The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

unable to remember the exact day. Mr. Honda has
investigated in any number of ways, but without
success. If she was bitten by a snake and died later
than March twenty-first, you go scot free. The spirit
wanders around for at least a week. So your birthday
has to be a week after she died.”
“Actually I don’t know my own birthday. My father
was at sea and there was no one to take care of the
details, and the date of registration was put down as
the birthday. But I was born before March twentieth.”
“The earlier it was, the dimmer the possibility,”
Keiko said coldly. “But maybe it doesn’t matter
anyway.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Tōru showed signs of
indignation.
Quite aside from whether or not he believed the
terrible story he had heard, to be told that it did not
matter seemed to him like a naked denial of his
reasons for being. Keiko had the ability to make a
person seem like an insect. It lay behind her
unchanging gaiety.
In the light from the fire the multicolored evening
dress was sending off deep, rich hues. It arched and
coiled around her like a rainbow in the night.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe from the outset
you were a fraud. In fact I myself am rather sure that