The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

was just then passing. She fell on me, her breathing
as heavy as if she had just committed murder.
Passers-by looked at us curiously.
It was time for my special night classes. I left her,
with a promise to meet on Saturday afternoon.
I had Momoko write to Nagisa a letter of my dictating.
I wonder how many times I used the word “love” that
Saturday afternoon. I said that if I loved Momoko and
Momoko loved me, then we must plan together to
avert disaster, we must write a fraudulent letter.
We met at a bowling alley by the Meiji Gardens.
After several strings, we went out hand in hand
through the warm winter afternoon, through the
shadows of the bare gingko trees, and into a new
coffeehouse on Aoyama Avenue. I had brought paper
and stamp and envelope.
Applying the anesthetic, I whispered of love as we
walked along. In the course of time I had turned her
into a person no different from the mad Kinué. She
breathed easily only under the most obvious
misconception, that our love was unchanging.
The two of them are alike in their denial of reality,
Kinué in her belief that she is beautiful, Momoko in
her belief that she is loved. Momoko needs help with
her delusion, however, while Kinué needs no word