The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

There was no concept for which he had a greater
dislike than equality.
He was about to go inside when a Corona pulled
up at the stairs. He could not make out the details, but
he was sure he had seen it before. He was startled
when the superintendent got out.
A large envelope clutched in his hand, the
superintendent lurched up the stairs, as he always did
when he came to the signal station.
“Yasunaga is it? Good evening. I’m glad I caught
you at home. I’ve brought something to drink. Let’s
have a drink and a talk.” He did not mind being
overheard.
Overwhelmed by this unique visit, Tōru reached for
the door behind him.
“You’re very neat.” The superintendent seated
himself on the cushion Tōru offered, and, wiping at his
forehead, looked around him.
The building had been finished only the year before.
It was as if the dust had not been allowed to gather.
There was a maple-leaf pattern on the frosted glass of
the aluminum-sashed windows, inside which were
paper doors. The walls were lavender, the wood of
the ceiling was of almost too good a grain, waist-high
at the door was a frosted pane with a bamboo
pattern, and the doors between the rooms too were