The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

There was still traffic on the prefectural highway.
The lights around Shimizu Harbor to the northeast
blinked nervously. Mount Udo, which on clear days
swallowed the setting sun, was a dark mass. There
was drunken singing from the dormitory of H.
Shipyards.
Back inside, he turned on the weather report. There
would be rain and a high sea and bad visibility. Then
came the news. American operations in Cambodia
had incapacitated headquarters, supply points, and
hospitals of the Liberation Front until October.
Ten thirty.
Visibility was already bad, and the lights of Izu had
disappeared. It was better, thought Tōru sleepily, than
a bright moonlight night. On moonlight nights it was
difficult to make out ship lights in the glare of the
water.
Setting the alarm clock for one thirty, he lay down
on the cot.