The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

“Good morning. I’m off to Kyoto and Nara for a few
days and I wanted to ask you to look after the house.”
“A trip? How nice.” Uninterested, she returned to
her work.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for the wedding. Do you like it? Not
just for me, for Tōru too. People say they’ve never
seen a more beautiful couple.”
Tōru, in dark glasses, sat silently between the two.
Honda knew nothing of Tōru’s inner life since he
had lost his sight, and he kept his always limited
powers of imagination under control. Tōru lived on.
But nothing was more capable of conveying
heaviness to Honda than this lump of silence no
longer a threat.
The cheeks below the dark glasses were paler and
the lips redder. Tōru had always sweated heavily.
There were beads of sweat at the open neck of the
kimono. He sat with legs crossed and left everything
to Kinué, but the effort of putting Honda aside was
evident in the nervousness with which he scratched
his leg and wiped at his chest. There was no strength
in the motions. It was as if he were moved by strings
from the ceiling.
Though his hearing was apparently keen, he gave
no sign that he was taking the outside world in through