Ch 4 of Thieves

English translation of: Mishima Yukio, Theives 盗賊　(1947-1948) Trans. By Jennifer Cullen CHAPTER FOUR A CAREFUL CONSPIRACY -- I “Our hearts became two fires, and inside our two hearts that double light – reflecting in one mirror.” - Baudelaire, Death of the Lovers (La Mort des Amants) Upon returning home, Akihide learned that his father had returned and went to his study. The Count offered his son a chair, and glanced briefly at him before speaking. “What do you think of the young Miss Yamauchi?” He continued immediately, as though he put little weight on Akihide’s answer. “Perhaps it is unnecessary for me to say anything, but it would be best to leave as few problems for later as possible. For when the question of your marriage comes up as well.” After saying this, the Count’s expression visibly eased. Akihide sensed, though vaguely, that there had been words between his mother and father. Though his words hinted that a marriage to Kiyoko would be blocked, he seemed to bear no bad feelings towards Baron Yamauchi. Having spoken, the Count realized it was not at all his real opinion. Apparently, it was necessary for him to first undergo self-hypnosis in order for something to be his opinion. He casually changed the subject to his trip to Nagara River. Akihide had reason to think it suspicious. His father had given his permission to a marriage with Yoshiko without asking for any information at all. Having gotten his permission, his mother had immediately visited the Haradas. Compared to his past indifference to the household, the change in his father who had also walked halfway to Professor Nozoe with Akihide a few days ago, should have been a clear indication of his love, but the fact that it had led him to embarrass Akihide with a warning… Mrs. Yamauchi also came to visit the Fujimura’s one time. Their conversation in the living room, looking out on the overflowing wisteria trellis, was mostly about poetry. When she had finished writing out a poem for Mrs. Fujimura, Mrs. Yamauchi said again “You have talent. Really, please keep writing I will introduce you to Professor Sakaki.” Mrs. Fujimura tried to escape to the topic of her family. “Has Kiyoko’s health improved recently?” “She’s gotten much better. Thanks to her friendship with Akihide.” “Oh, was he of help?” She was proud of the fact that her son was endowed with an extraordinary ability to make girls forget their sorrows and pain (even if it came from bad morals). However, it was not a motherly pride. The reader probably saw this dangerous bud in Mrs. Fujimura when Akihide returned from Kobe. Since the Yoshiko incident, when he no longer confided anything in her, she had begun to see Akihide as a mature adult accumulating necessary experiences. There were many times when she understood that her duties as a mother were over. Taking this for granted, she overlooked the painful wounds caused by things only a mother finds out. She thought that her son was becoming independent of her, but in reality it might have been she who was growing independent of her son. She’d been saved by the subtle influence of Baron Yamauchi. Little by little the roles of Count Fujimura and his wife were switching. The days the Count spent at home seemed to increase. The servants, sensitive as pets, tried to feel through their bodies which direction the environment they lived in was flowing all of this lent a strange tension to the atmosphere. Akihide started to commute to the research room. He maintained the arrangement of his bookshelves as indifferently as ever. As it was the season when they opened the windows at night, the corpses of moths who had strayed in through the cracks in the screen door could be seen occasionally amongst the shadows of the books. It never changed in this room; the smell of dank books swirled about like stagnant river water. Let’s cast a glance at those bookshelves. One could not call them abundant. On top of them were quite a few paperbacks in a row. Most of them were bought for high school classes, and one could not perceive the traces of any special taste. The fact that there were comparatively more books of Japanese literature perhaps indicated that the path he chose was not completely whimsical. There were also a bunch of Arishima Takeo novels. Reprints of Earl M’s collection occupied the top shelf. The shelf below by various other collections. These were wrapped in a cord, as he had left them after straightening up the other day. In the corner, an entire old Sorinshi collection could be seen. The marks of plenty of reading were apparent in the Meiji style leather binding. Books on Japanese literature research and criticism occupied the top two shelves of the next bookcase; it is unnecessary to note details. Underneath, a variety of books were piled untidily. It seemed he had no liking for philosophy – one counted only a few translations of Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard. How had he fit those in? On a shelf still further down, were dust-covered European and American travel books, patchy travel essays, and commemorative seal books. Throughout, there were very few foreign books. It was clear that he bought and gathered books outside of his major only in imitation of or at the suggestion of friends. In a separate glass case, the Fujimura family’s antique books were displayed. Next, let us turn our eyes to the wall. A Chavanne his grandfather had collected in his later years and had loved more than anything else hung there. Underneath was his grandfather’s small landscape. It was childish, but it was a work he had painted under the apprentice to the artist K, and it pleased him. On the opposite wall hung a portrait of his grandfather in middle age drawn by an Englishman. His peaceful gaze was slightly averted from his own works in embarrassment. Whenever Akihide felt the desire to see it, it was enough just to think about those eyes. Next to his grandfather was a picture of his young, goateed father in his army days, sitting in a chair and striking an easy pose. Except for a somewhat glamorous satin sheet, there were no other decorations. Akihide’s desk seemed both messy and neat. A pipe rode atop carelessly piled photo albums. Opened letters lay about whitely like tree bark. There was also a strangely congested feeling about the desk. Half-read books placed at various angles conveyed an annoying tension via the acuteness of their angles. From the window an excess of transparent rays of light were thrown on top of this. It gave the scene the feel of an etching. The author has purposely avoided details while referring to the pattern of this room. The room lacked any of the hobbies a youth usually enjoys. The owner had not tried to add anything to it. At a glance it looked plain, and was, in fact, quite bleak. It resembled the room of a criminal who does not want to leave behind evidence. Can we call Akihide lazy because he neglected study, exercise, and hobbies? Maybe he was born only for an extraordinary love. Though seasons were lacking in his lifestyle, unbearable changes in temperature and light visited abstractly. His fantasy made the room bleak to the core. It was as if the room had been undermined by termites. The ghosts of his fantasies quietly continued chewing sawdust in hidden recesses. Akihide was changing into a symbolic character – odd idiosyncrasies lacking in individuality and dependent on inactivity and powerlessness. He did not even have that safety valve, a “hobby,” in his life. Excessive idleness mingled with excessive desire. For an individual like Akihide, daily events do not even appear in his tragedy. With a light heart, Akihide began to commute to the research room. By marrying daughters to various feudal lords, the Fujimura family had come to lead a life of rare wealth in the imperial court of the Edo period. Akihide’s great grandfather bought vast amounts of land in Tokyo after the Meiji Restoration. The fact that a miser had a squanderer for a son and a squanderer had a miser for a son is sound proof of lineage. Upon the death of Akihide’s grandfather, who had devoted himself to collecting art, his extremely realistic son – namely Akihide’s father – succeeded in cleverly disposing of the collection by donating it according to his father’s last wishes. There was no need for Akihide to reconsider his lifestyle. The Count thought it would be fine if Akihide studied and enjoyed himself for two or three years before getting married and taking a teaching post at a suitable school. It would not have concerned him at all even if Akihide had stopped going to his research department altogether. Niikura often visited Akihide’s department, and Akihide also went to visit Niikura. When he arrived, Niikura was usually peering through his glasses at an original document in fine print, arguing loudly with a friend. Akihide frequently visited the Yamauchis on the way home from the University. If Kiyoko wasn’t in, Mrs. Yamauchi received him. “You quite resemble my late son.” Sometimes her words chilled him. With the bluntness of a bereft mother, she was wont to draw connections between Akihide’s fate and that of her late son’s. But only warm maternal feelings lived in her heart. She quickly began to compensate for the loss of her son through Akihide. One day, Akihide visited the Yamauchis and had his usual inexhaustible discussion with Kiyoko. When he started to leave in the evening, Kiyoko said she would take a walk and see him partway home. Exposed cliffs and red pine forests still remained here and there near the Yamauchi house. City trains occasionally passed on the tracks under the cliff where few people walked, shaking the air of the depressed city streets. The sun was sinking on the other side of town. They stopped on top of the cliff to watch. The village roofs were drenched with the color of muddied crimson – the setting sun dripped intense red light in unexpected places. A row of houses cast a cutout shadow on the streets. Akihide felt that an extremely cruel ceremony was being carried out here. An avaricious will from within the freezing silence sparkled forth from the setting sun. He would regret many things he would leave behind after he had passed. He was like an invader. Brandishing flashes of light like Medusa’s hair; he seizes everything he can take by force, and leaves. All creation trembles in fear and prostrates itself before the vicious conqueror. He feels a rapture of the utmost tension as everything within himself is mercilessly robbed by his own hands flashing nobly with a proud and poisonous beauty. – Immediately it was drowned in the night. Akihide shivered in the surrounding silence. The sound of a train echoing from far away sluggishly disentangled itself from the silence. The sunset began to fade. Here and there street lamps were lit. Kiyoko stood at his side, absorbed in the warmth of his silence. That suggestion had doubtless made Kiyoko think of the same thing as Akihide. Suddenly Kiyoko turned as though the twilight had woken her. In a high voice she called out her brother’s name. Munehisa, passing by, turned with a dazzled smile. He was wearing boots clouded with dust and holding a whip in his hand and appeared to be returning from the stables. “Are you going home?” “Yes.” Answering his sister briefly, he politely greeted Akihide. Munehisa respected Akihide because of his sister’s love. What was it like to have the power to make someone love you? At Munehisa’s age, love had become an adhering fear surpassing his vague urges. A beautiful older woman at the horse club he had thought about secretly had recently married and no longer showed up. Whether due to a presentiment of her marriage or a change in the woman herself, near the time of the wedding her beauty was so stupefying he had almost hesitated to look at her head on. Earlier, he had fancied a friend of his sister’s who used to come by, but he had not even had the courage to send a letter. It seemed that all his school friends had a lover, even allowing for some exaggeration in the talk. From what first step does love begin? If it was simply coincidental, then there was no reason why it shouldn’t happen to him too. He had to admire Akihide. That strange ability to heal the sorrows of his sister, who had been so depressed she didn’t even respond to medicine. Now she was nice to the family and cheerful day in and day out. She behaved more like an older sister to Munehisa than ever before. Perhaps all lovers were wisely discreet with their methods of employing love. Munehisa’s dazzled eyes unwittingly caused Akihide and Kiyoko to garb themselves as lovers. It was almost a habit. But was the costume complete? They had gradually come to feel like different people when they were alone together as compared to when they were in front of others. If they wore costumes, they must have had real clothing as well. When they appeared before people, they became true lovers without a bit of effort. At times one entered the other’s heart, and as a lover, could even view their two figures. This capability granted a mysterious happiness to those who witnessed it as well. Munehisa realized that compared to his sister and Akihide’s love, in its ultimate purity, the adherent fears he himself harbored were low and inferior. It had become all the more difficult for him to speak to Akihide. Parting from Akihide, Munehisa and Kiyoko walked back toward the gate. Feeling that if he didn’t say something now he would regret it later, Munehisa spoke. “When I think about it, I see that my life is very monotonous. I don’t know what I’m living for.” Kiyoko understood immediately what Munehisa was trying to say. “Because you don’t understand why you are alive, you can keep on living.” Of course, what she wanted to say was “Fujimura and I found out exactly why we were living, and now we are going to die. Maybe moment by moment is the best way to live.” This was the first time Munehisa had heard such words from his sister’s mouth. Moreover it was just a trite epigram. He was disheartened. There was no reason for him to listen to such words from his sister. Suddenly he saw a sarcastic smile he was not accustomed to flash on his sister’s mouth in the twilight. “Ms. Yoshino mentioned what a nice person you are.” Hearing the words of the girl he had not had the courage to send a letter to through his sister, he made an unexpectedly savage expression even before his cheeks could turn red. He was afraid that his self-conceit would be wounded through a childish, incomprehensible joy. He walked with his head hung low and did not answer. He felt the heat of his ears angrily. When they came before the gate, a dog barked from behind it as though calling to them. The smell of green leaves made the darkness stifling. Kiyoko felt a renewed sadness as she watched her younger brother pull off his boots. There had been empty flirtation in her sudden desire to tease him. Had death dissipated her? Taken advantage of the hollowness of her heart after parting from Akihide? Mrs. Yamauchi was waiting for the two of them in the dining room. She did not try to ask the reason they were particularly late. She spoke happily of the crayfish on the table. Thanks to his mother, Munehisa relaxed and his cheeks became even redder. He though guiltily that it had probably been his own words, disturbing his sister’s quiet love, that had made her unpleasant. What in fact did Akihide and Kiyoko discuss during their frequent meetings/ Serious and trivial, worthwhile and useless, all were discussed with equal indifference and esteem as though equal in value. Akihide talked in detail of his Kobe trip: the unfortunate accident below his window and his revelation in the harbor. Thinking back now, that trip was like a dress rehearsal for death. Akihide recalled the face of the dead man painted with ugliness and fear, a face he’d no actually see, and tried to talk about it. At some point, the fiery visage changed into a scarlet rose with a thickness and complexity as though engraved in shadow via a skillful revision and carving technique. Death was now their ally. At times, death waited on them, quite like a faithful servant at their side fulfilling their every wish. One day in jest Akihide showed Kiyoko the sleeping pills he had recently bought. Kiyoko took them artlessly in her hand. They were already far from withdrawing their hands timidly from poison, or a fearful choked-up childishness like the awe a poor person has for a jewel. They had appropriated the indifference of the millionaire who leaves real diamonds spilled before the make-up mirror. Akihide thought while he looked at the sleeping pills Kiyoko treated as an innocent toy. They were not poison they were just sleeping pills. However, increase the amount slightly, and they will kill you. People who take them, fear that outcome more than anything. What stinginess! Those people, who do not hesitate to work life too hard, would probably say that the cautious and serious attitude with which Akihide and Kiyoko manipulated death, was both ludicrous and pathetic. “Life is my racehorse, so I know how to manipulate it. I also know how far I can push it. But death is an untamable, unruly horse.” People are faithful to their preconceptions, but is their racehorse really life? Maybe the horse they ride around blindfolded is really death. Kiyoko returned the pills to Akihide, a quiet dimple in her cheek. Then she took out something folded in beautiful brocade from her bottom drawer. “It’s a sword handed down in our family. I intend to use this.” Akihide unwrapped the brocade and saw the gold Yamauchi crest. It was delicate ornate woman’s dagger. He removed the sheath. The air around it lost color in its shine. What Akihide saw when he suddenly raised his eyes was Kiyoko’s soft white throat. He could not stop the trembling in his breast. Her throat had looked beautiful to him on that day he had come to part from her. He repeated an equation he couldn’t solve. White throat + silver sword = blood and death. Somehow red is born from white and silver. Hadn’t she miscalculated? Kiyoko raised determined eyebrows and gazed radiantly on Akihide’s surprised countenance. She looked very proud, like a martyr. Inside of her, one more structure, which Akihide had been unaware of until now, showed itself. As though a noble Buddhist temple had appeared standing on the horizon in the sunset. The almost primitive strength which allowed Kiyoko to decide to put such a heroic weapon to her own throat was the very thing Akihide was waiting and hoping for. He was even jealous of Kiyoko, whose ego smoothly and effortlessly sheltered within her such strength. After all, Kiyoko was a woman. Women were the ones who casually conceived of something and remained faithful to that conception. Her expression of pride originated unbeknownst to her. Akihide felt he wanted to kneel before her in order to bestow some traces of this thinking onto himself. Every time they met they talked untiringly. It was not necessary to discuss their death plans in detail. They could entrust that to the hands of their servant, death. Death would discern the tastes and proclivities of its master. Death would measure time precisely with its long hands. Death’s special talent was manipulating the schedule in such a way that its master would not notice. Their talk moved by itself to tales of their lovers. With neither shame nor envy they talked over the histories of their strange loves and the unforgettable traces repeatedly. Tears ran from their eyes as they spoke. Soon Kiyoko disappeared from Akihide’s eyes and Akihide from Kiyoko’s. They entrusted their hearts to each other without reservation and mourned. Eventually, Kiyoko and Akihide looked at each other’s face, sparkling with tears. Like shape and shadow, the smiles of those tired out by a mysterious joy rose on their cheeks like twin tides. They discovered unexplored territory in their smiles. Both felt that the other lived inside of them. Though the lover’s costumes they wore before others seemed to them like separate characters, in fact they were probably being guided along a similar course. Kiyoko had not met Saeki for one month, Akihide had not met (MISSING!!!) Of their mistake was the reliance on words. They had neglected their mutual supernatural powers. They practiced relating the portraits to the other’s heart through revelation. Thus, gradually the two fantasies became shared possessions. When Akihide and Kiyoko were in a room together they frequently experienced the illusion that they faced Saeki and Yoshiko. At times Akihide even felt he was talking to Yoshiko, and Kiyoko to Saeki. It was as though Saeki’s coldness and Yoshiko’s caprice had been forgotten. They behaved perfectly. The rainy season continued. His friends diverted themselves during the ennui of this dark season with rumors of Akihide. “Again he’s disappeared. That Fujimura.” “Really? He came to my place the day before yesterday. And I hear he’s going to the University.” “I heard a rumor that he’s always over at the Yamauchi’s.” “Don’t they go well together.” “Everyone says that, but two introverted people together…” “They’ll be all right. Fujimura has unexpected self-confidence in some areas.” Niikura listened to this dialog with a glum look. Well-informed people often look glum. He summed it up in his usual manner. “Actually Fujimura is the one more agitated, and she is rather unwilling, don’t you think? Not that I have proof. I just have that feeling.” Everyone listened closely to his official view. Since Akihide would not leave Tokyo at all, even when summer came, Mrs. Fujimura was able to indulge her own disinclination to leave Tokyo. Count Fujimura did not thereafter say another word about Akihide and Kiyoko’s affair. When Akihide got used to this he was relieved because he believed his father was coming to love him more and more. The air of a son getting used to his father leads a household toward loneliness. As the summer grew long, the Fujimuras set off for their Gora villa. The Yamauchis alternately used their Ooizo and Karuizawa villas, and as it were, this year was the year for Karuizawa. Summer calls forth a slight romantic ardor in silly modern people. Though only planning to part for a short period, they feel romantic. As though a process that could achieve things which seem almost possible lurks within summer. Summer is composed of the immaturity of spring and the decline of autumn. The year before last, when she had spent the last summer of her school years here, Kiyoko had bashfully first known extravagant joy, as though happiness was eagerly awaiting her in the shadows like a seducer. She had not yet seen Saeki. That year, desire had brushed softly past her as a gentle breeze. A girl of that age is an aristocrat. She lacks nothing. It seemed all she had to do was wish, and anything at all would be granted her on the spot. Now after two years, it was difficult for Kiyoko to be surrounded by the same people and families all summer once again. The surnames of many of her friends had changed. They had all become friendly and relaxed. Most of her friends were those of before, but the young girls who passed on their shiny bicycles like a school of fish were not the same as those of two years ago. The girls two years ago were already aware of their purpose. They were quickly leaving behind the conceit of the arrogant maiden who doesn’t want to be anything but herself. Now they were foolish enough to idealize the style of waiting for a stranger’s words before becoming aware of themselves. One day, when the Yamauchi’s arrived at luncheon at M Hotel where they were staying, a certain Mrs. A grasped Kiyoko’s hand and offered her congratulations on the engagement. The poor Japanese of Mrs. A, who had been born and raised in France and was of mixed parentage, added an innocent directness to her words. Baron Yamauchi was not one to be indifferent to such a disquieting misunderstanding. Yet there was the slight shadow of frivolity in the Baron’s explanation that the engagement was a groundless rumor. Kiyoko had never before shown such embarrassment in front of her father. When Saeki had come visiting, it had almost scared her how much courage she possessed to cover her own shame. Yet now her ears and cheeks began blazing of their own will, as though they were not hers. While Mrs. A apologized abundantly, Munehisa tugged at his sister’s sleeve. “That’s R over there in the corner.” The fat comedic actor R, a stand out in his red tie, could be seen talking to a graceful companion. Without thinking, Kiyoko smiled indiscreetly, Mr. and Mrs. Yamauchi exchanged glances. As they had promised, Akihide and Kiyoko did not exchange any letters. Various inequalities and changes in the form of the love between two people are born through the exchange of letters. Compared to the illusion that the connection is broken and tied by the arrival and absence of letters, their decision made their connection stronger. It exempted them from the power of “time” which ages all. Love letters, when overexchanged, ages the lovers’ spirits so much that their joy when they meet after a long separation also cools. Sending consistent letters even after you commit some light betrayal is quite convenient in order to believe in your own purity. Beautiful, perfect loves built on mutual love letters, realize the instant they meet that the images are empty. Ill-humoredly, they see more direct inner desires that shrink from being expressed by words, not the passion they expressed in their letters. – A gray morning comes, and as they try to suppress the farewell to passion which wells up like nausea when the cold air separates one partner’s breast from the other’s, half asleep, they think of another woman or another man they saw on some street corner who might grant them a more lively and joyful pleasure. She squeezes her eyes shut, and with renewed strength grasps his nape and pulls him to her lips – her eyes squeezed shut. Yes. Every morning reborn, she searches for a new vision of a man, not the one she shared a bed with last night. Kiyoko and Akihide believed they would not be able to tell lies if they did not exchange letters. If they decided to lie, the opportunity (sending a letter) would cast a spell on the lie. However if they were separated without letters in Karuizawa and Hakone, they wouldn’t know what the other was doing. Come to think of it, it is foolish to fear that one’s conscience can not stand alone, while depending on that conscience. Surely the conscience first becomes dependable when it is made to stand alone. In Kiyoko and Akihide’s case, at some point this small promise grew like ivy and spread to places they had not anticipated. The promise itself did not put any shackles on them, but that they not exchange letters. Yet because the promise stood witness to their conscience, it came to seem a promise that protected their fidelity. Thereafter they felt that if Akihide merely thought someone other than Kiyoko a nice person, or vice versa, it would go against the promise and be morally wrong. However, one day a special delivery letter from Akihide arrived. According to their promise, it was sent to the attention of Mr. Yamauchi, and announced that he would be coming to visit soon. Kiyoko went to the station to meet him. Akihide spotted Kiyoko immediately from across the crowd. She was not standing with the other people who had rushed up to the gate to meet the train. He wondered if she really was waiting for him, leaning on her bicycle. It looked natural and honest. Passing through the gate, Akihide suddenly felt a premonition that Kiyoko would look his way. Just the, Kiyoko turned and smiled unhesitatingly as though she had spotted him earlier but had let him come to her. Bowing once, they stood without speaking. People passing nearby looked over. For a short while they both felt the other had changed. Even so, intimate feelings by the hundreds came to them. Why? Perhaps the strong summer sun had spread light into their hearts, and promoted the growth of their beautiful fantasies. The fantasies had spread so within them that even that which was Kiyoko and Akihide seemed to be no more than clothing, hiding the fantasies from human eyes. Kiyoko and Akihide were paralyzed as their own figures which were not themselves, and the other’s figure which was, subtly mixed. Kiyoko could not directly speak to or see the figure of Saeki, which resided inside herself; she could only do so when Saeki was reflected in the mirror of Akihide, like a pair of mirrors. It was the same for Akihide. Thus the two mirrors could only speak to each other with their fantasies mediating. Shape and shadow faithfully reflected each other and could not be differentiated. The shadow which was shape and the shape which was shadow could also exchange intimate smiles… Munehisa’s little cousin (he was still in his first year of middle school) came one day to play and single-handedly disrupted the quiet air of the Yamauchi house. Picking out only the words he knew from the English newspaper, he read them in a loud voice. Munehisa had always been a good playmate to him, but for some reason today he was annoyed and kept to himself. He didn’t want to horse around as this child’s equal in front of Akihide. When next to Akihide, Munehisa angrily felt the wretchedness of his own youth. Thus, brow furrowed, he frowned upon his noisy cousin. The cousin approached Akihide familiarly. He was in the habit of looking down on people arrogantly, but as in this case he would only be looking down on Akihide’s legs, he forced Akihide to sit in a chair. “Have you ever been to K ranch? I went yesterday with Hoshino and Morimura.” “You walked that far?” “Bicycled, of course.” “Koh. Your language is rude. I’ll tell your mother.” Kiyoko said from her chair set slightly apart while she cut silk. Without even looking back at her, the little cousin expounded on various pieces of information he had gotten the day before. The fact that the milk they drank every day was carried over twenty Kilometers up a mountain slope and that it was the work of a quiet horse with two barrels on its back and a twelve of thirteen year old child, and that he once met that horse on the road to the races, so maybe it was a horse who had raced long ago. While replying to the babbling of this youth, Akihide felt the whimsical desire to go to this ranch, set apart from the village. “If the weather’s nice tomorrow, shall we go?” he asked Kiyoko. “It’s a children’s place.” “So what, you’re still a child.” The little cousin bristled. The branches of green leaves outside the window shook wildly and Kiyoko looked out. It seemed a squirrel had passed by. “Tomorrow will be good weather. Definitely.” She called cheerfully to her brother. “Hisa, are you using your bicycle tomorrow?” Not only had Akihide’s whim spread to Kiyoko, it seemed that for some reason the vitality of the women flashing past like a school of fish on their bicycles had come back to her. She hurried the trip because she was eager to decide a difficult thought. Mr. Yamauchi was interested when he heard their plan. From the first he didn’t believe their plan was for a somber picnic. The Baron was glad they were adding a frivolous whim to their quiet and extremely domestic but monotonous lifestyle. He felt that Akihide’s childish plan saved him from the depression of having tired of the plans he had made himself but lacking the courage to bread them of his own accord. At dinner, he recalled the names of various sweets and told Mrs. Yamauchi to make them and put them in the lunch boxes. It was decided that only the old servant should wake up as they had to leave the next morning around five a.m. When they retired to their bedrooms that night, Mr. Yamauchi turned to Akihide and Kiyoko and bade them goodbye beforehand. “Well, have a nice trip.” It was a cold morning enshrouded in fog. There were no people about. From one of the gates, the howling of a dog rose up and chased after their bikes. The dog could not be seen for the fog, though they could hear its barking and rasping breath clearly. They crossed the railroad tracks and briefly rode on the wide road running along the horse tracks. Fog hung on the fields in patches. The primroses, drenched in the midst of the fog, looked like hundreds of beacons. As they passed by the horse tracks and the road sloped upwards to the mountain pass, the fog cleared, and the surrounding mountain pass, the fog cleared, and the surrounding mountains gave off a faint lavender light. They got off their bikes and climbed the hill pushing them. Kiyoko did not rest until Akihide suggested it. The first time he did so, Kiyoko smiled wearily. “I really am tired. When I look down as I push the bicycle, I see yellow butterflies flitting about my legs. Looking at them my eyes swim and I get dizzy.” “You should have said something earlier.” Akihide said, laughing. From then on they rested occasionally as they climbed up the deserted mountain path. Once in a while they caught glimpses of fountains and clumps of moist fern, but in amongst the trees were only weeds and bamboo. Behind them, the heavy smoky shadow of Mt. Asama hung over them, dying the glazed ceramic sky blue. After twenty minutes they finally reached the top. There it was completely clear with only some gracefully moving clouds. Mt. Myogi sparkling to the east and the Japanese Alps facing them to the west were refreshingly differentiated by the subtle shading of the sun and clouds. The blueness of the sky in the direction of the mountains seemed a part of the ocean, and the cloud formations were those often seen over the sea. It looked as though the near horizon had suddenly disappeared. Again they mounted their bikes and cautiously descended the steep slope of the mountain pass. A deep ravine and a cedar forest appeared. Within, a river flowed sending up a splash. The rock surface of the river bottom had become smooth as a mirror and it seemed to reflect the flow of water. Wagtails flew about excitedly. They sent up monotonous birdcalls, sounding like a handmill turning in the woods. It was still only eight a.m. The two ate their breakfast on top of a rock near the cold water. Continuing on, they again began a gentle slope up the mountain path. As before, Kiyoko and Akihide climbed it pushing their bicycles and occasionally resting. Neither spoke. They began to feel that this toil was not a sacrifice for themselves but for their mutual benefit. Thus the silence did not cast a shadow on their hearts, but rather seemed a decoration on the quiet peace of the wild mountain. Arriving at the top, they entrusted their bicycles to a peasant cottage with an ancient wide garden and from there climbed on foot up the single narrow trail to the ranch. “This is where Koh climbed.” “Yes, he bragged about this, didn’t he?” Coming to a rock ledge, the peaceful sound of a bell echoed from around the corner. Then came a smell conspicuously more pungent than the smell of young leaves. They stepped off the path. A dirty-faced youth pulling a horse bearing a barrel on its back came down the mountain path. It was just as the little cousin had said – the horse which carried milk to the city of Karuizawa. As they watched the horse’s chestnut colored rump sparkling in the sunrays as though painted in oils, they suddenly felt the intensity of the sun. The hot air of the woods flushed their bowed faces as they walked. “Just a little farther.” “I can see it already.” Kiyoko said, squinting. “I don’t see it yet.” Akihide imitated her squint, and a mirage of the white hut, the first sign of the ranch, appeared through the grasses and thick green trees. The sudden mooing of a cow close at hand startled them both. Now the ranch hut became a reality, appearing between the clouds and the blue sky. Then the ranch spread out as far as they could see. Red and white daisies swayed in the oppressive summer wind. Five or six collies lounging in front of the hut ran toward Akihide for affection. They arrived at the hut followed by the dogs. A hard of hearing caretaker in a torn vest came out. Akihide asked for some milk and they drank it together. Then they walked about the ranch. On the far grassy hill clustered a herd of wheat colored cows. When the gentle shadows of the clouds passed overhead they looked like a scene from a painting. On a nearby grassy area, separated from the herd, a large bull leisurely ate his way forward. A cowboy was chasing one group of cows toward Mt. Monomi. A collie with a white lace collar followed after him like his assistant. Kiyoko and Akihide found a moderate slope and sat down. The sun was in the middle of the sky. The distant mountains were lined up in a row, tinged with the brightness of fake jewels or seashells, purple in some areas, green in others, and the remaining snow sparkling like mother of pearl. The summer grass extended tough thick leaves amongst the soft cow grass. Yet the yellow flowers lit up within were lovely. The clouds moved at a meticulous, steady pace above this scenery. The passing of their shadows over the ranch, shrinking and distorting as they fell on each depression or bump, looked peaceful. Akihide relaxed and stretched out on the grass. His heart was eased by the pleasant fatigue, as though he was soaking in a luke warm bath. By his side, Kiyoko absorbed herself by plucking grass and weaving it together. It was as though a moment of heaven in all its innocence had fallen down to them. Akihide recalled the flowered field by the lakeside with Yoshiko at S plain. It was not a chaste memory. Over time it had begun to smell of the flesh. Now, the dazzling summer sun which seemed to be sweeping him idleness, numbing everything to inaction, caused an oddly pure, ordered throbbing of the spirit. Akihide squinted and drowsed off. Behind his eyelids hung a fog filled with glittering crimson. The mere fact that Kiyoko was there by his side enticed him to a miraculous, almost painful happiness. Kiyoko believed that her shadow occupied a precise seat inside Akihide when his eyes were shut – she didn’t even need to believe it anymore. Kiyoko recognized that Akihide – the mask of her fantasy – no longer even mediated her fantasy, he was no more than the clothing which hugged the illusion. Kiyoko exchanged her emptiness for Akihide’s and Akihide appropriated hers as his own. They dreamed of exact opposite universes in completely reversed, opposite directions. The supreme emotions they shared were rooted therein. They filled each other with the boundless empty space in their backgrounds. Kiyoko guided Akihide’s head softly into her lap. This behavior was not accompanied by any shame, nor did it seem to have been done on purpose. They both felt, excluding themselves, that here were undoubtedly two lovers. The summer sun shined on with increasing strength. Kiyoko and Akihide’s body heat rose to that of the blades of summer grass. Then, as though taking over all of their flesh, the sun dried their lips and burned their hair. It took every word from their mouths. They heard the chirping of cicadas in the far woods. The two sat motionless as sculptures decorated not by flowers, but by the clouds that reflected the bright light and the stirring of the far away cicadas. It seemed they had been trapped in a mold. They did not feel like asking the other in fun “what are you thinking?” Due to the mold and the sunlight, their lips did not move easily. Kiyoko looked into Akihide’s eyes. As the clouds passed over they sparkled like a fountain. In them a huge image of Yoshiko, who had brought them together in this secret conspiracy, related to the structure within Kiyoko, towered over her with an inanimate beauty, distinct from love and from jealousy. The ship Kiyoko and Akihide were on picked up speed little by little and headed toward those giant illusions, like an exploration voyage to the open seas.