of the wing feathers, seemed to glow more clearly. Thus the figure of the bird appeared to hover, disembodied, in the dark, a phantom image that made Kiyoaki uneasy. Realizing that the phenomenon was caused by a stray shaft of moonlight coming in through the window, he pulled the curtain all the way open in an abrupt movement. The moon was high in the sky, and its light spilled over the bed.
It was dazzling enough to suggest frivolity rather than solemnity. He thought of the cold gleaming silk of Satoko’s kimono. With unearthly clarity he saw her eyes there in the moon, those splendid large eyes which he had seen so disconcertingly close to his own. The wind had died.
The burning heat of Kiyoaki’s body could not be explained by the mere warmth of the room, and something like fever seemed to tingle in his earlobes. He threw off the blanket and opened the collar of his nightgown. The fire still burned and seethed under his skin, and he felt that he would find no relief until he took off his nightgown and bared his body to the cold moonlight. Finally, wearied by his thoughts, he rolled over on his stomach and lay with his face buried in his pillow, his naked back to the moon and the hot blood still throbbing in his temples.
And so he lay, the moonlight washing over the incomparable smooth white of his back, its brilliance highlighting the graceful lines of his body to reveal the subtle but pervasive hint of firm masculinity that made it clear that this was the flesh not of a woman but of a still immature young man.
The moon shone with dazzling brightness on Kiyoaki’s left side, where the pale flesh pulsed softly in rhythm with his heartbeat. Here there were three small, almost invisible moles. And much as the three stars in Orion’s belt fade in strong moonlight, so too these three small moles were almost blotted out by its rays.
6
I N 1910, His Highness King Rahma VI had succeeded his late father, Rahma V, to the throne of Siam. One of the princes now coming to study in Japan was his younger brother, Prince Pattanadid, whose titular name was Praong Chao. His companion, eighteen like himself and also his best friend, was his cousin Prince Kridsada, a grandson of King Rahma IV, whose titular name was Mon Chao. Prince Pattanadid nicknamed him “Kri.” But Prince Kridsada, in deference to Pattanadid’s place in the succession, addressed him more respectfully as “Chao P.”
Both princes were fervently devout Buddhists. But they not only dressed for the most part like young English gentlemen, they also spoke the language with perfect fluency. Indeed it was precisely because the new king had been concerned about their becoming too Westernized that he had decided upon Japan for their university studies. Neither of the princes had raised any objections, despite one unfortunate aspect to it. Leaving Siam entailed the separation of Chao P. and Kri’s younger sister.
The love of these two young people for each other was the delight of the court, since their engagement at the end of Chao P.’s studies was a foregone conclusion and their future was secure in every way. Yet when he sailed, Chao P.’s grief was so intense as to give rise to alarm in a country whose customs did not favor such direct expressions of feeling.
The sea voyage and his cousin’s sympathy had helped considerably to alleviate the young prince’s distress, and when they arrived for a stay at the Matsugaes’, Kiyoaki found their swarthy faces alight with happiness.
The princes were free to follow the school routine as they liked until the winter holidays began. Though they were to start attending classes in January, it was decided that they would not be officially enrolled until the new term began in the spring, by which time they would have had the chance to acclimatize and also to study the language intensively.
While they were at the Matsugaes’, the princes were to occupy two adjoining guest rooms on the second floor of the
It was dazzling enough to suggest frivolity rather than solemnity. He thought of the cold gleaming silk of Satoko’s kimono. With unearthly clarity he saw her eyes there in the moon, those splendid large eyes which he had seen so disconcertingly close to his own. The wind had died.
The burning heat of Kiyoaki’s body could not be explained by the mere warmth of the room, and something like fever seemed to tingle in his earlobes. He threw off the blanket and opened the collar of his nightgown. The fire still burned and seethed under his skin, and he felt that he would find no relief until he took off his nightgown and bared his body to the cold moonlight. Finally, wearied by his thoughts, he rolled over on his stomach and lay with his face buried in his pillow, his naked back to the moon and the hot blood still throbbing in his temples.
And so he lay, the moonlight washing over the incomparable smooth white of his back, its brilliance highlighting the graceful lines of his body to reveal the subtle but pervasive hint of firm masculinity that made it clear that this was the flesh not of a woman but of a still immature young man.
The moon shone with dazzling brightness on Kiyoaki’s left side, where the pale flesh pulsed softly in rhythm with his heartbeat. Here there were three small, almost invisible moles. And much as the three stars in Orion’s belt fade in strong moonlight, so too these three small moles were almost blotted out by its rays.
6
I N 1910, His Highness King Rahma VI had succeeded his late father, Rahma V, to the throne of Siam. One of the princes now coming to study in Japan was his younger brother, Prince Pattanadid, whose titular name was Praong Chao. His companion, eighteen like himself and also his best friend, was his cousin Prince Kridsada, a grandson of King Rahma IV, whose titular name was Mon Chao. Prince Pattanadid nicknamed him “Kri.” But Prince Kridsada, in deference to Pattanadid’s place in the succession, addressed him more respectfully as “Chao P.”
Both princes were fervently devout Buddhists. But they not only dressed for the most part like young English gentlemen, they also spoke the language with perfect fluency. Indeed it was precisely because the new king had been concerned about their becoming too Westernized that he had decided upon Japan for their university studies. Neither of the princes had raised any objections, despite one unfortunate aspect to it. Leaving Siam entailed the separation of Chao P. and Kri’s younger sister.
The love of these two young people for each other was the delight of the court, since their engagement at the end of Chao P.’s studies was a foregone conclusion and their future was secure in every way. Yet when he sailed, Chao P.’s grief was so intense as to give rise to alarm in a country whose customs did not favor such direct expressions of feeling.
The sea voyage and his cousin’s sympathy had helped considerably to alleviate the young prince’s distress, and when they arrived for a stay at the Matsugaes’, Kiyoaki found their swarthy faces alight with happiness.
The princes were free to follow the school routine as they liked until the winter holidays began. Though they were to start attending classes in January, it was decided that they would not be officially enrolled until the new term began in the spring, by which time they would have had the chance to acclimatize and also to study the language intensively.
While they were at the Matsugaes’, the princes were to occupy two adjoining guest rooms on the second floor of the
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