I was momentarily confused at his usage of “departed” to mean “passed away.” I was still not entirely comfortable with the local dialect.
“I couldn’t tell if the piece was authentic, so I asked Seiji for help,” continued the monzeki, and Holmes nodded in acknowledgment. “However, Kishitani, could it be that its authenticity itself represents your father’s feelings? Perhaps he thought that it would benefit you to sell it to a suitable buyer. How much would it fetch, Kiyotaka?”
“Hmm, it’s in good condition and the cherry blossoms are beautiful, so someone might be willing to pay five for it.”
Five. Obviously he didn’t mean five yen, but five million yen. The world of antiques is literally orders of magnitudes beyond mine.
“No, that’s not it. While he was alive, he told me not to sell this tea bowl, no matter what.”
“Is that so?” The monzeki crossed his arms, perplexed.
“Excuse me for the impudent question, but do you draw, Kishitani?”
Kishitani looked surprised by Holmes’s sudden question, but nodded. “Ah, yes. Kind of. How did you know?”
“You have a callus on your middle finger, and there’s something like ink on your nails... I suppose you’re not a painter, because that wouldn’t result in that kind of callus. You also said ‘kind of’ instead of naming your profession. Are you perhaps...a manga artist?”
Kishitani’s eyes opened wide as though he’d been caught off-guard, and the monzeki also looked surprised.
Well, I was surprised too.
“The fact that you didn’t name your profession right away implied that you weren’t in an environment where you could say it proudly. Was your father opposed to your career?”
Kishitani’s hands trembled in response to Holmes’s question. His face was pale, implying that it was spot-on.
I know how you feel, Kishitani. I totally do. It’s scary how he reads you.
After a moment of silence, Kishitani nodded. “Yes...he was. He was always against it, telling me that manga was worthless. But I didn’t give up on my dream. I fled the house and went to Tokyo, and it paid off because I managed to debut.
“I had a belief: through manga, I could express my thoughts to anyone, regardless of age or gender, without having to put on a bold front. I didn’t care about social standing; I just wanted everyone to enjoy my work and get something out of it.
“But...I didn’t gain the slightest bit of popularity, and my work didn’t sell. I struggled the whole time, so I couldn’t even return home in that state.” Kishitani smiled in self-deprecation.
“However, after that, you drew a popular manga, right?” Holmes continued.
Kishitani looked up at Holmes in shock again. “Y-Yes. I wouldn’t be able to stay alive at the rate I was going, so I listened to my editor and began drawing a genre that was popular at the time. Once I did that, it sold an unbelievable number of copies, and my lifestyle became much richer.”
“Was that when your father sent you this tea bowl?”
Kishitani flinched again. Apparently so.
“Y-Yes. My old man loved Kyoto ware and was especially attached to Ninsei Nonomura’s work. When I received it, I thought that I’d finally been acknowledged—that he was congratulating me. I wanted to return home right away, but couldn’t because I was busy with work. Then he passed away from illness, and I was finally able to come back for the funeral.
“When I read his letter, I thought that this tea bowl was meant to send a different message. What feelings are contained in this cherry blossom-patterned tea bowl? What did he want to tell me?” Kishitani looked at the tea bowl on the table, wondering to himself.
Holmes gently picked up the tea bowl and turned it over to the bottom. “Kishitani, have you seen the ‘Ninsei’ seal that was stamped here?”
“Y-Yes. That means it’s genuine, right?”
“Not necessarily. There are counterfeit Ninsei works running rampant that do bear the seal. What your father wanted to tell you has to do with Ninsei Nonomura’s seal,” declared Holmes.
Kishitani looked confused. Holmes continued, “Ninsei Nonomura was considered a pioneer because he stamped his own works. What had been a tea bowl created by an ordinary potter was now Ninsei’s work; in other words, he was asserting his brand. It was a mark of pride, proving that his work was unlike anyone else’s.”
Kishitani silently opened his eyes wide.
“Kishitani, could it be that your father wanted you to create works that contained your own feelings, rather than imitations of others? Did he want you to have pride in your brand like Ninsei Nonomura did, and draw your own work? And did he entrust his feelings to this tea bowl because he couldn’t say them out loud after being opposed to your career?” Holmes asked, holding the bowl in his hand.
Kishitani trembled, and the monzeki nodded with a warm smile.
“That must be true,” the monzeki said. “Being a manga artist is a tough job. As a parent, he wouldn’t agree to it so easily, because he wouldn’t want you to tackle it half-heartedly. He wanted you to be so fervent that you wouldn’t even care if your family cut you off over it. I’m sure that he was always reading your work, and he felt disappointed when you gave in to the current trends.”
“Ahhhhhh!” Kishitani broke down into tears at the monzeki’s kind explanation. It was clear how much suffering he’d endured, and I felt like I was going to cry too.
He’d set his sights on becoming a manga artist, defied his father and ran away from home, but had nothing to show for it. He then panicked, thinking that his father would never acknowledge him at that rate, and ended up drawing something different from what he’d intended. Still, he thought his father would be happy about his success...but he was wrong. His father was sad that his son had abandoned his goal. Kishitani’s feelings now after finding that out must be indescribable.
Kishitani wiped his tears with the cuff of his sleeve and slowly looked back up.
“To be honest, I’ve always struggled with the fact that what I want to draw doesn’t align with what sells. I forgot about my goal because of the hardship I was going through. But I’ll listen to my old man’s dying wish and stop trying to appeal to the public. I’ll draw what I want to express, and it’s okay if I’m not popular.”
Kishitani clenched his fists in his lap. Dreams, reality, ideals... I’m still a high schooler so I don’t understand it that well yet, but it must be difficult for these things to coexist.
As the bitter feelings lingered, Holmes added, “I think there’s one more message in this tea bowl. Please look at the design.” He turned the bowl back to its original orientation.
“Cherry blossoms...right?” Kishitani said in confusion.
“Yes, cherry blossoms. In my opinion, cherry blossoms are popular with everyone. In other words, this tea bowl depicts something that’s popular with everyone, but it’s undeniably Ninsei Nonomura’s brand.”
Kishitani looked like he had a sudden realization.
Holmes continued while holding the tea bowl affectionately, “I think it’s fine to draw things that’ll sell. After all, I don’t think someone who only draws what they like can be considered a professional. What’s important is that it includes your brand—your soul, don’t you think? That’s different from imitating others.”
Kishitani looked down. After a period of silence, he slowly looked back up, and a single tear streaked down his face.
“Mr. Yagashira, I may have been searching for those words all along. Thank you so much.”
He bowed so deeply that his forehead must’ve touched the tatami floor, and Holmes hastily shook his head, insisting that he did nothing.
“You really are Seiji’s grandson,” the monzeki sighed, impressed.
As I sat there, I realized that I may have witnessed the birth of an amazing manga artist. I got goosebumps thinking about it.