The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

had made it possible for Honda to endure the
arrogance. And if Tōru was counterfeit?
The thought of Tōru’s death had been a great
comfort. In his humiliation he had concentrated upon
Tōru’s death, in his heart already killed him. His heart
was quiet, happiness welled up, his nose twitched
with tolerance and pity when he saw death, like the
sun through isinglass, beyond the violence and
cruelty. He could be drunk on the open cruelty of what
is called charity. Perhaps that was what he had found
in the light upon the vast, empty Indian plain.
He had not yet detected in himself symptoms of a
fatal illness. There was nothing to be alarmed about in
his blood pressure or his heart. He was confident that
if he lasted another half year he would outlive Tōru,
perhaps by only a few days. What quiet, secure tears
he would be able to shed! Before the foolish world, he
would play the part of the tragic father deprived of the
son he had come upon so late in life. He could not
deny that there was pleasure in looking forward to
Tōru’s death, in looking ahead to it with the quiet love,
oozing sweet poison, of one who knows everything.
Tōru’s violence, beguiling and lovable, seen through
the time ahead as through a Mayfly’s wing. People do
not love pets that will outlive them. A short life is a
condition for love.