Free The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea by Yukio Mishima

this was something directly linked to death. He was perfectly aware that he would leave her in a day, yet he was ready to die happily for her sake. Death roused inside him, stirred.
    Then the pale tremor of a ship’s horn floated in from the direction of Center Pier and settled over the garden. A nebulous mist of sound, it would never have registered on Ryuji’s ear if he hadn’t been a sailor. Funny time of night for a freighter to be pulling out—I wonder how they got her loaded so fast . The thought broke the spell of the kiss; he opened his eyes. And he could feel the horn probing deep inside him, rousing his passion for the Grand Cause. But what was it? Maybe another name for the tropical sun.
    Ryuji drew away from Fusako’s lips and began fumbling in his vest pocket. She waited. There was a harsh rustling of paper and he produced a crooked cigarette and placed it between his lips; but Fusako angrily snatched the lighter out of his hand. He leaned toward her. “Don’t expect me to give you a light, because I won’t.” The lighter flared with a metallic click, the flame danced in her unmoving eyes as she held it to a hemp leaf. The withered tassels should have fired quickly but the flame wouldn’t catch. Her engrossment, the steadiness of her hand made Ryuji afraid.
    Then the little flame lit up her cheek and he saw the string of tears. Fusako put out the lighter when she realized he had noticed. Ryuji embraced her again and, relieved by the assurance of her tears, he began to cry too.
    Noboru waited irritably for his mother to come home. At ten o’clock he heard the telephone ring. A minute later the housekeeper came to his room with a message.
    “Your mother just called to say she’s going to stay the night at a friend’s. She’ll be back in the morning to change before she goes to the shop; and you’re to spend the evening catching up on all that summer homework.”
    Never before, not as far back as he could remember, had his mother ever stayed out all night. The development itself was no surprise, but he flushed with rage and apprehension. He had been looking forward all day to the peephole: there was no telling what revelations, what miracles it might have disclosed again tonight. He wasn’t at all sleepy, on account of the nap he had taken in the afternoon.
    The desk was covered with assignments he had to finish before the new semester began; there were only a few days left. But Ryuji was leaving the next day and then his mother would help him again. Or would she just wander around in a daze, too preoccupied to worry about her own son’s homework? Not that it made much difference: Japanese and English and art were the only subjects she could handle. She was never much help with social studies, and he knew more about math and science than she did. How could anyone that bad at math run a business? She was probably always at Mr. Shibuya’s mercy.
    Noboru opened a textbook and skimmed a few pages but he couldn’t concentrate. He was too disturbed by the indisputable fact the Ryuji and his mother were not in the house.
    He stood up, sat down, and at last began to pace the small room. What could he do to get to sleep? Go into his mother’s room and watch the mast lamps in the harbor? The red lamps on some of the ships blinked on and off all night; there might even be a freighter sailing again, and another screaming horn.
    Then he heard the door to the next room open. Maybe his mother had been trying to fool him and had come home with Ryuji after all. He slipped the drawer quietly out of the dresser and lowered it to the floor. He was already dripping wet.
    This time there was a knock at his own door! He couldn’t let anyone see the drawer sitting in the middle of the floor at this time of night: he scrambled to the door and pushed against it with all his might. The doorknob rattled harshly.
    “What’s going on in there? Can’t I come in?” But it was the housekeeper’s voice. “Are you all