The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

green platform was like a doll stand. The turbulent
clouds made it seem that dolls had been lined up and
then lost. Or perhaps transparent rows of dolls were
still there. Would they be mortuary images? Perhaps
images of darkness shattered by a tempest of light
still left traces against the sky; and that was why the
embankment was so grand, so solemnly respectful. It
raised into the sky the light left behind by rows of
dolls. Or perhaps the light which he seemed to see
was the negative of a bottomless darkness.
He was aware of eyes once again seeking to go
behind objects. They were what he had banned as he
left the hotel. If he let them have their way the concrete
world would once again collapse like a dike from the
hole pierced by his glance. He must persevere yet a
little more. He must hold it yet a little longer, the work
of glass so delicate and ready to break.
The Kizu lay to their right for a time, its many shoals
below them. A power line sagged down over it, as if
melted and bent by the heat.
Presently the road turned to cross the Kizu on a
steel bridge, and a sign told them that Nara was only
five miles away. They crossed numbers of white
country lanes bordered by grasses that had not yet
sent forth plumes. The bamboo thickets were dense.
The young bamboo leaves filled with sunlight as with