Содзи Симада - Murder in the Crooked House

Kozaburo showed them an elaborate metal clock in the shape of a castle. On the top was the Tower of Babel, and the T-shaped pendulum hung from a spherical rendition of the cosmos with the baby Jesus at its centre.

“And this one is Goddess Hunting Deer. The deer, the dogs and the horse all move.

“This one is The Gardener. Unfortunately, he doesn’t sprinkle water from that watering can any more.

“And over here we have a tabletop water fountain made for a nobleman in the fourteenth century. This one doesn’t spout water any more either.

“In medieval Europe these kinds of magical playthings were popping up all over the place. These new marvellous mechanisms came about and changed people’s view of magic. It was fun to surprise people. For many long years that role was taken by witchcraft and sorcery. And then finally, these kind of automata were invented and took over the role. The worship of machinery, perhaps you could say. There was a trend for people to design machines that were copies of things found in nature. And so witchcraft and machinery for quite a while were synonymous. It was a transition period. Of course these were meant to be toys, something to play with, but that is only obvious when looked at from the standpoint of our modernday science.”

“You don’t have any Japanese artefacts,” Sasaki pointed out.

“That’s right. Nothing besides the Tengu masks.”

“What about Japanese karakuri dolls? Are they poorly made?”

“Not at all. There’s the famous Tea Server and all the dolls that were made up in Hida Takayama. The inventor Hiraga Gennai and especially Giemon, the pseudonym of Tanaka Hisashige, were responsible for making the most sophisticated automata. It’s just they’re impossible to get hold of. The reason is that in Japan they have very few metal parts. Long ago the cogs were made from wood, and the springs from whalebone, and after a hundred years they’d be worn out. Even if you could get hold of one, it’d be a replica, a copy. But even those replicas are almost impossible to get your hands on.”

“Are there any blueprints still in existence?”

“Yes, there are a few. Without the blueprints no one could have made those replicas. But they’re only drawings, really.

“On the whole, Japanese craftsmen didn’t tend to leave blueprints behind. They wanted to keep the art of making karakuri dolls their own secret. It wasn’t a problem of poor technique at all. I really question this aspect of Japanese people’s behaviour. For example, back in the Edo Era, there was apparently a rather splendid karakuri doll—a child playing the fife and drum. It could blow on a small flute and play the drum at the same time. Neither the original nor the blueprints have survived. So I’ve been complaining to the engineers of many countries: if you develop a new product or technology, please record the process in minute detail and leave it for future generations. It should be your legacy to the future.”

“What a good story!” said Michio Kanai. “I also heard that karakuri craftsmen were looked down on in Japan. Is that true?”

“I think it is. Japanese automata were considered to be nothing more than toys, purely for amusement. Unlike in the West, where they were developed further into clocks and mechanical objects, and eventually computers.”

For a while the guests wandered around the room, each taking in the collection at their own speed. Kumi was drawn back to the letter-writing boy and the noblewoman at her dulcimer; Michio Kanai and Kozaburo strolled together, while Hatsue Kanai headed off by herself at a much faster pace and soon found herself in the far corner of the room in front of a single doll. She was suddenly overcome with paralysing terror. The secret fear that she had felt as she entered the room was instantly revived. Or rather the unearthly feelings that had been slowly growing on her since she set foot in this room now all seemed to be embodied in this one antique figure.

Hatsue had always believed she had some kind of psychic powers. Even her husband admitted that she had some sort of special ability. And now, looking at this doll, she felt it giving off some sort of unusual presence.

It was Golem, the life-sized doll. She’d seen it before as a body lying in the snow, and again when it had been put back together in the salon, but this was the first time she had seen its face. It had huge eyes, a moustache and beard, and sat on the floor, just to the right of the Tengu-covered south wall, leaning against the west wall, under the window onto the corridor, both of its legs splayed out in front.

Its body was made of wood; also its hands and feet. Its head was probably wooden too, but although its face was carved in fine detail, and its hands and feet painted, the torso was made of rough, unfinished timber.

Hatsue guessed that the doll had once worn clothes. This seemed to be borne out by the way the arms from the wrists down were realistically depicted, and the feet were made to look as if they were wearing shoes; in other words, the parts of the doll that would not have been covered by clothing. On closer inspection, both hands were curled as if they had been holding a thin stick or pole at some point in the past. Right now, though, they were empty.

The whole of the doll gave off a ghostly aura, but the strongest sensation came from its head, that face. Its expression revealed a more extreme madness than that of the other Western dolls in the room, and the smile on its lips was closer to a sneer. Hatsue could understand a craftsman wanting to make cute dolls, but why would anyone think of making this giant of a man with its creepy smile?

She realized that her husband and Kozaburo were standing behind her. Bolstered by their presence, she leant towards Golem to examine his face more closely.

His skin was a little dark, like an Arab’s maybe, she thought. But the tip of his nose gleamed whitish. The paint on his cheeks had started to peel away like the shell of a hard-boiled egg. He looked as if he had suffered severe burns or frostbite. But his smile seemed to say that he wasn’t bothered at all by any of this. Apparently, the damage was painless.

“Ah, yes, this is the first time you’ve met this one,” said Kozaburo.

“Yes, er… Go—something wasn’t it?”

“Golem.”

“Yes, that’s it. Why does he have that name?”

“Everyone in the shop where I bought him used to call him that. So I just kept calling him by the same name.”

“He has such a hideous face. I was just wondering what he was staring at with that sneer. It’s kind of frightening.”

“Do you think so?”

“There’s nothing cute about him at all. Not like that doll that could sign its name. Why on earth did they make something with a grinning face like this?”

“Maybe the craftsmen those days believed that all dolls had to have a smile on their face?”

Hatsue said nothing.

“When I come here alone at night and see him sitting there in the darkness, grinning to himself, sometimes even I get the creeps.”

“He’s horrible.”

“He has feelings, you know.”

“He really does seem to,” said Sasaki as he joined the others. “He’s always staring at something that human beings can’t see. And he has that smile of satisfaction on his face. It makes me want to follow his stare, find what it is he’s watching.”

“Is that how you feel? It’s what I thought one time, right after this room was constructed but was still empty. He was the first thing I brought in, and I sat him down. He was staring at the wall behind me and I was sure there must be a fly or a wasp or something that had landed there. He has such a strong presence. He’s a peculiar looking doll, isn’t he? As if he’s got some secret plot he’s hatching, but his expression gives nothing away. I think that’s the brilliance of whoever made him.”