Spring Snow (24 page)

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Authors: Yukio Mishima

BOOK: Spring Snow
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“Oh, a bit of dust . . .,” the Countess exclaimed, gazing at Satoko’s cheek. But just as she reached out with her handkerchief to wipe it off, Satoko drew quickly away and the speck of dust vanished. It was then that her mother realized that the dust on her daughter’s cheek had been no more than a shadow cast by a spot on the window. Satoko gave a wan smile; she didn’t find her mother’s mistake particularly amusing. She disliked being given a special inspection today, as if she were a bolt of silk intended as a gift.
The windows had been kept shut in case the breeze rumpled Satoko’s hair, and the interior of the carriage had become unpleasantly hot as a result. As it rocked unceasingly and the green of the mountains flashed up in reflections from the flooded rice paddies beside the road, Satoko could not remember what she was looking forward to with such yearning. On the one hand, she was letting a rash caprice sweep her with appalling boldness into a course of action from which there would be no turning back. On the other, she was waiting for something to intervene. For the moment there was still time. There was still time. Up until the very last instant, a letter of pardon might come—or so she hoped. And then again, she despised the very thought of hope.
The Toinnomiya villa, a palatial Western-style house, stood on a high cliff overlooking the sea. Stairs carved out of marble led up to its front entrance. As a groom took charge of the horses, the Ayakuras descended from the carriage and exchanged admiring remarks about the view of the harbor below, which was filled with all sorts of ships. Tea was served on a wide porch that faced south, looking down over the water. It was decorated with a number of luxuriant tropical plants, and on either side of the door that opened onto it hung a pair of giant curving tusks, a gift from the royal court of Siam.
Here the imperial couple welcomed their guests and cordially offered them chairs. The tea was, of course, in the English manner, complete with small, thin sandwiches, some cookies and biscuits—all neatly arranged on a tea table furnished with silverware engraved with the imperial chrysanthemum.
The Princess remarked how delightful the recent cherry blossom festival at the Matsugaes had been and then, by and by, her conversation turned to mahjong and
nagauta
.
“At home we still think of Satoko as a child, and we haven’t let her play mahjong yet,” said the Count, wanting to save his silent daughter embarrassment.
“Oh, don’t tell me!” the Princess laughed graciously. “We sometimes spend a whole day playing nothing else, when we have time.”
Satoko could no longer bring up a topic such as the old-fashioned
sugoroku
and its set of twelve black and white pieces, with which they often played.
Prince Toin was relaxed and informal today in a European suit. Calling the Count over to the window beside him, he pointed down to the ships below and displayed his knowledge of things nautical as if he were instructing a child: that was an English freighter, that was a ship with a flush deck, that one was a French freighter, see the shelter deck on the one over there, and so on.
Judging by the atmosphere, one might well conclude that the imperial couple were making rather anxious efforts to hit upon some topic congenial to their guests. Anything at all that sparked a mutual interest—be it sports or wine or anything else—would suffice. Count Ayakura, however, received whatever subject came up with earnest but benign passivity. As for Satoko, she had never been so conscious as she was this afternoon of the uselessness of the elegance bred in her by her father’s example. Sometimes the Count had a way of foolishly coming out with a stylish joke that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand, but today he was obviously restraining himself.
After some time, Prince Toin glanced at the clock and made a casual remark, as if something had just occurred to him.
“By a happy coincidence, Harunori will be coming home on leave from his regiment today. Though he’s my own son, he has the look about him of a rough sort of fellow. But please don’t be upset by it. He’s truly quite gentle beneath it all.”
Soon after he said this, the sound of servants scurrying about at the front entrance heralded the arrival of the young prince.
A few moments later, sword clattering, boots squeaking, the martial figure of His Imperial Highness Prince Harunori appeared on the porch. He greeted his father with a military salute, and the immediate impression he gave Satoko was one of empty dignity. But how obvious the paternal pride of Prince Toin was in this display of military pomp, and how evident the young prince’s conviction that he was fulfilling every detail of his father’s projected image of him. The truth was that his two older brothers were, in fact, quite different. Unusually effeminate and sickly, they had been the despair of their imperial father.
Today, however, a touch of embarrassment at being confronted for the first time with Satoko’s beauty may perhaps have had some effect on Prince Harunori’s subsequent behavior. At any rate, neither when she was presented to him nor at any time thereafter did he look at her directly.
Though the young prince was not particularly tall, he had an impressive physique. He moved briskly at all times, with an air of importance and decision that lent him a gravity extraordinary in one so young—all of which his father watched, complacent and happy, his eyes narrowed with pleasure. This paternal satisfaction, however, was giving rise to a growing impression among many that Prince Toin himself concealed a certain weakness of will beneath that grand and impressive exterior.
As for hobbies, His Imperial Highness Prince Harunori was devoted to his record collection of Western music. This seemed to be the one subject on which he had opinions of his own. When his mother asked: “Would you play something for us, Harunori?” he was quick to agree and to turn toward the reception room, where the phonograph stood.
As he did so, Satoko could not resist raising her eyes to watch him. He covered the distance to the door with long strides, his brilliantly polished black boots sparkling in the sunshine that was pouring in through the porch windows. They were so dazzling that she imagined she could even see patches of the sky itself reflected in them like fragments of blue porcelain. She closed her eyes and waited for the music to begin. She felt the first stirrings of ominous premonition, and the faint sound of the phonograph needle falling into place echoed like thunder in her ears.
Afterwards, the young prince contributed little to the casual conversation that followed the musical interlude. As evening approached, the Ayakuras took leave of their hosts.
A week later, the steward of Prince Toin’s household came to the Ayakura residence and had a long, detailed discussion with the Count. The upshot was a decision to begin the formal proceedings for obtaining the Emperor’s permission for the wedding. Satoko herself was shown the document, which read:
To His Excellency the Minister of the Imperial Household: Herein is a humble plea with reference to negotiations concerning a marriage between:
His Imperial Highness Prince Harunori Toin and Satoko, the daughter of His Excellency Count Korebumi Ayakura, Second Degree, Junior Grade; Bearer of the Order of Merit, Third Class;
That a petition as to whether such negotiations may proceed in accordance with the Imperial Pleasure may be vouchsafed to be brought before the Imperial Throne.
Offered upon this 12th Day of the Fifth Month of the Era of Taisho.
Saburo Yamauchi
Steward of the Household of
His Imperial Highness Prince Toin
Three days later a response came from the Minister of the Imperial Household:
To the Steward of the Household of
His Imperial Highness Prince Toin:
Relative to the disposition presented to the Officials of the Imperial Household concerning the marriage of His Imperial Highness Prince Harunori Toin and Satoko, the daughter of His Excellency Count Korebumi Ayakura, Second Degree, Junior Grade; Bearer of the Order of Merit, Third Class;
it is herein acknowledged that a petition destined for presentation to the Imperial Throne whereby such negotiations may proceed with the Imperial Pleasure has been duly and properly entered.
Given this 15th Day of the Fifth Month of the Era of Taisho.
The Minister of the Imperial Household     
And so with the preliminary formalities observed, the petition for imperial sanction could be presented to the Emperor at any time.
23
 
K
IYOAKI WAS NOW
in his senior year at Peers. He was to begin his university studies in the coming fall, and there were those in his class who had been busy preparing for the entrance examinations for more than eighteen months. Honda, however, betrayed no such concern, a fact which pleased Kiyoaki.
The spirit of General Nogi lived on in the compulsory dormitory regime at Peers, but its harsh rules did, nonetheless, contain allowances for those whose health was not up to the demands made on them. Students such as Honda and Kiyoaki, whose families kept them out of the dormitories as a matter of policy, were provided with suitable medical certificates from their doctors. Honda’s convenient ailment was put down as valvular heart disease and Kiyoaki’s as chronic bronchial catarrh. Their nonexistent illnesses were the source of much amusement, with Honda pretending to be choking for breath and Kiyoaki putting on a hacking cough.
There was no real need for pretense, because no one believed they were sick. However, the noncommissioned officers in the military science department, all veterans of the Russo-Japanese War, vented their hostility by making a point of treating them like invalids. Then during drill period, the sergeants were fond of interspersing their rhetoric with oblique digs at the shirkers, asking what use they would be in the service of their country if they were too feeble to live under the dormitory regime, and other such questions.
Kiyoaki felt deep sympathy for the Siamese princes when he heard that they were to be put in the dormitory. He often visited them in their quarters and brought small presents. They felt very close to him, and so they took turns pouring out their complaints, lamenting in particular the restrictions on their freedom of movement. The other dormitory students, moreover, being rowdy and insensitive, were not the sort to make friends with them.
Though Honda had been neglected by Kiyoaki for quite some time, he welcomed him nonchalantly when he came dancing back to him, bold as a sparrow. It was as if he had completely forgotten his recent disregard of Honda. With the start of the new school term, he seemed to have changed character, now full of forced gaiety, or so it appeared to Honda. Naturally, he made no comment on this, and Kiyoaki himself, just as naturally, provided no explanation.
Kiyoaki was able to congratulate himself for at least one piece of wisdom—he had never let his friend know his innermost feelings. This now spared him any worry that he might appear to have let a woman manipulate him like a foolish child. He realized that this made him feel secure enough to behave with carefree good humor toward Honda. To him, the ultimate proof of his friendship was his desire to avoid disillusioning Honda and to feel easy and unconcerned in his presence—and this desire should more than make up for his countless moments of reserve.
He was so cheerful, in fact, that he surprised even himself. At about this time, his parents had begun to talk quite openly and matter-of-factly about the course of negotiations between the Ayakuras and Toinnomiyas. They seemed to take great amusement in recounting incidents such as how “even that headstrong girl” became so tense that she could not say a word during the carefully arranged meeting with the young prince. Kiyoaki, of course, had no reason to suspect what grief the incident had caused Satoko. Those who lack imagination have no choice but to base their conclusions on the reality they see around them. But on the other hand, those who are imaginative have a tendency to build fortified castles they have designed themselves, and to seal off every window in them. And so it was with Kiyoaki.
“Well, once the imperial sanction is received, that should settle everything,” said his mother.

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