The Sea of Fertility (Complete Series) by Yukio Mishima

Author:Yukio Mishima [Mishima, Yukio]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 2010-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

27

ON NOVEMBER SEVENTH Lieutenant Hori sent word that Isao was to come at once to his billet. Isao went there. The Lieutenant was sitting down, still in uniform. Something was different about him. As soon as he entered the room, Isao had a premonition of trouble.

“How about having supper with me? I told them downstairs that you would.” As he spoke, the Lieutenant stood up and turned on the lamp.

“I’d rather hear what you have to say.”

“Don’t be in such a rush.”

Devoid of furnishings as it was, the austere eight-mat room had taken on the aspect of a brightly lit empty box. It was cold inside, but there was no trace of fire in the hibachi. From the hallway outside the closed door came the sound of a consciously military tread. The footsteps passed, turned back again, and then, apparently from the head of the staircase, there was a shout: “Hey, old fellow! Hurry up and bring my supper.” The footsteps passed again and retreated down the corridor.

“That Lieutenant’s in the room at the end of the hall on the other side. He can’t hear what you say, so don’t worry. The man next door is gone today. He’s duty officer this week.”

These words sounded somehow evasive in Isao’s ears. He had not come here to say anything himself but to listen to the Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Hori lit a cigarette. A piece of tobacco clung to his lip, and as he dislodged it with the tip of one of his large fingernails, he crushed the now empty Golden Bat cigarette pack with his other hand. For the briefest of moments, the openings between the Lieutenant’s fingers revealed bat wings, golden against a green background, being crushed ruthlessly within his fist. He had some time or other mentioned to Isao that his monthly salary was eighty-five yen. And now this memory, together with the cold of the room, together with the loneliness of billet life, rose up from the noise of the paper being crumpled.

“Has something happened?” asked Isao, taking the initiative.

The Lieutenant only grunted.

Finally Isao gave voice to his worst fear: “I see. It’s gotten out.”

“No, that’s not it. Rest easy on that point. The fact is, I’m suddenly being sent off to Manchuria. An order came down from headquarters. I’m the only one going from the Third Regiment. It’s very hush-hush. I haven’t told anyone else, but I’m assigned to an independent Manchurian security force.”

“When do you leave?”

“November fifteenth.”

“But . . . that’s only a week away.”

“That’s right.”

Isao felt as if the sliding doors before his eyes were about to come falling in upon him. The Lieutenant’s leadership was now lost to them. They had been by no means intending to leave everything up to him, but the expert guidance of a military man would be of inestimable help in the assault upon the Bank of Japan. Furthermore, they had been looking forward to the Lieutenant’s detailed tactical and organizational instructions during this final month. Isao had the spirit but he lacked the technique.

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