Temple Of Dawn by Yukio Mishima Read Free Book Online Page B

unhesitatingly: “December first, 1932.”
    “That should be enough,” said the first lady, rising and thus pressing her charge to leave immediately.
    The Princess suddenly sprang to her feet, climbed up on the chair in her shoes, and shouted to Honda in her shrill voice. The first attendant scolded her in whispers. The Princess, still shouting, clutched at the old woman’s hair. She was evidently repeating the same words, judging from the similarity of the syllables. As the second and the third ladies ran over to hold her arms, the Princess started to cry madly, her piercing voice echoing from the high ceiling. From among the old women who were trying to pull her down, her smooth, pliant arms shot out, catching hold here and there. The old women withdrew, crying out in pain, and the Princess’s voice rose even higher.
    “What was that?”
    “She insists on inviting you to the Detached Palace of Bang Pa In when she goes there for a visit day after tomorrow, and the ladies are trying to prevent it. This is going to be some show,” said Hishikawa.
    A discussion began between the Princess and her attendants. Finally she nodded and stopped crying.
    “The day after tomorrow,” said the first lady, still out of breath, straightening her disheveled clothes and speaking directly to Honda, “Her Serene Highness will drive to the Bang Pa In Palace for amusement. Mr. Honda and Mr. Hishikawa are invited. We should very much like them to accept. As we shall lunch there, it would be well if they were here by nine o’clock in the morning.”
    The formal invitation was immediately translated by Hishikawa.
    In the car returning to the hotel, Hishikawa kept up his interminable chatter, ignoring the fact that Honda was lost in thought. The lack of consideration for others displayed by this self-styled artist bespoke his threadbare sensitivity. Had he deemed sensitivity to be an unnecessary, Philistine characteristic and had he adhered to this view, at least he would have had the virtue of consistency; but in truth Hishikawa took pride in his delicacy and sensitivity in human relationships, which he thought far exceeded those of other guides.
    “It was very astute of you to ask those two questions. I didn’t understand what it was all about. But you were putting her to a test because she showed you a special closeness in pretending to be the reincarnation of your friend. Isn’t that right?”
    “Quite,” Honda replied perfunctorily.
    “And were both the answers right?”
    “No.”
    “Was one, at least?”
    “No. I’m sorry to say both were wrong.”
    Honda lied to be let alone, and his despairing tone conveniently concealed the deception, whereupon Hishikawa broke into loud laughter, believing Honda was telling him the truth.
    “Is that right! All of them wrong? She said the dates so seriously. Well, too bad. The transmigration business wasn’t very convincing then. You’re not very kind, though, testing such a lovely little princess as if you were examining a quack fortune-teller on some street corner. By and large, there’s no mystery in human life. Mystery remains only in the arts, and the reason is that mystery makes sense only in art.”
    Honda was again surprised by Hishikawa’s one-track rationalism. He glimpsed something red outside the car window, and looking out, saw a river and among the coconuts with trunks of flaming red bordering the road baboonlike, the smoky scarlet of poinciana along the bank. Heat waves were already quivering around the trees.
    Honda turned to the problem of how he could get to the Bang Pa In Palace without Hishikawa, even though that meant he would be unable to communicate with the Princess.

4
     
     H ONDA’S WISH materialized unexpectedly. “I’m not in the mood for another session with the mad princess,” Hishikawa said patronizingly, “but if I don’t go, you’ll have trouble. The attendants speak only a few words of English.” Contrary to his wont, Honda replied: “I