Free Spring Snow by Yukio Mishima

customary ennui had been swept away.
    “Hello, is this the Ayakura residence? Please may I speak to Miss Satoko?” Kiyoaki asked, after the familiar voice of an old woman had answered. From distant Azabu, her voice expressed a certain displeasure, though remaining agonizingly polite.
    “It’s young Master Matsugae, I believe? I’m terribly sorry, but it’s so late, I’m afraid.”
    “Has Miss Satoko gone to bed?”
    “Well, no, I don’t believe she has retired yet.”
    After Kiyoaki persisted, Satoko finally came to the phone. The sound of her warm, clear voice cheered him immensely.
    “Kiyo, what in the world do you want at this time of night?”
    “Well, to tell the truth, I sent you a letter yesterday. Now I must ask you something. When it comes, please, whatever you do, don’t open it. Please promise me that you’ll throw it right into the fire.”
    “Well really, Kiyo, I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .” Something in Satoko’s apparently calm voice told Kiyoaki that she had started to weave her usual net of ambiguities. And her voice on this cold winter night was as warm and ripe as an apricot in June. He said impatiently, “I know you don’t. So just please listen and promise. When my letter comes, throw it in the fire right away without opening it, please?”
    “I see.”
    “Do you promise?”
    “Very well.”
    “And now there’s something else I want to ask you . . .”
    “This certainly seems to be the night for requests, doesn’t it, Kiyo?”
    “Could you do this for me: get tickets to the play at the Imperial Theater for the day after tomorrow for yourself and your maid.”
    “A play . . . !”
    The abrupt silence at the other end made Kiyoaki afraid that Satoko might refuse, but then he realized that, in his haste, there was something he had forgotten. Given the Ayakuras’ present circumstances, the price of a pair of tickets, at two yen fifty sen apiece, would represent quite an extravagance.
    “No, wait, excuse me. I’ll have the tickets sent to you. If your seats are next to ours, people might talk, but I’ll arrange it so that they are somewhere nearby. I’m going with the two princes from Siam, by the way.”
    “How kind of you, Kiyo! Tadeshina will be delighted, I’m sure. I’d love to go,” said Satoko, making no effort to conceal her pleasure.

7
     
    T HE NEXT DAY AT SCHOOL , Kiyoaki asked Honda to join him and the Siamese princes at the Imperial Theater the following night; Honda was pleased, and accepted at once, although not without a vague sense of awkwardness. Kiyoaki, of course, did not choose to tell his friend the part of the plan that provided for the chance encounter with Satoko.
    At home that evening during dinner, Honda told his parents about Kiyoaki’s invitation. His father had some reservations about the theater, but felt that he should not restrict the freedom of an eighteen-year-old in matters of this sort.
    His father was a justice of the Supreme Court. He saw to it that an atmosphere of decorum reigned in his household. The family lived in a large mansion in Hongo with many rooms, some of which were decorated in the oppressive Western style popular in the Meiji era. Among his servants were a number of students, and books were to be found everywhere. They filled the library and study and even lined the hallways, in an expanse of brown leather and gold lettering.
    His mother, too, was the opposite of frivolous. She held office in the Women’s Patriotic League, and she was rather pained that her son should have struck up a close friendship with the son of Marquise Matsugae, a lady who had no taste for such worthwhile activities. Aside from this, however, Shigekuni Honda’s school record, his diligence, his health, and his unfailing good manners were a source of constant pride to his mother, and she never tired of singing his praises to other people.
    Everything in the Honda household, down to the most trivial utensil, had to