger
image. A seaside cliff has been a popular image for centuries – a cliff ceaselessly swept and whipped by the wind.’

  ‘But then,’ interrupted Katamari, his thin face upturned slightly as he carefully regarded the Englishman. ‘But then – what are these lines about ‘attachment to a rock’ and ‘salvation’? What have such things to do with
bonsai
?’

‘Everything!’ returned Holmes, almost with exasperation. ‘Do I, a foreigner, really need to tell
you
– a senior Buddhist monk? For here we move into the
religious
significance of
bonsai
– the very reason why this art-form was created in China in the first place. Long before wealthy Japanese
daimyo
,
samurai
, traders, money-lenders and the like deigned to stick them around their residences as mere attractive decorations.’

‘Yes,’ nodded Katamari. He spoke slowly, in stark contrast to Holmes’s rapid flow of words. ‘You have reminded me. Of course… The roots of the
bonsai
, gripping the rocks in the tray, represent our attachment to Buddha. How by praying to him daily, and frequently invoking his name, we may obtain our salvation.

‘But this last part – I am aware
bonsai
may be several hundred years old, but ‘sometimes fuel for the fire’…?’

Holmes gave a short laugh.

‘I am beginning to suspect that Gyoja-
sama
’ (as always when he was in the presence of anyone from the temple, Holmes used the honorific) ‘had something of a puckish sense of humor. There is no real meaning here.

‘But the ‘fuel for the fire’ refers to some ancient Chinese plays, where people fall from fortune into poverty, and so are obliged to burn their precious indicators of previous wealth and power, if they are to try and remain warm. A simple play upon the fickleness of fortune, and how all of us, no matter how great or low our status in society may be, must one day sicken and die…’

‘And its meaning… now?’ said the senior monk quietly, his eyes fixed upon the foreigner.

‘You have the key?’ asked Holmes.

‘No, not on me,’ returned Katamari, looking surprised. ‘In any case, where exactly is the keyhole?’

‘You have some sort of sharp-bladed implement, perhaps?’ Holmes said simply.

Katamari’s surprised expression only increased; but then he disappeared, quickly returning with a small knife.

‘I found this, Holmes-
san
, in the kitchen,’ he said.  

‘Perfect. Now to answer your question, Katamari-san – the keyhole is behind this area of the painting, which, if you will look closely, has a picture of a
bonsai.
’

Both Katamari and I inclined our heads to look closely at the area of the picture Holmes indicated. That is, the area at which he’d looked closely before, where various plants and bushes were depicted – a little to one side of the central scene.

And there it was: a
bonsai
, well-disguised among all the other vegetation. You would never have noticed it, perhaps, had you not been specifically looking for such a thing…

‘The keyhole is…’ began Katamari.

‘Behind this painted image of a
bonsai
,’ declared Holmes. ‘This whole canvas is stretched upon a wooden frame placed on the wall behind – a wall which also has a door set in it. We must first expose the keyhole, and then discover the exact size of this door.’

‘But that will mean cutting into the picture,’ queried Katamari.

‘I’m afraid so. Should we wait until the
Jushoku
is recovered – to seek his advice and decision concerning what is best to do…?’

‘No,’ said Katamari, and there was no disguising the excitement in his eyes. ‘No – I will make the decision. Take this knife, and let us see this keyhole!’

Holmes carefully cut a square shape around the image of the
bonsai
. A small gap appeared behind the stretched canvas and there was the keyhole, placed in what appeared to be a door of stone.

‘Well, Katamari-
san
– would you be prepared to get the key?’

For a moment the senior monk appeared to think; and like a shadow an expression I didn’t care for in the slightest flitted across his face. It was hard to define, exactly; but it was sly and cunning, and then something else entirely…

And then it was gone.

‘Yes,’ said Katamari, obviously making an effort at keeping his voice steady. ‘If you remain here, I will go and get the key.’

‘We will wait,’ returned Holmes. He waited until almost a minute after Katamari had left; then he said to me –

‘The danger is most acute now, my dear Yoshida-
sensei
. It is imperative you do exactly as I say, or direct, very shortly.’

I knew when not to ask any questions, or query what was being said. As aflame as my mind was with nervous curiosity, I replied: ‘Yes, Holmes-
san
.’

The senior monk returned a few minutes after with the key.

‘And now we learn if this really is… the last riddle,’ said Katamari, his hand shaking slightly as he placed the key in the lock that was a few inches behind the canvas. It fitted perfectly, and turned to the right with a satisfying
clunk
.

The door immediately swung outwards; that is, away from the reverse of the thick canvas.

‘You’re sure it’s okay to further despoil this painting?’ asked Holmes quietly.

‘Yes, yes!’ snapped Katamari irritably. ‘Do you not realize what – ’

With an effort he caught himself, and made an obvious effort to steady his breathing.

‘Forgive me, Holmes
-san
,’ he said then. ‘What with everything that has happened recently, I find myself a little…’

‘Of course, of course,’ returned that detective from the great English city of London sympathetically. ‘Maybe seeing what lies in the room that has been hidden behind this painting will solve one mystery, at least...’

So using the knife, Holmes cut out a neat rectangular shape for us to pass through. He put the part of the painting he’d cut out on the stone floor. Katamari then held the lamp inside this doorway. We saw it was the top of some stone stairs leading downwards. There was a general smell of earth, and age.

We entered inside, and walked down. Ten steps and we found ourselves in a small, underground room that had a large wooden rack full of the same thick lengths of bamboo which had contained the last two riddles.

Holmes took one of these lengths of bamboo from the wooden rack. He removed one of the wooden plugs placed in either end and threw it aside. The rolled-up piece of paper he then removed looked even older than the others I’d seen. He opened it up with extreme care, watched all the time by Katamari. I saw what was written and made a small noise of surprise. It was in a language the like of which I’d never seen before.

‘Sanskrit…’ breathed the senior monk.

‘Do you know it?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes… I studied it, during my time in Chang’an.’

‘As did I,’ returned Holmes, whose expression was then one of absolute fascination as he stared at the unrolled scroll.

‘I do not say that I am anything like fluent in it, but what I
can
read is just… Incredible… absolutely incredible…’ he murmured – an opinion that was obviously shared by Katamari. One had only to glance at the senior monk’s expression to realize that.

‘We… we have to assemble everyone in this temple, now,’ said Katamari. ‘Let us go to the main hall. We will leave the scrolls here for the time-being.’

Holmes gave a small nod – his expression I noticed a little tight – and we followed the senior monk back up the narrow flight of stone stairs, and into the so-called ‘Barrel Room’.

We crossed the narrow corridor, and entered into the main hall that was lighted with a number of candles. They glowed around the golden statue of Buddha.

Katamari bade us to kneel close in front of the altar – clearly, we were about to give thanks to Buddha for what we’d just discovered – and he lit two sticks of incense in a pot beside us.

Then, quite suddenly, he said, ‘I will go and fetch every other monk – even the
Jushoku
, if he is not too ill. Please remain here.’

And with that he walked quickly away, leaving the main hall.

At once an appalling sickness seemed to grip my mind. I could hear my heart beating ever-louder and faster in my ears. And
shrieks
– great cries of appalling grief and agony.

The candle-flames were all blurred… I could not focus on anything…

But I could begin to see such demons and other things from hell that I thought just the sight of them would strike me dead…

Some distant part of my brain realized my face was horribly contorting; I was being rapidly driven towards death by sheer
fear
…

Then, as though from somewhere distant, I sensed I was being pulled away from the merging candle-flames and the hideous faces of the demons and imps and such…

Someone was shouting in my ear, entreating me not to die, to stay focused and to –

‘…
breathe…
!’

It was upon hearing this last word that I began partially to return to my senses. Clean air was rushing into my lungs… A strong wind was buffeting around my head and my ears and I realized that I was half-leaning in the darkness out of one of the main hall’s windows, the shutter of wood-and-paper having been slid open…         

Strong hands were gripping my shoulders and keeping me from falling towards that rocky river, surrounded by bamboo groves, that was far below. Holmes’s head was beside mine; he too was breathing the cool air that was so different from the poisonous atmosphere inside the main hall.

‘Holmes…?’ I said uncertainly, my voice little more than a croak.

‘I’m sorry, my dear doctor – I’m so sorry,’ he returned in an almost emotional-sounding flood. ‘I would not have subjected you to this for the world; but there was no other way – absolutely no other way…’

I was still dazed from what had just taken place. So it took me a few moments to interpret the Englishman’s words.

‘What is this?’ I managed to ask at last. ‘Some sort of devilry, taking place here in a Buddhist temple?’

‘Yes, Yoshida-
sensei
– exactly that,’ returned Holmes, raising his voice above the howling wind that was blowing into the hall behind us. ‘Devilry – man-made devilry.’     

‘What do you mean?’

‘Wait here,’ said Holmes. ‘Just keep your head out of this window. You’re strong enough to stand unaided now, yes? You won’t fall?’

I wouldn’t and I said so. It was hard for me now even to recall those terrors I’d been experiencing just a minute before. My mental and physical strength had almost fully returned, and I was again ready for anything.

Holmes was gone but for a few seconds. When he returned he said –

‘We don’t have much time. The poisonous atmosphere has all but dispersed by now, due to the window being open, so we must shut it as it was before and then adopt our positions before the altar.’

‘What positions?’ I inquired.

‘We must pretend to be dead,’ declared the detective bluntly. ‘But keep your face pressed into your arm, so that it cannot be seen. Else the usual, awful expression will not be evident and so suspicions may be aroused.’

‘But, Holmes-
san
, I don’t understand…’

‘That doesn’t matter for now! Just trust me!’

This fiercely-whispered entreaty was more than enough for me. I copied Holmes in a ‘prone’ position before the altar, the wood-and-paper window now slid shut, and waited…

10

It wasn’t long before I heard the sliding door into the main hall – which Katamari had closed behind him – open, and someone enter. Whoever it was walked quickly over to the window and again opened it.

The wind whipped in for a minute or so, although as before I doubted it was strong enough to extinguish any of the candles burning, and I heard the door slide shut again as our mysterious guest departed.

Then all was silence. I hardly dared breathe, Holmes lying close beside me. Whoever had just entered had walked past our apparently dead bodies without even a murmur…

But
who…
?  

The door slid open again ten or so long minutes later. This time there was a gasp of surprise and then the shriek –

‘More deaths! More deaths! Someone – help!’

I didn’t recognize the voice. As likely as not it belonged to one of those junior monks, who’d possibly come to prepare the hall for the evening service. But where was Katamari, who’d said he’d return with everyone resident at this temple – even the
Jushoku
, his health allowing?