The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea by Yukio Mishima Page A

gutted belly finding wholeness and perfection in the rapture of the dead kitten’s large languid soul. The liver, limp beside the corpse, became a soft peninsula, the squashed heart a little sun, the reeled-out bowels a white atoll, and the blood in the belly the tepid waters of a tropical sea. Death had transfigured the kitten into a perfect, autonomous world.
    I killed it all by myself —a distant hand reached into Noboru’s dream and awarded him a snow-white certificate of merit— I can do anything, no matter how awful .
    The chief peeled off the squeaky rubber gloves and laid one beautiful white hand on Noboru’s shoulder. “You did a good job. I think we can say this has finally made a real man of you—and isn’t all this blood a sight for sore eyes!”

CHAPTER SIX
    M EETING Ryuji on the way back from the chief’s house just after they had buried the cat was pure bad luck. Noboru had scrubbed his hands, but what if there was blood somewhere else on his body or on his clothes? What if he reeked of dead kitten? What if his eyes betrayed him—like those of a criminal encountering an acquaintance just after the crime?
    For one thing, there would be trouble if his mother learned that he had been near the park at this time of day: he was supposed to be in Kamakura with a different group of friends. Noboru had been caught off guard, he was even a little frightened, and he decided arbitrarily that Ryuji was entirely to blame.
    The others scattered after hurried goodbyes and they were left alone on the hot road with their long afternoon shadows.
    Noboru was mortified. He had been waiting for an opening to introduce Ryuji casually. If, under perfect circumstances, the introduction had succeeded, the chief might have admitted reluctantly that Ryuji was a hero and Noboru’s honor would have been redeemed.
    But at this unhappy, unexpected meeting, the sailor had presented himself as a pitiful figure in a water-logged shirt and, as if that wasn’t enough, smiled like a fawning idiot. That smile was a disparagement, for it was meant to mollify a child; besides, it transformed Ryuji himself into a disgraceful caricature of the adult lover of youngsters. Overbright and artificial, an unnecessary, outrageous blunder of a smile!
    On top of that, Ryuji had said things he should never have said: “Small world, isn’t it? Have a good swim?” And when Noboru challenged the soaking shirt, he should have answered: “Oh, this? I rescued a woman who had thrown herself off the pier. This makes the third time I’ve had to go swimming with all my clothes on. . . .”
    But he hadn’t said anything of the kind. Instead he had offered this ridiculous explanation: “I took a little shower at the fountain up there in the park.” And with that unwarranted smile all over his face!
    He wants me to like him. I guess having your new woman’s brat kid like you can be pretty convenient at times.
    They found themselves walking in the direction of the house. Ryuji, who still had two hours on his hands, fell into step with the boy, feeling pleased to have found someone to pass the time with. “There’s something funny about both of us today,” he volunteered as they walked along.
    Noboru didn’t like the show of eager sympathy, but it made asking an important favor easy: “Mr. Tsukazaki, would you mind not telling Mom about seeing me at the park?”
    “You bet.”
    The sailor’s pleasure at being entrusted with a secret, his reassuring smile and quick assent, disappointed Noboru. At least he could have threatened a little.
    “I’m supposed to have been at the beach all day—just a minute.” Noboru sprinted to a sand pile at the side of the road and, kicking off his tennis shoes, began to rub his feet and legs with handfuls of sand. The smug, affected boy moved with an animal quickness Ryuji hadn’t seen before. Conscious of being watched, Noboru was putting on a show, smearing the sand on the backs of his legs and all the way up