The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

misgivings had been stronger, and he had kept his
silence.
He had not for a moment forgotten the Gesshuuji.
But as the years of silence went by, a self-imposed
restraint grew stronger, a feeling that the Gesshuuji
was too precious, that he must not after all this time
invade her sanctuary with memories, or look upon her
in her old age. He had heard from Tadeshina in the
bombed-out ruins of Shibuya that Satoko was only
more beautiful, as a spring is more limpid. Nor was
he himself beyond imagining the ageless beauty of
the aging nun. He had heard an Osaka friend
describe it in awed tones. But Honda was afraid. He
was afraid to see a relic of past beauty, and he was
more afraid of present beauty. Satoko would by now
of course have reached a level of enlightenment far
beyond Honda’s reach, and were Honda in his old
age to visit her he would cause not so much as a
ripple upon the tranquillity. He knew that she was
beyond being intimidated by memories. But the
image of Satoko, safe in indigo armor from all the
slings of memory, seemed when he looked through
the eyes of the dead Kiyoaki another germ of despair.
And it weighed on him to think that he must visit
Satoko as Kiyoaki’s representative, bearing
memories.