Free After the Banquet by Yukio Mishima Page B

the old gentleman at the special request of the Emperor on “The History of Japanese Newspapers.”
    “I couldn’t go into exhaustive details in such a short time,” the octogenarian commented. “As it turned out, the Emperor seemed most interested in the part on the Meiji period. It’s sad to think of it, but the Meiji period seems to be the gute alte Zeit not only for us old folks but for the Emperor too.”
    “That’s probably because it sounded like die gute alte Zeit from the way you talked,” the newspaper executive volunteered.
    “Perhaps so, but it’s not very encouraging when the ruler of our country prefers any time to the present.”
    The other guests arrived in the midst of the discussion. Saké presently appeared, and the hors d’oeuvres were served. Kazu left the room briefly, and when she returned a few minutes later she was accompanied by two maids bearing a huge tray covered with blue flames. She proclaimed to the astonished guests, “Behold the torches of the Nigatsu Hall!”
    The dish was a culinary triumph, intended above all to appeal to the eye. The torches, one for each guest, consisted of chicken meat to represent the bamboo poles, and broiled thrushes soaked in strong liqueur and ignited to form the burning crates on top. Fern shoots and other mountain vegetables were suitably disposed to represent the mountains around Nara. Even the little notice board enjoining riders to dismount before entering the Nigatsu Hall was in place.
    The guests all praised Kazu’s ingenuity. The industrialist, remarking that this year he had been able to witness the Omizutori ceremony twice, immediately composed an impromptu haiku on the subject. Kazu stole a glance at Noguchi’s face.
    Nothing could be more remote from joy than Noguchi’s expression at that moment. His face was agonized with choked emotions. The look he gave Kazu in response to hers was akin to hatred. But Kazu tranquilly withstood his glare, filled as she was with a rather brazen happiness. She knew that Noguchi’s hatred had to do with a small point of honor—not allowing a woman to have her way.
    Kazu suddenly stood and excused herself. She pretended she was going to the far end of the corridor, but in fact she hid herself in the next room, just the other side of the sliding doors. A moment or two later she heard Noguchi’s voice. He said precisely what she had been hoping for. “I have a word for those of you here this evening. The fact of the matter is, I have decided to marry the proprietress of this establishment, Kazu Fukuzawa.”
    The momentary silence of the guests was broken by the laughter of the octogenarian bachelor. “I thought that Noguchi at least showed my genius for living, but I over estimated him. Congratulations on not being a genius! Let’s drink a toast. Where’s the lady?” The old man shouted the words. Then, turning to the newspaper executive, he said reprovingly, “What are you waiting for? Telephone the office at once. It’s a scoop for our paper, isn’t it?”
    “You still treat me as a cub reporter, after all these years!” protested the executive, at which everyone laughed. A mellowness had quickly spread over the gathering.
    “Where’s our hostess?” the old man shouted. Kazu had not heard such shouting from him during the journey, but she could guess from his voice that he was deliberately affecting the coarse, madcap manners of the turn-of-the-century student. Kazu thought that the time had at last come for her to return to the dining room. She bumped into the executive, hurrying off to telephone his newspaper. The mild-mannered executive as he passed Kazu gave her well-rounded shoulder a pinch, then ran on.
    The news appeared in the next morning’s newspaper. Genki Nagayama telephoned at once. “Good morning!” he greeted her cheerfully, “How’ve you been keeping yourself these days? I happened to notice that article in this morning’s newspaper. Not true, is it?”
    Kazu remained