The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

“What’s your proof?”
“You’re dreadful. No one has ever said such
dreadful things to me before.”
We were on the point of a quarrel, but I do not like
quarrels. Sullen silence was called for.
We were on the sidewalk below the Kōrakuen pool.
As always, it was teeming with people in search of
inexpensive pleasure. Few of the young people could
have been described as well dressed. They were in
the ready-made shirts and machine sweaters of the
fashionable provincial set. A child suddenly squatted
down in the middle of the street and began picking up
beer caps. It was scolded by its mother.
“Must you be so nasty?” Momoko seemed near
tears.
I was not being nasty. It was kindness on my part
not to tolerate smugness. I sometimes think I am a
fearfully moral beast.
We had turned as our stroll took us, and were at the
gate to the Kōrakuen garden of the Mito Tokugawa
family. “The gentleman troubles himself on the world’s
behalf; only then does he take his pleasure”—hence
the name Kōrakuen, “Garden of After-pleasure.” Near
though it is, I had not before visited it. The sign
informed us that the garden closed at four thirty and
that tickets were not sold after four. It was ten minutes