Spring Snow (12 page)
Authors: Yukio Mishima
Oblivious to the cold in the fervor of his devotions, Iinuma stood there, a virile figure with his matted chest showing through his open kimono. In truth, he secretly regretted that his body did not correspond to the purity of his zeal. On the other hand, Kiyoaki, whose body he saw as a sacred vessel, lacked the single-minded purity required of all true men.
Then suddenly, at the height of his ardent outpouring, as he was getting warmer and warmer despite the chill morning air swirling under the skirt of his
hakama
, he began to feel sexually aroused. He immediately snatched a broom from its place under the floor and began to sweep out the shrine in a frenzy of energy.
hakama
, he began to feel sexually aroused. He immediately snatched a broom from its place under the floor and began to sweep out the shrine in a frenzy of energy.
10
SHORTLY AFTER
the new year, Iinuma was called to Kiyoaki’s room. There he found the old lady, Tadeshina, whom he knew to be Satoko’s maid.
Satoko herself had already been to the Matsugae house to exchange New Year’s greetings, and today, finding occasion to bring some traditional Kyoto bran mash as her own New Year’s present, Tadeshina had made her way inconspicuously to Kiyoaki’s room. Though Iinuma was aware who Tadeshina was, this was the first time he had ever been brought together with her intentionally, and the reason for it was not yet clear to him.
The New Year was always lavishly celebrated in the Matsugae household. Some twenty or more people came from Kagoshima, and after going to the residence of the traditional head of the clan to pay their respects, they were entertained at the Matsugaes’. The New Year’s dinners, cooked in the Hoshigaoka style and served in the black-beamed main hall, were famous, largely because of such desserts as ice cream and melon, which were delicacies almost never tasted by country people. This year, however, because the period of mourning for the Meiji Emperor was not yet over, no more than three guests came up from Kagoshima; among them, the principal of Iinuma’s middle school, a gentleman who had the honor of having known Kiyoaki’s grandfather.
Marquis Matsugae had established a certain ritual with the old teacher. As Iinuma waited on him at the banquet, the Marquis would speak graciously to the old man: “Iinuma has done well here.” This year, too, the formula had been invoked, and the principal had murmured the usual politely deprecating words, as predictably as someone stamping his seal on a routine document. But this year, perhaps because there was only a handful of guests present, the ceremony struck Iinuma as being insincere, a perfunctory formality.
Of course Iinuma had never presented himself to any of the illustrious ladies who came to call on the Marquise, so he was taken aback at being confronted in his young master’s study by a New Year’s guest who happened to be a woman, however elderly.
Tadeshina wore a black kimono patterned with crests, and though she sat upright in her chair with extreme propriety, the whiskey that Kiyoaki had urged on her had evidently taken some effect. Beneath her graying hair, gathered neatly into a knot and still unruffled, the skin on her forehead glowed through the layer of white makeup with a shade of snow-covered plum blossom.
After acknowledging Iinuma with a brief glance, she returned to the story she had been telling about Prince Saionji.
“According to what everyone said, the Prince enjoyed tobacco and alcohol from the age of five onward. Samurai families are always so concerned to bring their children up impeccably. But in noble families—I think you know what I mean, young master—parents never discipline their children from the moment they’re born; wouldn’t you agree? For after all, their children receive the court rank of fifth degree at birth, which qualifies them to become retainers of His Imperial Majesty, and so out of reverence to the Emperor, their parents don’t dare to be harsh with them. And in a court nobleman’s house, nobody says anything about his Imperial Majesty that isn’t absolutely prudent. Just as nobody belonging even to the household of a lord would ever dare to gossip openly about their master. And that’s the way it is. And my mistress too has this same deep reverence for His Imperial Majesty. But of course it doesn’t extend to foreign lords.” This last was Tadeshina’s ironic jab at the hospitality extended to the Siamese princes by the Matsugaes. Then she hastened to make some amends: “But then, thanks of course to your great kindness, I was privileged to see a play again after I don’t know how long. I felt that it gave me a new lease on life.”
Kiyoaki let Tadeshina ramble on as she liked. In asking her to come to his study, he had had something quite definite in mind. He wanted to be free of the nagging doubt that had pursued him ever since that night. And so now, after plying Tadeshina with more whiskey, he asked her abruptly if Satoko had in fact taken his letter and thrown it unopened into the fire as requested.
Her answer came more readily than he might have expected: “Oh that! The young lady spoke to me immediately after her telephone conversation with you. So when the letter came next day, I took it and burned it unopened. Everything was taken care of. You need not worry about it at all.”
On hearing this, Kiyoaki felt like a man who has struggled for hours through tangled undergrowth and at last fights his way into the open. A multitude of delightful prospects unfolded before his eyes. Satoko’s not having read the letter did two things: not only did it restore things to their former balance, but Kiyoaki was now happily confident that he had opened up a whole new perspective on life.
Satoko had already made an overture whose implications were dazzling. Her annual New Year’s visit to exchange greetings fell on a day traditionally set aside by the Marquis for the children of his relatives. They would gather at his house, their ages ranging from three to twenty. And on this one day he would don the role of loving father, listening kindly to what each of them had to say and giving counsel when called upon to do so. This year, Satoko had brought some children out to see the horses.
Kiyoaki led them to the stable where the Matsugaes kept their four horses. It was decorated for the holidays with the twisted rope traditional in Shinto observance. The horses, with their powerful, smooth-muscled bodies, suddenly rearing back or kicking their hooves against the boards, struck Kiyoaki as having a pulsating life appropriate to the New Year. The children were enthralled. They asked the groom for each horse’s name. Then, taking aim at the huge yellow teeth, they hurled salvos of squashed pieces of crumbling candy they had been clutching in their fists. The high-strung beasts glared sidelong at their tormentors with bloodshot eyes. This delighted the children even more since these baleful looks were proof that the horses regarded them as adults.
Satoko, however, was frightened by the saliva streaming from the horses’ gaping mouths, and withdrew to the shelter of an evergreen some distance away. Kiyoaki walked over to join her, leaving the children to the groom.
Her eyes were showing the effects of the spiced saké that was traditional at New Year celebrations. What she said, therefore—to the accompaniment of the children’s shouts of joy—might have been attributed to this stimulus. At any rate, as Kiyoaki came to her side, she looked at him far from demurely and began to speak with a lilt of excitement in her voice.
“I was so happy that night, you know. You introduced me as though I were your fiancée. I’m sure Their Highnesses were quite surprised that I should be so old. But do you know how I felt then? If I had had to die at that very moment, I would have had no regrets. My happiness lies in your hands. Be careful with it, won’t you? I’ve never been so happy at a New Year as I am now. I never looked forward so much to what the year may bring.”
Kiyoaki did not know what to say. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked finally, in a strained voice.
“Oh, Kiyo, when I’m very happy, my words come tumbling out like the doves they release at a launching, flying up through a burst of confetti. Kiyo, you’ll understand soon enough.” To make matters worse, Satoko had ended on that phrase calculated to irritate Kiyoaki: “You’ll understand soon enough.”
“How proud and self-satisfied she is!” thought Kiyoaki. “So much older and wiser.”
All this had taken place some days before. And now today, after Tadeshina’s account of the fate of the letter, Kiyoaki lost his lingering misgivings, now confident that he was embarking on a New Year under the most favorable auspices. He would be rid of the melancholy dreams that had plagued his nights. He was determined that from now on his dreams would be happy. His manner would never fail to be open, and since he would be free of depression and worry, he would try to communicate his own well-being to everyone. But dispensing goodwill to mankind is a hazardous business at best, and one that demands a considerable degree of maturity and wisdom. Nevertheless, Kiyoaki was driven by an extraordinary sense of urgency.
Whatever his sense of mission, however, he had not called Iinuma to his room solely out of the warm desire to dispel his tutor’s gloom and see his face transformed with happiness.
The saké he had drunk combined with something else to provoke Kiyoaki to rashness. Tadeshina, despite her selfabashing manner and excruciating courtesy, had a certain air about her that put one in mind of the proprietress of a brothel, albeit one with an ancient and honorable reputation. An unmistakable distilled sensuality seemed to cling to the very wrinkles of her face. And having her so close at hand aroused Kiyoaki’s natural willfulness.
“As far as schoolwork goes, Iinuma has taught me all sorts of things,” said Kiyoaki, deliberately directing his remarks exclusively at Tadeshina. “Still, there are a number of things he didn’t teach me. Actually, the truth is that there are many things that Iinuma doesn’t know. And it’s just because of this that from now on you, Tadeshina, will have to become a teacher to Iinuma, you see.”
“Really now, young master, whatever do you mean by behaving like this,” said Tadeshina with heavy deference. “This gentleman here is already a university student. And an ignorant old soul like myself . . .”
“Exactly. Because what I am talking about has nothing to do with what’s learned in school.”
“Tch, tch, making such fun of an old woman!”
And so the exchange continued, still excluding Iinuma. Since Kiyoaki had not indicated that he might take a seat, he continued to stand, looking out over the pond. The day was overcast, and a flock of ducks swam near the island, from which the dark green crowns of the pines rose, cold and forbidding. The rough brown grass that covered the island reminded Iinuma of a farmer’s straw raincoat.
Finally, at a word from Kiyoaki, Iinuma sat down stiffly in a chair. Until then, Kiyoaki had not appeared to notice him standing by the door, which seemed extremely odd to him. Perhaps, he thought, his master was making a show of his authority in front of Tadeshina. If so, it was something new in Kiyoaki, which pleased him.
“Well now, Iinuma, let’s see. Tadeshina here has just been gossiping with our maids. And just by chance she happened to hear . . .”
“Young master, please! Don’t.” Waving her arms in a show of frantic distress, Tadeshina tried to stop him, but to no avail.
“She happened to hear that the maids are convinced that when you go to the shrine every morning, you have more on your mind than mere devotion.”
“More on my mind, master?” Iinuma’s face muscles tightened and his clenched hands resting in his lap began to tremble.
“Please, young master,” wailed Tadeshina, “don’t go into it with him.” She slumped back in her chair like a carelessly dropped porcelain doll, but despite her manifestations of acute distress, there was a faint but unmistakable gleam in her deep-set eyes. And the lines around her mouth, with its badly fitting false teeth, were slack, witnesses to past sensuality.
“To reach the shrine, you have to pass the rear wing of the house, don’t you? Which means, of course, that you walk right past the windows of the maids’ quarters. And on your way every morning, you’ve also been exchanging looks with Miné. And finally, just the other day, you slipped her a note through the lattice. Or so they say. Is it true or isn’t it?”
Before Kiyoaki had finished, Iinuma was on his feet. His pale face was contorted in rigid desperation as he struggled to control himself. It was as though a white heat were building within him, ready to explode into a terrible inferno. Kiyoaki was delighted by the look on his face, which was transformed from the dull phlegmatic expression he was used to. Though Iinuma was obviously in agony, to Kiyoaki his face, contorted into an ugly mask, was happy.
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