The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

circumscribed as time goes by. The poison known as
the pure Japanese is thinning, changing to a potion
acceptable to everyone.”
There can be little doubt that Honda was thinking of
Isao as he spoke. Isao knew nothing of Western table
manners. Such elegant accessories were no part of
the grandeur of his world. And so Tōru, still sixteen,
must be taught Western table manners.
Food was served from the left and drink from the
right. Knives and forks were taken in order from the
outside. Tōru looked at his hands like one engulfed in
a torrent.
The instructions continued. “And you must make
polite conversation while you eat. That puts your table
companion at ease. You must be careful about timing
your swallows, because there is a danger, when you
talk with food in your mouth, of spitting something out.
Now, then. Father”—Honda referred to himself as
“Father”—“will say something to you, and you must
answer. You must think of me not as your father but as
a very important man who might be able to do a great
deal for you if he likes you. We are acting out a play.
All right, now. ‘You are studying hard, I see, and you
have your three tutors all speechless with admiration;
but it seems a little odd that you should have no real
friends.’”