Runaway Horses (28 page)
Authors: Yukio Mishima
“Indeed?” The martial prince’s expression indicated that he had grown used to hearing such answers. “Well, then, if he was pleased, what would you do?”
Isao replied without the least hesitation: “In that case, too, I would cut open my stomach at once.”
“Oh?” For the first time a gleam of interest flashed from the Prince’s eye. “And what would be the meaning of that? Explain yourself.”
“Yes, Your Highness. It refers to loyalty. Suppose I make steaming rice balls with rice so hot it burns my hands. My sole purpose is to present them to His Majesty, to offer them in his sacred presence. Now as to the outcome. If his Majesty is not hungry, he will curtly refuse my offering or perhaps he may even be pleased to say: ‘Am I to eat food so tasteless?’ and hurl it into my face. In which case I will have to withdraw, the grains of rice still clinging to my face, and gratefully cut open my stomach at once. Then, again, if His Majesty is hungry and is pleased to eat the rice balls with satisfaction, there will still be no course of action open to me but to withdraw at once and gratefully cut open my stomach. Why? To make rice balls to serve as food for His Sacred Majesty with hands so common is a sin worthy to be punished with a thousand deaths. But, then, suppose I were to make rice balls as an offering but keep them in my hands and not present them, what would happen then? After a while the rice would certainly rot. This, too, would be an act of loyalty, I suppose, but I would call it a loyalty without courage. Courageous loyalty belongs to the man who, with no fear of death, dares to present the rice balls that he has thus made with single-minded devotion.”
“While knowing he’s sinning? Is that what he’s to do?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The gentlemen of the military, Your Highness foremost among them, are indeed fortunate. For the soldier’s loyalty rests in casting away his life in obedience to the Emperor’s commands. But in the case of an ordinary civilian, he must be prepared to sin by reason of his unsanctioned loyalty.”
“‘Obey the law’—isn’t that a command of His Majesty? And the law courts—they are, after all, His Majesty’s courts.”
“The sins I refer to have nothing to do with the law. And the greatest sin is that of a man who, finding himself in a world where the sacred light of His Majesty is obscured, nevertheless determines to go on living without doing anything about it. The only way to purge this grave sin is to make a fiery offering with one’s own hands, even if that itself is a sin, to express one’s loyalty in action, and then to commit seppuku immediately. With death, all is purified. But as long as a man goes on living, he can’t move either right or left, or take any action whatever, without sinning.”
“Ah, this has become a very complex matter indeed,” said the Prince, smiling as though somewhat taken aback by Isao’s sincerity.
Gauging the situation, the Lieutenant restrained Isao: “That’s enough. You’ve made your point.”
But the excitement aroused in Isao by this examination of his ideals persisted. The exchange was with a prince of the Imperial Family. To face such a personage and to respond with utter frankness to his questions had made Isao feel that he was facing a brilliance not of this world shining from behind the Prince, and was giving full expression to his innermost self. He had been able to give an immediate answer to whatever question the Prince asked, proof that for some time his thoughts had been refined and tempered within him.
When he pictured himself standing, arms folded, doing nothing at all, Isao shuddered as though he had imagined himself a leper. The easy course was to accept such a posture as man’s ordinary, sinful condition, as inescapable as the earth upon which one walked or the air one breathed. But if he himself would become pure in the midst of this, his sin had to take another form and he had, in any event, to draw his nourishment from the very source of sin. Only by doing so would he join together sin and death, seppuku and glory, atop the precipice swept by the pine breeze before the rising sun. His reason for not wanting to enter either the army or the naval academies was that there ready-made glory would be provided, there the sin of inaction would be purged. But perhaps, in order to attain the glory that he alone had in mind, he had begun to love sin for its own sake.
Isao did not think of himself as being pure and immaculate in accordance with the doctrine of Oen Hayashi, the beloved Master of the League of the Divine Wind, who taught that all men were sons of the gods. But he burned with a constant impatience to draw near enough to purity to touch it with his hand. So that his fingertips could reach it, he was making use of stepping stones that offered but treacherous footing, aware all the time that the next instant these might give way beneath him. He knew that Master Oen’s rite of Ukei had no relevance to the present age. Still, this rite by which one asked the will of the gods seemed to contain an element of danger not unlike a footing that could give way at any moment. And what was this element of danger but sin? Surely nothing could so resemble sin as did the inevitability of danger.
“Well, well, so a young man like this has turned up,” said the Prince as he turned back to the Lieutenant, his voice filled with emotion. The thought struck Isao that he was like a model on display before the two of them, and a painful shock ran through him as the desire seized him to fashion himself to fit the pattern that he saw reflected in the Prince’s eyes. To do so he would have to die.
“When I realize that Japan has produced students like this, I have somewhat more hope for the future. One never hears such an outburst from those in the military. You’ve done me a favor in bringing so fine a lad here.” Since the Prince deliberately ignored Isao and expressed gratitude to the Lieutenant, the Lieutenant gained honor, and Isao himself felt the warmth of the Prince’s benevolence far more than if he had been praised directly.
The Prince summoned his steward and had him bring in some fine Scotch and some caviar. Pouring with his own hand, he urged the Lieutenant to drink, and Isao too: “I don’t suppose you’re of age, Iinuma, but you’ve just given such a display of perceptiveness that I consider you a grown man. So drink up. And don’t worry. If you overdo it, I’ll send you home in my car.” Though the Prince spoke most graciously, Isao shuddered. For at that moment there arose in his mind the image of his father’s face as he received his son coming home dead drunk in a car from the Toinnomiya residence. It was enough to jolt the hand that held his glass as he stood up to receive the Scotch from the Prince. The whiskey spilled out of the tipped glass and fell onto the delicate lace cloth that covered the table.
“Oh!” Isao cried. He pulled out his handkerchief and desperately wiped the spot.
“Please forgive me,” he said, his head hanging low as tears of shame welled up in his eyes.
Isao remained standing there with bowed head, and the Prince, seeing his tears, spoke to him humorously: “That will do now. Look up. Don’t carry on as though you’re going to cut your stomach open right here and now.”
“Permit me to apologize for him, Your Highness,” said the Lieutenant at Isao’s side. “I believe that it was the excitement of the occasion that made his hand shake.”
Isao sat down at last, but, altogether taken up with thoughts of his blunder, he was unable to say a single word. At the same time, however, despite his mortification, the Prince’s words were like a warm current coursing through his body, affecting him far more than did the whiskey. The Prince and the Lieutenant then began to discuss the political situation in detail, but Isao, occupied as he was with his shame, could not attend to what they were saying. While the Prince was thus enthusiastically engaged in discussion and apparently paying no attention at all to Isao, he suddenly turned to him and spoke in a loud, cheerful voice which to some degree showed the effect of the Scotch he had drunk: “Come now! Pull yourself together. You’re quite a disputant yourself, aren’t you?”
Having no other choice, Isao took a modest role in the discussion. He now felt that he realized why, just as the Lieutenant had told him, the Prince enjoyed such immense popularity among the military.
It was getting very late. After the Lieutenant, surprised at the hour, had expressed their gratitude, the Prince presented him with a bottle of excellent whiskey and some cigarettes in a box with the imperial crest. To Isao he gave a package of cakes, also bearing the imperial crest.
“It looks as if His Highness was quite taken with you,” said the Lieutenant on the way home. “I think he’ll be willing to help you, when the time comes. Considering his position, though, it would be quite improper to give the appearance of wanting anything from him. At any rate, you’re a lucky fellow. And don’t worry about that little faux pas.”
When he left the Lieutenant, instead of going straight home, Isao stopped at Izutsu’s house. After a servant had roused Izutsu, who was already in bed, Isao handed him the package of cakes.
“Take good care of this. Don’t let anyone in your house see it.”
“All right.”
Izutsu stuck his head out through the entranceway door in the dead of night, the nape of his neck stiff with tension, and took the package. A look of uncertainty crossed his face as he felt its lightness. He was sure that any package received from his comrade at such an hour would have to contain explosives.
18
THAT SUMMER
the number of Isao’s recruits grew to twenty. Only the most trustworthy students with the highest principles were allowed to enter his circle, after having been screened by Izutsu and Sagara and then interviewed and approved by Isao. Of foremost use in the process was
The League of the Divine Wind
. After reading this, each candidate had to write an essay describing how it affected him, which served as the basis for his first evaluation. There were those among them who, though their style and their comprehension were superior, left too much to be desired with regard to their strength of character.
Isao came to lose his fervor for kendo. When he announced that he was not going to participate in the summer training camp, he narrowly missed the unpleasant experience of being dealt with summarily by those upperclassmen who had been counting upon him to win the coming tournament for the school. One upperclassman was particularly aggressive in demanding to know the reason for Isao’s change of heart.
“Are you plotting something? Is there something that fascinates you more than kendo?” he asked. “I hear you’ve been getting students to read some kind of pamphlet. You’re involved in some ideological movement, aren’t you?”
Isao forestalled him by answering: “I imagine that was
The League of the Divine Wind.
What I’m doing is talking with people about organizing a group to study Meiji history.”
The League of the Divine Wind.
What I’m doing is talking with people about organizing a group to study Meiji history.”
In fact, Isao’s kendo career was of great help in secretly gathering new comrades. When a student was confronted with his laconic presence and his brilliant, piercing glance, respect for his reputation was immediately transformed into devotion to him.
Having advanced thus far, Isao decided to gather all his comrades together at the same time so that he could test their maturity and enthusiasm. During the summer vacation, accordingly, when most of them were away from Tokyo, he sent them telegrams ordering them to return, deliberately choosing a time a full two weeks before the new semester began. During vacation the school grounds would serve as an ideal place to preserve their secrecy. The students were to meet before the shrine on campus at six in the evening, a time when the heat of the day would still be lingering.
All the students at the College of National Studies referred to this as simply “the shrine,” and a gathering of students in front of this small place of worship dedicated to the myriad gods was not at all unusual. Students from the Shinto department, destined to succeed their fathers as priests of the family shrine, always came here to practice their chants, and members of the athletic teams would come either to pray for victory or to ponder defeat.
One hour before the time set for the meeting, Isao was waiting for Sagara and Izutsu in the woods just to the rear of the shrine. He wore
hakama
over a white splashed-pattern summer kimono, and a school cap with white piping. When Isao sat down on the grass, the bright rays of the evening sun, coming from beyond the precincts of Hikawa Shrine as it sank toward the heights of Sakuragaoka in Shibuya, struck the chest of his white kimono and the black trunks of the oaks. Despite this, Isao did not seek the shade, but rather, pulling the peak of his cap down over his eyes, sat facing the sun. The heat given off by his sweat-covered flesh built up beneath his kimono and crept up toward his brow, melding with that which radiated from the sun-soaked grass. The whirring song of the cicadas filled the woods.
hakama
over a white splashed-pattern summer kimono, and a school cap with white piping. When Isao sat down on the grass, the bright rays of the evening sun, coming from beyond the precincts of Hikawa Shrine as it sank toward the heights of Sakuragaoka in Shibuya, struck the chest of his white kimono and the black trunks of the oaks. Despite this, Isao did not seek the shade, but rather, pulling the peak of his cap down over his eyes, sat facing the sun. The heat given off by his sweat-covered flesh built up beneath his kimono and crept up toward his brow, melding with that which radiated from the sun-soaked grass. The whirring song of the cicadas filled the woods.
Other books
Tales From a Hen Weekend by Olivia Ryan
Hunting in the Shadows (American Praetorians) by Peter Nealen
Ward of the Philosopher by D. P. Prior
A Little Bit of Truth (Little Bits) by Murphy, A. E.
Nicola Griffith by Slow River
The Angel of the Lighthouse by Lydia Fane
A Guide to Being Born: Stories by Ausubel, Ramona
Pretty Girl Thirteen by Coley, Liz
Sweet Ruin by Kresley Cole
Rebel, Bully, Geek, Pariah by Erin Jade Lange