Authors: Yukio Mishima
Spring Snow (38 page)
35
THE
S
IAMESE PRINCES
were thoroughly enjoying themselves at Chung-nan Villa. One evening shortly before dinner the four young men had rattan chairs brought out and placed on the lawn so that they could enjoy the cool evening breeze before eating. The princes chatted in their native language, Kiyoaki was lost in his own thoughts, and Honda had a book open on his lap.
“Would you like some twist?” asked Kridsada in Japanese, walking over to Honda and Kiyoaki holding out a pack of gold-tipped Westminster cigarettes. The princes had been quick enough in picking up “twist,” the slang word for cigarettes at Peers. The school rules forbade smoking, but the authorities allowed the upperclassmen a certain amount of laxity, provided they did not go so far as to smoke openly. The boiler room in the basement had thus become a haven for smokers and was known as “the Twist Room.”
Even now, as the four of them puffed on their cigarettes beneath the open sky without fear of being observed, they sensed the lingering, secret pleasure that went with smoking in the Twist Room. The smell of coal dust that filled the boiler room, eyes flashing white in the gloom as their classmates kept careful watch, the deep, luxurious puffs of smoke, the recurring restless glow of the red tips—these and many other impressions now enriched the fine flavor of their English cigarettes.
Kiyoaki turned away from the others, and as he watched the smoke trailing away into the sky, he saw how the cloud formations out over the ocean were beginning to dissolve, their clear outlines now blurred and tinged with a pale gold. At once he thought of Satoko. Her image, her scent, were mingled with so many things. There was no alteration of nature, however slight, that did not bring her to mind. If the breeze suddenly dropped and the warm atmosphere of the summer evening pressed in on him, he felt Satoko brush naked against his own nakedness. Even the gradually deepening shadow cast on the lawn by the dense green foliage of the silk tree held a hint of her.
As for Honda, he could never be quite at ease unless there were books within easy reach. Among those now at hand was a book he had been lent in secret by one of the student houseboys, a book proscribed by the government. Entitled
Nationalism and Authentic Socialism
, it had been written by a young man named Terujiro Kita, who at twenty-three was looked upon as the Japanese Otto Weininger. However, it was rather too colorful in its presentation of an extremist position, and this aroused caution in Honda’s calm and reasonable mind. It was not that he had any particular dislike of radical political thought. But never having been really angry himself, he tended to view violent anger in others as some terrible, infectious disease. To encounter it in their books was intellectually stimulating, but this kind of pleasure gave him a guilty conscience.
Nationalism and Authentic Socialism
, it had been written by a young man named Terujiro Kita, who at twenty-three was looked upon as the Japanese Otto Weininger. However, it was rather too colorful in its presentation of an extremist position, and this aroused caution in Honda’s calm and reasonable mind. It was not that he had any particular dislike of radical political thought. But never having been really angry himself, he tended to view violent anger in others as some terrible, infectious disease. To encounter it in their books was intellectually stimulating, but this kind of pleasure gave him a guilty conscience.
In order to be prepared for any further discussions on reincarnation with the princes, he had stopped off at his own home that morning after accompanying Satoko back to Tokyo and had borrowed a book from his father’s library,
A Summary of Buddhist Thought
by Tadanobu Saito. Here for the first time he was treated to a fascinating account of the varied origins of the doctrine of Karma, and he was reminded of the Laws of Manu which had so absorbed him at the beginning of the winter. But at that time his examination ambitions had forced him to postpone a more thorough study of Saito’s book.
A Summary of Buddhist Thought
by Tadanobu Saito. Here for the first time he was treated to a fascinating account of the varied origins of the doctrine of Karma, and he was reminded of the Laws of Manu which had so absorbed him at the beginning of the winter. But at that time his examination ambitions had forced him to postpone a more thorough study of Saito’s book.
This and several others were spread out on the arms of his rattan chair. After dipping at random into one or another of them, Honda looked up at last from the one that was now open on his lap, his slightly short-sighted eyes narrowed a little. He turned to look at the sharp slope that marked the western border of the garden. Though the sky was still bright, the slope was in deep shadow, and the heavy growth of trees and shrubbery on the ridge stood out blackly against the white glare of the sky. However, the light was breaking through here and there like silver thread skillfully woven into an otherwise dark tapestry. Behind the trees, the western sky was like a sheet of isinglass. The bright summer day had been a gaudy scroll which was tapering off into blankness.
The young men savored the delicious hint of guilt that added spice to their cigarettes, as a swarm of mosquitos towered up in one corner of the sunset garden. They felt the golden heaviness that comes from a day of swimming, their skin still warm from the midday sun. . . . Though Honda sat there in silence, he felt that the day would be counted as one of the happiest of their youth.
The princes seemed to feel similarly content. They were obviously pretending to take no notice of Kiyoaki’s amorous pursuits. On the other hand, Kiyoaki and Honda both chose to ignore the princes’ lighthearted forays among the fishermen’s daughters along the beach, though Kiyoaki was careful to follow them up with suitable sums of compensation to the girls’ fathers. And so, under the protective eye of the Great Buddha, whom the princes worshipped every morning on top of the ridge, summer waned in languorous beauty.
∗
Kridsada was the first to notice the servant who came down onto the lawn from the terrace bearing a letter on the gleaming silver tray that he doubtless spent most of his free time polishing, lamenting the while that he had so few occasions to use it at the villa, compared with the house in Shibuya.
Kridsada jumped up to meet him and took the letter. Then, when he saw that it was a personal letter to Chao P. from his mother the Queen Dowager, he walked over to where Chao P. was sitting and presented it to him facetiously with a deferential flourish.
Kiyoaki and Honda had, of course, noticed this piece of by-play, but they restrained their curiosity and sat waiting for the princes to come over to them in a rush of nostalgic happiness. As Chao P. took the thick letter from its envelope, they heard the crinkle of paper, and white stationery flashed like the feathers of an arrow winging through the darkness. Then suddenly they were on their feet staring at Chao P., who had let out an agonized cry and collapsed in a faint.
Kridsada stood looking down at his cousin with astonishment on his face as Kiyoaki and Honda rushed over to help. Then he bent over to pick up the letter, which had fallen on the grass, and had just started to read when he burst into tears, throwing himself to the ground. The two young Japanese could understand nothing of what Kridsada was sobbing to himself in a rush of Siamese, and since the letter, which Honda now picked up, was in the same language, it furnished no clues either, apart from the glittering golden seal of the royal family of Siam at the top, with its intricate design of pagodas, fabulous beasts, roses, swords, scepters and other devices grouped around three white elephants.
Chao P. regained consciousness while he was being carried back to his bedroom by servants, but he was obviously still dazed. Kridsada trailed after him, still moaning.
Though they were ignorant of the facts, it was obvious to Kiyoaki and Honda that some terrible news had arrived. Chao P. lay silent, his head on his pillow and his eyes, as cloudy as two pearls, staring up at the ceiling. The expression on his swarthy face grew less and less discernible by the minute as the room grew rapidly darker. After some time, it was Kridsada who was finally able to explain in English.
“Princess Chan is dead. Chao P.’s love, my sister. . . . If I had been told first, I could have watched for a chance to tell him in a way that would spare him such a shock, but I suppose his mother, the Queen Dowager, was more afraid of upsetting me and so wrote to Chao P. If so, she miscalculated. But then she may have had a deeper concern . . . to strengthen his courage by making him confront his sorrow head-on.”
This was more judicious than anything they usually heard from Kridsada. The princes’ violent grief, as powerful as a tropical cloudburst, affected Kiyoaki and Honda profoundly. But they sensed that after the thunder, the lightning, and the rain, their grief would be a wet and glistening jungle that would recover all the more quickly and luxuriantly.
Dinner that evening was brought to the princes’ room, but they did not touch their food. Some time later, however, Kridsada evidently recalled the duties of politeness to one’s host, and called Kiyoaki and Honda back to their room to translate the entire letter into English.
Princess Chan had, in fact, fallen ill in the spring, and though she was too sick to write, she had pleaded with everyone not to tell her brother and cousin. Her lovely white hand grew more and more emaciated until she could no longer move it. It lay there as cold and still as a single moonbeam coming in through a window.
The English doctor in charge tried everything he knew, but he could not prevent the relentless paralysis of her whole body. Finally it became a great strain for her even to speak. But in order perhaps to leave Chao P. with the image of her in full health as she was when they parted, she repeatedly insisted to everyone that nothing should be said about her illness. It reduced them to tears.
The Queen Dowager went to see her very often, and she could never help crying when she saw the young princess. When Her Majesty was informed of Chan’s death, she restrained the others and said immediately: “I myself will tell Pattanadid.”
“What I have to tell you is very sad,” the letter began.
Please bear it as bravely as you can. Your beloved Chantrapa has died. Later I will tell you just how much her thoughts were of you at the end. As your mother, what I most want to convey to you right away is that you must resign yourself to all this as the will of the Lord Buddha. I pray that you will always be mindful of your princely dignity and accept this tragic news with good bearing. How well I know what your feelings must be on learning of this away in a foreign land, and how I regret that I am not at your side to comfort you as a mother should. But now where Kridsada is concerned, please behave as an elder brother and tell him of his sister’s death with the deepest solicitude. I have given you the tragic news like this without warning only because I believe that you have sufficient fortitude not to give way to grief. And then do please take consolation at least that the Princess had thoughts for you alone until she breathed her last. No doubt you regret not having been there when she died, but you must make every effort to appreciate how she felt in wanting you to preserve forever in your heart the image you had of her as a girl in the bloom of youth . . .
Chao P. lay listening intently until Kridsada had translated the very last word. Then he sat up in bed and turned to Kiyoaki.
“I’m rather embarrassed,” he began. “I neglected my mother’s admonition, and just collapsed. But do please try to understand.
“What I’ve been struggling with these past few hours is not the riddle of Princess Chan’s death. In the period that began with her illness and lasted until her death—no, that lasted in these twenty days since the moment of her death—I have of course been in constant anxiety. But even so, having no idea of the truth, I lived calmly enough in a false world through all that time. That’s the riddle.
“I clearly saw the bright sea and the shining beach just as they were. Why wasn’t I able to see the subtle change that had occurred deep in the substance of the universe? The world was constantly and imperceptibly changing, just like wine inside a bottle. And I’m like a man who sees no farther than the dark red liquid glowing warmly inside the glass. Why did it never occur to me to taste it, if only once a day, and try to gauge if some small change had taken place. The soft morning breeze, the rustling trees, the flutter of birds’ wings and the sound of their calls—all these were constantly in my eyes and ears. But I merely took them all to be an embodiment of the joy of being alive, the beautiful essence of life itself. It never occurred to me that under the surface something was changing day by day. If I had stopped one morning to taste the world and so discovered that it had subtly altered on my tongue . . . oh, if only I had done that, then it couldn’t have escaped me that this world had suddenly become a world without Princess Chan.”
As he said this, his voice gradually became choked and his words were muffled in tears.
Leaving him in Kridsada’s care, they returned to their own room. They found, however, that they were in no mood for sleep.
“The princes will want to go back to Siam as soon as they can. Whatever the others may say, they certainly won’t feel like going on studying here,” Honda said as soon as the two of them were alone.
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll go home,” Kiyoaki answered gloomily. The prince’s grief had evidently had a deep effect on him, and he was sunk in a mood of vague foreboding. “And after they’ve gone, you and I won’t have any good reason to stay here just by ourselves,” he went on, almost to himself. “Or perhaps Mother and Father will be coming down, and then it’ll be a matter of spending the summer with them. Whatever happens, our happy summer is over.”
Other books
Born Blue by Han Nolan
Puppet Masters: A Ghost Sex Story (Bizarre Erotica Stories) by Woods, Alice J.
Circe's Recruits 2: Zack and Ace by Marie Harte
Kiss and Tell by Suzanne Brockmann
Siberia by Ann Halam
Dead: A Ghost Story by Mina Khan
Forget Me Knot by Sue Margolis
Call On Me by Angela Verdenius
Call Girl Confidential by Rebecca Kade
ServingNicole by Marilyn Campbell