The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

well, where lived only an old man and a boy.
Honda ducked. Tōru had just made a violent
motion. Honda caught a glimpse of the word
“Notebook” on the rolled-up tablet Tōru had taken
from his briefcase. He flung it past the stern of the
Philippine ship.
“What are you doing?”
“Notes I don’t need. Scribblings.”
“You’ll be fined if they catch you.”
But there was no one on the pier, and on the ship
only a Philippine sailor who looked down at the sea in
surprise. The rubber-bound tablet floated for an
instant and sank.
A white Soviet ship with a red star on its prow and
the name “Khabarovsk” in gold letters was being
brought against the pier by a tugboat with masts the
color of a thorny broiled lobster. There was a cluster
of welcomers at the rail, their hair blowing in the wind.
Some were on tiptoes. Children on the shoulders of
adults were already shouting and waving.