The Tourist's Brush
"They're written so beautifully."
"They really are. Every single piece is extraordinary."
It wasn't empty praise. They had walked into the calligraphy museum without any particular expectations, but the works on display were of a quality far beyond anything they had imagined.
This is well beyond the level of a mere craftsman.
Because he could perceive Soul, there were times when he could see something like the energy sealed inside an object. The calligraphy pieces here did not quite reach that threshold, but they carried a presence you would never feel from an ordinary thing.
"The standard here is far higher than I expected. And this artist in particular stands in a league of his own."
What was truly remarkable were the works hanging under the name Matsuoka Genjiro. Judging by the dates, they were more than a decade old, and yet every character brimmed with such vitality that you could have believed they had been written yesterday.
I figured a calligraphy museum would be boring, but this is actually interesting.
His mother was enjoying herself, and with so few visitors around they could take their time. That made it even better.
Then, from behind them, someone spoke in clumsy, faltering Korean.
"Harro. You come Kyoto for sightseeing?"
They turned around to find a middle-aged woman wearing a museum name tag. His mother, delighted to hear Korean in Japan, smiled and answered at once.
"Oh my. You speak Korean. Do you work here?"
"Yes, I museum staff here."
"Your Korean is very good. Where did you learn it?"
"I like Korean dorama, so I learn."
"Dramas? Which ones do you like? I absolutely love dramas!"
"Reary? I like…"
With the effortless social warmth that Korean mothers seemed to possess as a superpower, she had the staff member chatting about dramas in no time. They talked and talked, and then, out of nowhere, the woman brought up a program running on the museum's first floor.
"Ah, right now museum have brush-making experience class. You want try? Free, you can make brush."
"Oh, brush-making? That sounds fun. Cheolwoo, what do you think? Shall we give it a try before we go?"
A brush-making workshop?
They had come all this way on vacation, and now they were going to make something again. Still, if his mother wanted to do it, what was the harm?
"Sounds good. Let's go."
The staff member led them along, then leaned in toward his mother.
"Reary, your son so handsome. He celebrity?"
"Oh my… a celebrity? Ahahaha. No, no, not at all."
The comment was a little embarrassing, but watching his mother laugh like that, so openly pleased, made him feel good too.
I'm glad we came on this trip.
"Master Matsuoka, I beg of you. The exhibition we are holding at the Kyoto Hotel must have your calligraphy!"
"If it is calligraphy you want, there is plenty in that room. Take whatever you like."
"Master! Every one of those pieces is years old. The public wants your new work!"
"I have already told you. I have no intention of writing anything more."
"Master…!"
The white-haired man waved a hand as if he were done with the conversation, telling his visitor to leave. His name was Matsuoka Genjiro, a calligrapher who had turned seventy-one this year.
But Matsuoka was not merely a famous calligrapher. If you asked the people of Japan to name the single most distinguished master of the art in the postwar era, they would name him without hesitation. He was the calligrapher who represented the nation itself.
In the years when he had still been writing in earnest, Japan's most powerful politicians and businessmen had sent secretaries to his door in endless succession, hoping to receive even a single sheet of his work. Some had come in person. The reason the upper ranks sought him out was simple. There was always force in his characters, a forward-driving energy people believed would carry them onward. Whether it was true or not, there were even stories that hanging Matsuoka's calligraphy in a home would make the household prosper.
And yet, for several years now, he had not written a single character. He had produced a few practice pieces, perhaps, but the number of works he had actually released to the world was zero.
"I have already told you. Without a brush made by Kaishin, I have no intention of writing another word! If you are so determined to make me pick up the brush again, then go and bring me one of Kaishin's!"
"Master, the man is already dead! How is he supposed to make you another brush?"
The man pleading so desperately before Matsuoka was none other than Yanagi Tatsuya, who ran a company that specialized in calligraphy exhibitions. The show he was planning at the Kyoto Hotel hinged entirely on whether Matsuoka's work would hang on its walls, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to secure it.
If I can't get a piece for this one either, my company is finished…
In his panic, Yanagi's temper slipped, and he said something he should never have said.
"Master! They say a true master never chooses his brush! How long does Japan's greatest calligrapher intend to refuse to write over one paltry brush?"
"…What? One paltry brush?"
The words were barely out of his mouth before Yanagi regretted them, but there was no taking them back. Matsuoka stared at him for a long moment, and then his fury erupted.
"Get out. I have nothing more to say to a man who does not even understand how vital a brush is to a calligrapher. Get the hell out of my house!"
Yanagi went pale.
"M-Master… n-no, that isn't what I meant…"
"Get out of my house before I call the police!"
Yanagi had no choice. He apologized as he fled.
"I-I'm sorry… Master… that was a terrible thing to say… but please, I beg you to reconsider what I asked. We truly need your work for this exhibition."
Matsuoka did not grant him so much as a glance.
The moment he was outside, Yanagi let out a long, heavy sigh and cursed himself.
"Haa… I must have lost my mind. As if I don't know how much calligraphers care about their brushes…"
Matsuoka was not the only calligrapher Yanagi managed. He met with countless artists and helped stage their exhibitions, and nearly all of them selected and maintained their brushes with painstaking care. The old saying that a true master never chooses his brush was, in practice, almost entirely wrong.
And even among that company, Matsuoka was unusually particular. From his youth he had insisted on using only the brushes of the artisan Domoto Kaishin, and after Kaishin's death a few years ago — once the last of the brushes the man had left behind had been used up — Matsuoka had, for all intents and purposes, laid down his brush for good.
"What am I supposed to do…"
The reason for his despair was that this particular Kyoto Hotel exhibition mattered more than any other. The hotel's owner was a devoted admirer of Matsuoka, and Yanagi had won the contract by promising to deliver a new work from the master. If Matsuoka continued to refuse, everything would collapse into nothing.
If his calligraphy isn't in the show, doing business with them again will be next to impossible…
It was a major hotel chain with more than twenty properties in the Kansai region alone. Losing them as a client would be a devastating blow to the company.
Yanagi sighed again and turned the key in the ignition. There was still one place left that offered even a sliver of hope. He would have to go there and somehow find a way to salvage this.
"Haa… I suppose I should at least try the calligraphy museum again…"
"Please, I'm begging you…"
"I already told you. We can't."
"I'll pay well above market value. I sincerely ask you to reconsider."
"No! That is the only brush of Master Kaishin's our museum has! How could we possibly sell it to a private individual? I've spoken to the director about it more than once, and he was absolutely firm. The answer is no."
"E-even so… if you would just think it over one more time…"
"Please go home now, Mr. Yanagi."
Yanagi had driven more than an hour to reach the calligraphy museum for a single reason: to buy the last remaining brush of Master Kaishin held by the Kyoto Calligraphy Museum. It was not a national institution, so a purchase was not, in theory, impossible — not if the director gave his blessing. The museum's stance, however, was unyielding.
In truth, Kaishin's brushes were as significant to the history of Japanese calligraphy as Matsuoka's own writing. The reaction was only to be expected.
I knew it wouldn't work…
In the end, Yanagi rose from his seat with his shoulders slumped.
"I understand… Forgive the intrusion."
He trudged toward the museum exit. And then, just as he was about to leave, he noticed a cluster of clumsy-looking brushes hanging near the door.
What is this… Who put up something this amateurish…
Yanagi called over to the staff member who had been sitting there watching a Korean drama.
"Excuse me. What are these?"
"Hm?"
She paused the drama, glanced at where he was pointing, and answered.
"Oh, those. They're brushes made by visitors to the museum."
"Ah… that explains it."
They had looked far too crude to be anything the museum would sell. That, at least, made sense. He sighed again and started to leave — and then stopped.
"Wait…"
What is this…
Among the dozens of slapdash brushes hanging there, one stood out. Unlike the rest, this one had been made properly.
Yanagi looked back at the staff member.
"Excuse me. Would it be all right if I handled this brush for a moment?"
She tilted her head, then waved him on.
"Those brushes? Help yourself."
They were hung up for a few days at a time and taken down whenever the next group of workshop visitors arrived to make their own. A little wear and tear was hardly a problem.
Yanagi picked up the brush with care. He turned it this way and that, and then he could not help but marvel.
This was made properly… No. This isn't just 'properly.'
The materials were the same cheap stuff as all the others, but the evenness of the bristles, the way each hair at the very tip had been trimmed with such meticulous attention — this was not a brush you could believe a beginner had made.
This is a master's technique…
To put it more precisely, it was the finest brush he had seen in recent memory. The materials were cheap, and yet it had been made to this standard. It was astonishing.
Just what kind of person made this…
Still holding the brush, Yanagi turned back to the staff member.
"Excuse me — do you know who made this?"
"Huh…? It should be written underneath."
"Underneath?"
Yanagi looked toward the wall. Below the brush, the maker's name had been written out.
Kang Cheolwoo
What is this, Hangul?
Characters he could not read. Yanagi called to the staff member in a sudden rush.
"E-excuse me… can you read Hangul?"
"Hangul? Yes… I can read it…"
"Then what does this say?"
Looking faintly put-upon, the staff member got up from her seat. She walked over to where the brush had been hanging, then clapped her hands as if something had just come back to her.
"Ah, this one. This was made by some Korean tourists who came through yesterday."
"Tourists…? Never mind that — how do you read the name?"
"One moment. This is… 'Kang Cheo-ru-u…?' Ah, that's it. It's read 'Kang Cheolwoo.'"
Kang Cheolwoo… Kang Cheolwoo…
Yanagi repeated the name to himself again and again. It was a name that might yet make Master Matsuoka pick up his brush — and a name that might yet save his business.