Death in Midsummer & Other Stories by Yukio Mishima Page B
Authors: Yukio Mishima
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Japan, Short Stories (Single Author), Mishima; Yukio, Short Stories; Japanese, Japan - Social Life and Customs
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protruded from the unfastened clasp.
The old lady, an impatient person, had arrived early and was waiting. The seats from which the loud jazz orchestra could best be seen were all taken, but there were vacant places where the bandstand was out of sight, beside the potted palm probably rented from some gardener. Sitting alone in a summer kimono, the old lady seemed wholly out of place.
She was a small woman not far past middle age, and she had the clean, well-tended face of the plebeian lowlands. She spoke briskly with many delicate gestures. She was proud of the fact that she got on so nicely with young people.
'You'll be treating me, of course, so I ordered something expensive while I was waiting.' Even as she spoke the tall glass arrived, pieces of fruit atop a parfait.
'Now that was generous of you. All we needed was soda water.'
Her outstretched little finger taut, the old lady plunged in with her spoon and skilfully brought out the cream beneath.
Meanwhile she was talking along at her usual brisk pace. 49
'It's nice that this pkice is so noisy and no one can hear us.
Tonight we go to Nakano - I think I mentioned it over the phone. An ordinary private house and - can you imagine it? -
the customers are housewives having a class reunion. There's not much that the rich ladies don't know about these days. And I imagine they walk around pretending the idea never entered their heads. Anyway, I told them about you, and they said they had to have you and no one else. They don't want someone who's all beaten up by the years, you know. And I must say that I can't blame them. So I asked a good stiff price and she said it was low and if they were pleased they'd give you a good tip.
They haven't any idea what the market rate is, of course. But I want you to do your best, now. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but if they're pleased we'll get all sorts of rich customers. There aren't many that go as well together as you two do, of course, and I'm not worried, but don't do anything to make me
' ashamed of you. Well, anyhow, the woman of the house is the wife of some important person or other, and she'll be waiting for us at the coffee shop in front of Nakano station. You know what will happen next. She'll send the taxi through all sorts of back alleys to get us mixed up. I don't imagine shell blindfold us, but she'll pull us through the back door so we don't have a chance to read the sign on the gate. I won't like it any better than you will, but she has herself to consider, after all. Don't let it bother you. Me? Oh, I'll be doing the usual thing, keeping watch in the hall. I can bluff my way through, I don't care who comes in. Well, maybe we ought to get started. And let me say it again, I want a good performance from you.'
It was late in the night, and Kiyoko and Kenz5 had left the old lady and were back in Asakusa. They were even more exhausted than usual. Kenzo's wooden clogs dragged along the street. The billboards in the park were a poisonous black under the cloudy sky.
Simultaneously, they looked up at the New World. The neon pagoda was dark.
'What a rotten bunch. I don't thing I've ever seen such a rotten, stuck-up bunch,' said Kenzo.
50
Her eyes on the ground, Kiyoko did not answer.
'Well? Did you ever see a worse bunch of affected old women?'
'No. But what can you do? The pay was good.'
'Playing around with money they pry from their husbands.
Don't get to be that way when you have money.'
'Silly.' Kiyoko's smiling face was sharply white in the darkness.
'A really nasty bunch.' Kenzo spat in a strong white arc.
'How much?'
'This.' Kiyoko reached artlessly into her handbag and pulled out some notes.
'Five thousand? We've never made that much before. And the old woman took three thousand. Damn! I'd like to tear it up, that's what I'd like to do. That would really feel good.'
Kiyoko took the money back in some consternation. Her finger touched the last of the million-yen biscuits.
'Tear this up in
The old lady, an impatient person, had arrived early and was waiting. The seats from which the loud jazz orchestra could best be seen were all taken, but there were vacant places where the bandstand was out of sight, beside the potted palm probably rented from some gardener. Sitting alone in a summer kimono, the old lady seemed wholly out of place.
She was a small woman not far past middle age, and she had the clean, well-tended face of the plebeian lowlands. She spoke briskly with many delicate gestures. She was proud of the fact that she got on so nicely with young people.
'You'll be treating me, of course, so I ordered something expensive while I was waiting.' Even as she spoke the tall glass arrived, pieces of fruit atop a parfait.
'Now that was generous of you. All we needed was soda water.'
Her outstretched little finger taut, the old lady plunged in with her spoon and skilfully brought out the cream beneath.
Meanwhile she was talking along at her usual brisk pace. 49
'It's nice that this pkice is so noisy and no one can hear us.
Tonight we go to Nakano - I think I mentioned it over the phone. An ordinary private house and - can you imagine it? -
the customers are housewives having a class reunion. There's not much that the rich ladies don't know about these days. And I imagine they walk around pretending the idea never entered their heads. Anyway, I told them about you, and they said they had to have you and no one else. They don't want someone who's all beaten up by the years, you know. And I must say that I can't blame them. So I asked a good stiff price and she said it was low and if they were pleased they'd give you a good tip.
They haven't any idea what the market rate is, of course. But I want you to do your best, now. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but if they're pleased we'll get all sorts of rich customers. There aren't many that go as well together as you two do, of course, and I'm not worried, but don't do anything to make me
' ashamed of you. Well, anyhow, the woman of the house is the wife of some important person or other, and she'll be waiting for us at the coffee shop in front of Nakano station. You know what will happen next. She'll send the taxi through all sorts of back alleys to get us mixed up. I don't imagine shell blindfold us, but she'll pull us through the back door so we don't have a chance to read the sign on the gate. I won't like it any better than you will, but she has herself to consider, after all. Don't let it bother you. Me? Oh, I'll be doing the usual thing, keeping watch in the hall. I can bluff my way through, I don't care who comes in. Well, maybe we ought to get started. And let me say it again, I want a good performance from you.'
It was late in the night, and Kiyoko and Kenz5 had left the old lady and were back in Asakusa. They were even more exhausted than usual. Kenzo's wooden clogs dragged along the street. The billboards in the park were a poisonous black under the cloudy sky.
Simultaneously, they looked up at the New World. The neon pagoda was dark.
'What a rotten bunch. I don't thing I've ever seen such a rotten, stuck-up bunch,' said Kenzo.
50
Her eyes on the ground, Kiyoko did not answer.
'Well? Did you ever see a worse bunch of affected old women?'
'No. But what can you do? The pay was good.'
'Playing around with money they pry from their husbands.
Don't get to be that way when you have money.'
'Silly.' Kiyoko's smiling face was sharply white in the darkness.
'A really nasty bunch.' Kenzo spat in a strong white arc.
'How much?'
'This.' Kiyoko reached artlessly into her handbag and pulled out some notes.
'Five thousand? We've never made that much before. And the old woman took three thousand. Damn! I'd like to tear it up, that's what I'd like to do. That would really feel good.'
Kiyoko took the money back in some consternation. Her finger touched the last of the million-yen biscuits.
'Tear this up in
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