The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

far.”
Trembling, Honda pressed his face against the
tree. His eyes were closed. The bark was damp. It
was as if a snail were crawling over his face.
He opened his eyes narrowly. He could feel the
beam from the flashlight. Someone shoved at him,
from so low that it had to be the little man. Honda
stumbled from the shelter of the big tree. His face
almost fell against one of the policemen. The
policeman grabbed his wrist.
A reporter for a weekly magazine specializing in
scandal happened to be at the police station. He was
delighted at news of the stabbing in the Meiji
Gardens.
The woman, her leg heavily bandaged, was asked
to identify Honda. It took three hours for Honda’s
innocence to be established.
“I’m absolutely sure it wasn’t this old gentleman,”
said the woman. “I met the other one a couple of
hours ago on a streetcar. He was an old man, but he
dressed very young, and he was a good talker, a
good mixer, you might say. I’d never have dreamed
he could do such a thing. That’s right. I don’t know the
first thing about him, his name or where he lives or
what he does or anything.”