The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

“Really!” That was her favorite expression. She was
not at all reluctant to ask questions herself, but she
greeted every question in return with a “Really!”
Since I had told Father that I would be home at nine,
there was only time for dinner. She drew a map and
gave me a telephone number and said that since she
lived alone there was no need for shyness.
I want to be as precise as possible about what
happened when, some days later, I went calling.
Because the event itself is so filled with sensual
exaggeration and imaginings and disappointments
and the events are so distorted, a person departs
from the truth in the very effort to be cool and
objective; and if he seeks to portray the intoxication,
he falls into conceptualizing. I must take up all three,
sexual pleasure and the trembling curiosity of a new
experience and an oppressive disharmony that could
be either sensual or rational. I must cleanly separate
them, allowing none to encroach upon the others, and
I must transplant them, perfect and undamaged. The
task will not be an easy one.
She seemed at first to have overestimated my
shyness. She reassured herself repeatedly of the fact
that I was “new to the experience.” I did not want to
appear under false colors, nor, on the other hand, did I
want to be one of those young men who seek to