From Forbidden Colors —
The view of the pond, covered with water lilies at the peak of bloom, was lovely. But for two or three children chasing cicadas, the park at summer noon was empty. The two men sat down on the slope facing the pond, in the shade of a pine tree. The grassy incline, which had not had any care for a long time, was littered with scraps of paper and orange peel. Scraps of newspaper clung to the shrubbery at the water’s edge. After the sun went down, the little park would be crowded with people seeking the cool air.
“What did you want to talk about?” asked Yuichi.
“When this business happened, I decided I couldn’t stay in my old man’s house anymore. I’m going to leave home. Yuchan, will you come with me?”
“With you?” Yuichi hesitated.
“Are you concerned about money? Don’t worry about that. Look how much I have.”
His face serious, his mouth slightly open, the boy unbuttoned the back pocket of his trousers. He withdrew a carefully folded roll of bills.
“Keep it for me,” he said, handing it to Yuichi. “Heavy, isn’t it? It’s a hundred thousand yen.”
“Where’d you get this money?”
“I broke open the old man’s safe and cleaned it of cash.”
Yuichi looked at the pitiful, the niggardly result of one month of dreaming with this boy of adventure. They had turned away from society and dreamed of a youth of daring deeds, exploration, heroic evil, of the brotherly love of comrades-in-arms who face death on the morrow, of sentimental exploits they knew would end in disaster, and of all manner of youthful tragedy. They knew that they had been cut out for nothing but tragedy, that a cruel lynching by a secret society lay in store for them, or the death of Adonis slain by a wild boar, or a dungeon into which evil men had trapped them and where the water rose moment by moment to drown them, or ritualistic ordeals in cave kingdoms in which there was no chance of survival, or the end of the world, or fabulous opportunities to rescue hundreds of their fellows by sacrificing their lives, or glory filled with horrendous perils. Indeed, these were the only catastrophes meant for youth. If such opportunities for catastrophe are allowed to pass, youth must die. What is the death of the body, after all, compared with the unbearable death of youth?
Yukio Mishima, Forbidden Colors (tr. Alfred Marks).
