Shinju by Laura Joh Rowland

employee, Noriyoshi.”
    Before he could introduce himself, Cherry Eater exclaimed, “Ahhh! Why didn’t you say so?” With a knowing nod, he ushered Sano to a display rack at the rear of the shop. “Sadly the great artistNoriyoshi has departed from this world. But I have here his most recent work. His best work, I might add. You like it? Yes?”
    Looking at the prints, Sano immediately understood how the Okubata Fine Arts Company made its money: by selling
shunga
—erotic art—to a select clientele. The other prints were nothing but window dressing. Noriyoshi’s work showed amorous couples in every possible position and setting: In a bedchamber, with the man on top of the woman; in a garden, with the spread-legged woman seated in the fork of a tree and a standing man thrusting into her. Some pictures included third parties, such as maids assisting the couples, or voyeurs peeping through windows at them. Noriyoshi had depicted costumes, surroundings, and genitalia in great detail. A large print showed a reclining samurai, his swords on the floor next to him, his robes parted to expose a huge erection. With one hand he fondled the crotch of the nude maiden lying beside him; with the other, he drew her hand toward his organ. The caption read:
    Indeed, indeed
With all their hearts
Sharing love’s bed:
Caressing her Jeweled Gateway and taking
The girl’s hand, causing her to grasp his
Jade Shaft: what girl’s face will not
Blush, her breath come faster?
    All the prints were technically superior to the works at the front of the shop. The colors were clear and harmonious, the drawing masterful. In addition, they had a sensuous grace not usually found in common
shunga
. Sano felt himself growing aroused against his will.
    â€œPerhaps Noriyoshi’s pictures can assist you in your romantic endeavors,” Cherry Eater said helpfully.
    This jab at his sexual prowess, whether or not intentional, jolted Sano out of his reverie. The proprietor was either a very subtlewag, or too thoughtless to realize how his remarks might affect his customers. Turning away from the prints, Sano said sharply, “That’s none of your business. And I’m not here to buy.”
    When he introduced himself, he watched with some satisfaction as Cherry Eater’s face blanched so that the birthmark stood out like a fiery rash. The proprietor’s eyes flew toward the pictures. The absence of round red censors’ seals clearly identified them as contraband, their sale or possession illegal.
    â€œI’m not concerned about your merchandise, either,” Sano hastened to add. “I’d like you to answer some questions about Noriyoshi.”
    Color flooded back into Cherry Eater’s face. “If I can, sir. Ask me anything at all.” He grinned, expansive in his relief.
    To put the man at ease and avoid provoking his suspicion, Sano began with an innocuous question. “How long did Noriyoshi work for you?”
    â€œOh, not long enough.”
    Despite Cherry Eater’s innocent smile, Sano began to understand that the proprietor’s jabs and wisecracks were indeed intentional, delivered in an apparent earnestness that would fool most people. Annoyed, he frowned a warning.
    Mischief lit Cherry Eater’s eyes as he counted on his fingers. “Noriyoshi was with me six … seven years.”
    Long enough for them to know each other well, Sano thought. “What kind of man was he?”
    â€œMuch like any other. He had two eyes, a nose …”
    Sano’s annoyance grew. He glared at Cherry Eater, touching his sword to underscore the threat.
    Cherry Eater’s insectile eyes goggled; his smile vanished. Obviously realizing that he’d gone too far, he amended quickly, “Oh, Noriyoshi was a very capable artist. Very prolific. His work sold well. I’ll miss him.”
    Sano said patiently, “No, I mean what was he like as a person? Friendly?