The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

It was anchored offshore, and loading operations
would have to wait until the next day. There was no
great urgency in sending out word of its arrival. At
about four there came a call asking if it had in fact
arrived.
At four there was a call from a pilot. Eight pilots
worked in shifts, and the call was to inform him of the
next day’s assignments.
Time heavy on his hands, Tōru gazed out to sea
through the telescope.
But as he gazed the uncertainty and the phantom of
evil brought by Kinué came back to him. It was as if a
dark filter had been slipped over the lens.
Indeed it was as if a dark filter had lain over the
whole of this summer. Subtly, evil had come over the
light, to dim the radiance and to thin the strong
shadows of summer. The clouds lost their sharp
outlines, the sea was a blank, the Izu Peninsula
invisible on the steely blue-black of the horizon. The
sea was a dull, monotonous green. Slowly, the tide
was coming in.
Tōru lowered the telescope to the waves on the
beach.
As they broke, a spray like the dregs of the sea
slipped from their backs, and the pyramids of deep