Authors: Yukio Mishima
Spring Snow (41 page)
Thinking that this was enough to convince Satoko and that she would obey, Tadeshina cut short her lecture and, with a neatly folded handkerchief, dabbed lightly at the sweat that had gathered on her brow.
Rational as her argument had been, she had spoken with a sadly sympathetic expression and a hint of tears in her voice. This girl was dearer to her than a daughter, but she was aware that her sorrow was not genuine. She was conscious of a barrier between her sorrow and her love. Since her affection for Satoko was so great, she hoped that the girl would share the unfathomable and frightening joy that lurked in her own terrible resolve. To wash oneself clean of one sin that was so permeated with sacrilege, one must commit another. In the end, the two would cancel each other out, as if neither had ever existed. One must merge one form of darkness with another, and then wait for the darkness to be tinged with the rosiness of the fateful dawn to come. And above all, maintain secrecy.
Since Satoko was still silent, Tadeshina began to feel uneasy and asked: “You’ll do everything just as I say, won’t you? How do you feel about it?”
Satoko’s expression was blank. She gave no sign that Tadeshina’s words had startled her. The truth was that her stilted remarks had held no meaning for her whatsoever.
“But what am I to do?” she replied. “You must be specific.”
Tadeshina looked around her before replying, satisfying herself that the faint sound of the gong that hung before the shrine had been caused by a gust of wind and not by a chance worshipper. The halfhearted chirping of a cricket came from beneath the wooden floor of the pavilion.
“You must get rid of the baby—as soon as possible.”
Satoko caught her breath.
“What do you mean? They’ll send me to prison.”
“Don’t talk like that. Please leave it to me. Even supposing that it did somehow leak out, it would be impossible for the police to punish either you or me. Your wedding has already been arranged. Once the betrothal gift is presented in December, things will be all the safer. Because in matters like this, the police understand. However, Miss Satoko, this is what I want you to realize: if you dillydally and everyone can see that you’re pregnant, of course His Imperial Highness and the rest of the world as well would never be able to forgive you. The engagement would be broken off without delay, His Excellency your father would have to hide himself from the eyes of the world, and Master Kiyoaki would also be in a terrible situation. To put it frankly, his future hopes as well as those of the Matsugae family would be so threatened that there would be no course for them but to pretend that he was in no way involved. And so everything would then be lost where you are concerned. Would you want that to happen? There’s only one thing you can do now.”
“If it did come out somehow, even supposing that the police said nothing, the Toinnomiyas might still hear something about it. Then how would I be able to show myself at the wedding? And afterwards, how would I dare go on serving the Prince? Tell me that?”
“There is absolutely no need to get upset over what’s only a rumor. As for what the Toinnomiyas think, that will depend entirely on you. So if you behave at all times like a chaste and beautiful princess, that’s what they’ll take you for. The rumors and the rest—they’ll be forgotten in no time.”
“Then you can assure me that there’s no chance I’ll be punished, that I’d go to prison?”
“Let me try to explain it this way, so that you will understand. First of all, the police have the greatest reverence for the nobility. And so there is not the slightest possibility of their allowing something like this to become public. If you’re still worried, we could always ask Marquis Matsugae for his kind assistance. His Excellency has a great deal of influence and he can accomplish anything. After all, it would be to cover up for the young master.”
Satoko cried out sharply: “No! You’re not to do that. That’s something I shall not allow. You’re not under any circumstances to ask either the Marquis or Kiyo for help. I’d be completely disgraced if you did.”
“Well . . . I only mentioned it as a mere possibility. But secondly, even in strictly legal terms, I am determined to shield you. We would make it a matter of you having done as I said without any idea of what scheme I had in mind, of breathing in the anesthetie without realizing what it was, and so becoming helpless. And if we did that, no matter how public a matter it became, it would end with me bearing the punishment.”
“So you say that whatever happens, then, I shan’t go to prison?”
“You can rest assured about that.”
However, her reply brought no look of relief to Satoko’s face. “I want to go to prison,” she said.
Tadeshina’s tenseness dissolved as she burst out laughing.
“You sound like a little girl. Why do you say that?”
“I wonder how women prisoners have to dress. What would Kiyo do if he saw me like that . . . would he still love me or not? I’d like to know.”
As she made this absurd remark, her eyes, far from being filled with tears, flashed with such fierce satisfaction that Tadeshina shivered.
However great the difference in status between these two women, there was no denying that they shared the same strength and courage. Whether for deception or for truth’s sake, there could never be a more severe demand on their joint bravery than now.
Tadeshina felt that she and Satoko were matched like a boat advancing against the current and the current itself, so well matched that the boat was held immobile for a time, bound together with it from moment to moment in impatient intimacy. At this instant, moreover, the two of them felt the same joy. It had the sound of the beating wings of a flock of birds fleeing overhead before an approaching storm. Their violent emotion, though it had something of sorrow, of fear, of anxiety, was different from all of these and could be called by no other name than joy.
“Well, at any rate, you’ll do as I say, won’t you?” Tadeshina asked, watching Satoko’s pale cheeks flush under the autumn sun.
“I want you to say nothing at all about this to Kiyo,” Satoko replied. “About my condition, I mean. Whether or not I do just as you say, don’t worry. Without bringing anyone else into it, I’ll talk everything over with you, and eventually I’ll decide what’s best.”
Her words already held the dignity of a princess.
38
KIYOAKI WAS HAVING DINNER
with his father and mother in early October when he learned that the betrothal ceremony would at last take place in December. His parents displayed the keenest interest in the etiquette for this occasion and vied with each other to show how much they knew about ancient court rites and observances.
“Count Ayakura will have to prepare a chamber of state for the Prince’s steward when he comes,” his mother remarked. “Which room do you suppose it will be?”
“Well, since everyone will stand for the ceremony, a grand Western-style room would be nice, if they had one. As it is, they’ll have to spread cloth on the floor of the drawing room and in the corridor leading to it from the entrance, to receive the steward. He will come in a carriage with two attendants, and Ayakura will have to be ready with the letter of acceptance, written on fine, thick crepe paper, in an envelope of the same paper and tied with two ropes of twisted paper knotted together. The steward will be dressed in ceremonial robes and so when Ayakura makes the acceptance speech, he too will have to wear the uniform of a count. But he’s an expert on all these little details and there’s no need for me to say anything. Only when money becomes a problem, that’s when I can be of help.”
Kiyoaki was deeply shaken, and spent a restless night. He imagined that he could hear the dull clank of chains dragging across the floor, coming closer and closer to imprison his love. Now he felt none of the exhilarating energy that had fired him when the imperial sanction was granted. What had so aroused him then, the idea of utter impossibility, had appeared to him like an exquisite piece of white porcelain. But now it was covered with a network of hair-fine cracks. And so in place of the wild joy that had flowed from his sense of resolution at that time, he now felt the sadness of a man who watches the dying of a season.
Had he given up, then, he asked himself. No, he had not. But nevertheless he felt that while the force of the imperial sanction had served to throw him and Satoko wildly into each other’s arms, this official announcement of the betrothal ceremony had the power to tear them apart, despite the fact that it was no more than the extension of the first. Dealing with the other had been extremely simple: he had had to do no more than follow his desires. But how was he to cope with this new force? He had no idea.
The next day, using his customary method of contacting Tadeshina, he phoned the owner of the officers’ boarding house and told him to tell Tadeshina that he wanted to see Satoko as soon as possible. Since he could not expect any answer before evening, he dutifully went to school, but the lectures he heard that day made no impression on him. After classes were over and he was able to phone the inn from a place close to the school, the innkeeper conveyed Tadeshina’s answer. The situation being what it was, Kiyoaki must surely realize that for the present there seemed to be no possibility of arranging a meeting for at least ten days. As soon as an opportunity arose, however, Tadeshina would inform him at once. And so would he please wait until then?
Those ten days were spent in an agony of impatience. He felt that he was now suffering for his behavior in the past, especially for the time when he had showed such coldness to Satoko.
Autumn became more and more evident. It was still a little early for the maples to have reached their full color, though the leaves of the cherry trees had already turned a smoldering scarlet and begun to fall. He was in no mood to seek out the company of friends, but to spend the days alone was trying. Sundays were especially difficult, the thought, as he stood looking out over the pond, whose surface reflected the moving clouds. Then he gazed blankly toward the distant waterfall and wondered why the water that flowed unceasingly down its nine levels never ran dry. How strange that this smooth continuity should never be broken! He felt it to be like an image of his emotions.
He was oppressed by a mood of empty frustration that made him feel both feverish and chilled. It was as though he were afflicted with a disease that turned his movements sluggish and heavy, but nevertheless made him feel restless. He roamed alone through the huge family estate, and turned onto the path that led through the grove of Japanese cypresses to the back of the house. He passed by the old gardener hard at work digging up wild potatoes with yellowed leaves.
Blue sky was showing through the cypress branches, and a drop of yesterday’s rain fell from them to strike his forehead. He suddenly felt that he had received a message of devastating clarity, as if this raindrop were gouging a furrow down his brow. It rescued him from the anxiety he thought he had left behind him, forgotten. He was only waiting, and nothing was happening. It seemed as if he were standing at a crossroads, where his doubts and misgivings were parading to the hollow beat of a multitude of footsteps. He was so tense that he became oblivious to even his own beauty.
The ten days passed. Tadeshina kept her promise. But the meeting was hedged about with so many restrictions that it tore his heart.
Satoko was going to the Mitsukoshi department store to order new kimonos for the wedding. Her mother was to have gone with her, but since she was in bed with a slight cold, Tadeshina would accompany her alone. They were to meet at the store, but not under the eyes of the salesclerks, which wouldn’t do. So Kiyoaki was to be waiting at the entrance decorated with the lion’s statue at three o’clock. When Satoko and Tadeshina came out, he was to pretend to ignore them, but follow them at a distance. Finally, when they had entered a small bean-soup restaurant nearby, where they were unlikely to be seen, he could follow and speak to her for a short time. In the meantime, their rickshaw man, waiting at the front entrance of Mitsukoshi’s, would think they were still inside.
He left school early, and at three o’clock he was waiting in the crowd of shoppers at the entrance of Mitsukoshi’s, wearing a raincoat over his uniform so that it concealed even his collar insignia. He had put his cap inside his bag. Satoko came out, cast an unhappy but burning glance at him, and walked down the street with Tadeshina. Doing as he was directed, he followed and sat down with them in a corner of the almost deserted restaurant.
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