Runaway Horses (58 page)
Authors: Yukio Mishima
This, then, is what my comrades and I pledged within our hearts.
Honda watched the face of the Chief Judge with unblinking gaze. As Isao had gone on with his explanation, the white, splotched skin covering the judge’s old cheeks, Honda observed, had gradually taken on the red glow of youth. When Isao had finished and took his seat, Judge Hisamatsu began to shuffle busily the papers before him, but obviously this was a device to hide his emotion. After a time the judge spoke.
JUDGE
: So that’s it then? Does the prosecution have anything to say?
PROSECUTOR
: Yes, Your Honor. To take things in proper order, I would like to say something with regard to the witness Miss Kito. I am sure that, when she was summoned, this court was exercising due consideration. Nevertheless, in my own view, I must not only say that her testimony was entirely irrelevant but, without going so far as to declare it perjury, contend that the credibility of the diary seems extremely questionable. As for the value of the diary as written evidence, then, I would register a forceful doubt. Now, with regard to the witness’s testimony that she was as fond of the defendant as if he were “a younger brother,” one would expect emotional involvement, in view of the long and cordial relationship between the Iinuma and Kito families. The defendant Iinuma himself spoke of an “attachment,” and so one might well imagine that a tacit understanding existed between these two. Consequently, I regret to say that, in both Miss Kito’s testimony and the defendant Iinuma’s account of that night, one can detect a kind of unnatural exaggeration. In short, I believe that the summoning of this witness was not a proper step.
Now to consider the long account that the defendant Iinuma has just given us: elements of fantasy and abstraction predominate in it. At first it would seem that he was fervently pouring out all that he had intended, but one has the impression that he deliberately obscured some significant aspects. For example, how did he come to abandon the plan to gather a large number of arms and men and sweep away the dark clouds altogether, thinking it would be sufficient to tear open the clouds at one spot only? That is a gap in his account that cannot be ignored. I believe that the defendant deliberately omitted the particulars of the matter at this point.
On the other hand, though the witness Mr. Kitazaki’s memory was not clear with regard to the time, he testified that Lieutenant Hori had shouted angrily, “Don’t you understand? Give it up!” either toward the end of October or the beginning of November of last year. I submit that this testimony contributes vitally relevant evidence. For it clearly has a bearing upon the defendant Iinuma’s account of the weapon exchange which he describes as having taken place on November eighteenth. If this weapon exchange had taken place earlier, if the night on which the Lieutenant shouted “Give it up” had been after it, the affair would be different. It is otherwise, however, and so the various parts fit together.
The judge, after conferring with the prosecutor and the defense counsel about the date and time of the next session, announced that the second session was at an end.
38
THE VERDICT
was handed down on December 26, 1933, just before the year-end holiday. Though it was not the “not guilty” decision Honda had hoped for, it read: “The punishment to which the defendants are liable is hereby dismissed.” It was a decision that utilized a provision in Article 201 of the Criminal Code, pertaining to preparation for murder: “Dependent upon the circumstances, however, punishment may be remitted.”
The verdict acknowledged that preparation to commit murder had indeed taken place, but the defendants, with the exception of Sawa, were extremely young, their motives were pure, and they had obviously been carried away by excessive patriotism. Furthermore, there was inadequate evidence that, after plotting, they had not indeed turned aside from their criminal intent. The logic behind the remission of punishment for all the defendants was thus set forth in detail.
Then as to the older Sawa, had he been an initiator of the conspiracy, he would not have escaped, but since he had joined when it was already underway and seemed to have taken no particular leadership role, he benefited from the same remission of sentence.
Had there been a “not guilty” decision, the probability would have been strong that the prosecutor would have appealed, but as matters stood, Honda was hopeful that he would not do so. In any case, they would know within a week.
All the defendants were released, and they returned home to their parents.
On the evening of the twenty-sixth, there was a private dinner at the Academy of Patriotism to celebrate Isao’s return. Honda was the guest of honor, and Iinuma and his wife, Isao, Sawa, and the student body took part in the conviviality. Makiko was invited but did not come.
Up until the time the banquet began, Isao sat listening to the radio as though in a stupor. He heard the six o’clock Fairytale Theater, Hanako Muraoka’s Children’s Newspaper at six twenty, a talk by the chief surgeon of the Konoe Division on “Means to Be Taken by the Citizenry in the Event of Poison Gas Attack” at six twenty-five, and while he was listening to Harold Palmer’s six fifty-five Current Topics, he was compelled to get up and hurry to the dining room. Since returning home, he had merely smiled and said nothing.
His mother had met him at the door, weeping without restraint, and then, after putting on a shiny, freshly laundered apron, she retired into the kitchen and threw herself into the task of chopping vegetables. The kitchen was crowded with rejoicing housewives who had come to help her. As his mother gave orders, her busy fingertips seemed to send forth unseen rays directed at the platters everywhere, and these were instantly filled with multicolored sashimi and broiled fish and meats. Women’s laughter from the kitchen echoed in Isao’s ears like sounds from another world.
Iinuma and the Academy students had met Isao and Sawa, and, on the way home, all had stopped to offer reverence before the Imperial Palace and at Meiji Shrine, and as soon as they had returned to the Academy, they went to worship as one family in the shrine located in one wing. Only after this was Isao able to enjoy the leisure of a hot bath. All the gods had been thanked, and now at this banquet it remained to thank the one who, in the world of humans, deserved the most thanks: Honda. Iinuma, in his formal kimono with family crest, rose from his seat, moved down to a humble place with his son and Sawa on either side of him, and, turning to Honda, bowed low.
Isao did as he was told. Even his smile appeared to be one demanded of him. Sounds were ringing in his ears. Things were stirring and bustling. Things were glittering and dancing before his eyes. Things he had long dreamed of were being conveyed to his mouth. His senses were surely operative yet they diffused reality. The food seemed as insubstantial as delicacies tasted in dreams. The twelve-mat room in which he sat seemed to become permeated with a painful brilliance and suddenly transformed into a vast hall of a hundred or two hundred mats, where, far in the distance, a throng had gathered for a festive banquet. They were people with whom he had nothing to do.
It was Honda who quickly noticed that Isao had lost that piercing stare of his.
Iinuma smiled at Honda’s concern. “Naturally he’s still somewhat numb,” he said in a low voice. “I had a similar experience. Of course in my case it wasn’t so long, but even at that, I was in a state of collapse for a week or so afterwards. I couldn’t really feel free. . . . There’s nothing to worry about, Mr. Honda. But here now, do you know why I’m having this party for the boy? It’s just to make this the day to celebrate his becoming an adult. He won’t be twenty-one for a while yet, but there’s no doubt that this day will be one of the most memorable of his life, the day of his rebirth. From now on tonight I’ll be giving him rather rough treatment, but I intend to really open Isao’s eyes and treat him as a full-fledged adult. And I know, sir, that you understand how I feel as a father and won’t try to stop me.”
Isao, in the meantime, sat drinking with Sawa, both of them surrounded by students. Sawa was entertaining everyone by recounting prison experiences in a loud voice while Isao merely smiled and remained silent.
The youngest student, Tsumura, who idolized Isao, grew irritated as one funny story followed another, wanting to hear the icy severity of Isao’s words. His attention never wavered from him, but, since Isao offered nothing at all, Tsumura finally took the initiative and whispered to him: “Isao, did you hear the disgusting thing Kurahara did?”
The name Kurahara struck Isao’s ears like a peal of thunder. As soon as he heard that name, the realm of reality which had seemed so distant suddenly impinged itself upon his senses like sweat-drenched underwear clinging to one’s skin.
“Kurahara? What about him?”
“Something I saw in yesterday’s paper. The
Imperial Way
gave its whole front page to it,” Tsumura answered, citing the name of a right-wing newspaper. “It was really disgusting.” He pulled a folded-up tabloid newspaper from his jacket pocket and showed it to Isao. Then he peered intently over Isao’s shoulder as he read the article, his breath hot, his angry eyes seeming to burn holes through the paper. “It was really disgusting,” he repeated.
Imperial Way
gave its whole front page to it,” Tsumura answered, citing the name of a right-wing newspaper. “It was really disgusting.” He pulled a folded-up tabloid newspaper from his jacket pocket and showed it to Isao. Then he peered intently over Isao’s shoulder as he read the article, his breath hot, his angry eyes seeming to burn holes through the paper. “It was really disgusting,” he repeated.
The newspaper was crudely printed, with broken type evident here and there. The story it carried did not appear in major newspapers but was an article reprinted by permission of a Shinto publication connected with the Grand Shrine of Isé.
According to the article, Kurahara had, on December fifteenth, attended a session of the Kansai Bankers Association, and on his return had stopped at Isé, where he had stuffed himself with a dinner of Matsuzaka beef, which he especially favored. And on the following morning, he went together with the Prefectural Governor to offer worship at the Inner Shrine of Isé.
With them were their secretaries and a number of other underlings, but Kurahara and the Governor were accorded special treatment by having two folding chairs set up for them on the gravel pathway. At the sacred branch ceremonial too, two previously prepared sakaki sprigs were handed over to them. Both stood and, holding their sprigs aloft, listened to the ritual prayers. Then suddenly Kurahara, apparently feeling an itch on his back, transferred the sprig to his left hand and tried to scratch the spot, but could not reach it. He took the sprig in his right hand once more and this time reached behind him with his left. Again he failed to reach it.
The ritual prayers continued, still without any hint of coming to an end. Kurahara hesitated a moment, then, hindered as he was by the sakaki branch, decided to lay it down on the chair. Then he put both hands behind his back and scratched. At that moment the prayers finally ended, and two assistant priests indicated that the two men were to offer their sprigs.
Kurahara, forgetting that he had put aside his sprig, joined issue with the Governor in a contest of mutual deferring. Finally the Governor yielded, and stepped forward to make his offering. At this moment the priests were shocked to see that the sakaki sprig was gone from Kurahara’s hand, but it was too late. For Kurahara, relieved that the Governor had preceded him, had sat down for the time being, crushing beneath his buttocks the sprig that lay on his chair. In the midst of the Shinto music accompanying the ritual, this faux pas was quickly passed off without attracting too much attention. Before many people had noticed, Kurahara, furnished with a fresh sprig, was stepping forward to offer worship. But, among the young priests who witnessed this, there was one who could not restrain his indignation. It was he who wrote about it in the Shrine journal, an article that came to the attention of the
Imperial Way
.
Imperial Way
.
Kurahara could not have committed a greater sacrilege. Tsumura’s indignation was reasonable enough. Even though it was a simple blunder on Kurahara’s part, the night before he was to offer worship he had filled his belly with the flesh of beasts, and, furthermore, rather than begging forgiveness for the breach that he had committed before the gods, he had dared to advance with his second sakaki sprig into the very presence of divinity, and, as men looked on, had committed the still greater sin of glossing over his previous transgressions with a solemnly enacted sacrilege. Still, Isao concluded, this was not reason enough to kill him. But then, turning to look at young Tsumura, he noticed the boyish anger in those clear eyes. Somehow Isao felt ashamed.
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