The Temple of Dawn

by Yukio Mishima

  The ladies requested that the audience be terminated since the Princess was not feeling well; but Honda begged, through Hishikawa, to be permitted two brief questions.

  “What year and what month was it that Kiyoaki Matsugae and I learned about the visit of the Abbess of the Gesshu Temple on the central island of the lake in the Matsugae estate?” was the first.

  When the question was conveyed to her, the Princess partly raised her wet cheeks from her attendant’s lap as though still cross and pushed back a strand of hair that adhered to her cheek.

  “October of 1912,” she answered readily.

  Honda was secretly surprised, but he was not sure whether, like an illuminated picture scroll, she kept in her mind a clear and detailed record of the events of two former lives. He was not certain either, despite Isao’s words of apology spoken so fluently, whether she knew the background details and circumstances. As a matter of fact, the accurate words had dropped from the Princess’s emotionless lips as though numerals picked and arranged at random.

  Honda asked the second question: “What was the date of Isao Iinuma’s arrest?”

  The Princess seemed to be growing sleepy, but she answered unhesitatingly: “December first, 1932.”

  “That should be enough,” said the first lady, rising and thus pressing her charge to leave immediately.

  The Princess suddenly sprang to her feet, climbed up on the chair in her shoes, and shouted to Honda in her shrill voice. The first attendant scolded her in whispers. The Princess, still shouting, clutched at the old woman’s hair. She was evidently repeating the same words, judging from the similarity of the syllables. As the second and the third ladies ran over to hold her arms, the Princess started to cry madly, her piercing voice echoing from the high ceiling. From among the old women who were trying to pull her down, her smooth, pliant arms shot out, catching hold here and there. The old women withdrew, crying out in pain, and the Princess’s voice rose even higher.

  “What was that?”

  “She insists on inviting you to the Detached Palace of Bang Pa In when she goes there for a visit day after tomorrow, and the ladies are trying to prevent it. This is going to be some show,” said Hishikawa.

  A discussion began between the Princess and her attendants. Finally she nodded and stopped crying.

  “The day after tomorrow,” said the first lady, still out of breath, straightening her disheveled clothes and speaking directly to Honda, “Her Serene Highness will drive to the Bang Pa In Palace for amusement. Mr. Honda and Mr. Hishikawa are invited. We should very much like them to accept. As we shall lunch there, it would be well if they were here by nine o’clock in the morning.”

  The formal invitation was immediately translated by Hishikawa.

  In the car returning to the hotel, Hishikawa kept up his interminable chatter, ignoring the fact that Honda was lost in thought. The lack of consideration for others displayed by this self-styled artist bespoke his threadbare sensitivity. Had he deemed sensitivity to be an unnecessary, Philistine characteristic and had he adhered to this view, at least he would have had the virtue of consistency; but in truth Hishikawa took pride in his delicacy and sensitivity in human relationships, which he thought far exceeded those of other guides.

  “It was very astute of you to ask those two questions. I didn’t understand what it was all about. But you were putting her to a test because she showed you a special closeness in pretending to be the reincarnation of your friend. Isn’t that right?”

  “Quite,” Honda replied perfunctorily.

  “And were both the answers right?”

  “No.”

  “Was one, at least?”

  “No. I’m sorry to say both were wrong.”

  Honda lied to be let alone, and his despairing tone conveniently concealed the deception, whereupon Hishikawa broke into loud laughter, believing Honda was telling him the truth.

  “Is that right! All of them wrong? She said the dates so seriously. Well, too bad. The transmigration business wasn’t very convincing then. You’re not very kind, though, testing such a lovely little princess as if you were examining a quack fortune-teller on some street corner. By and large, there’s no mystery in human life. Mystery remains only in the arts, and the reason is that mystery makes sense only in art.”

  Honda was again surprised by Hishikawa’s one-track rationalism. He glimpsed something red outside the car window, and looking out, saw a river and among the coconuts with trunks of flaming red bordering the road baboonlike, the smoky scarlet of poinciana along the bank. Heat waves were already quivering around the trees.

  Honda turned to the problem of how he could get to the Bang Pa In Palace without Hishikawa, even though that meant he would be unable to communicate with the Princess.

  4

  HONDA’S WISH materialized unexpectedly. “I’m not in the mood for another session with the mad princess,” Hishikawa said patronizingly, “but if I don’t go, you’ll have trouble. The attendants speak only a few words of English.” Contrary to his wont, Honda replied: “I shall enjoy the Thai language as if it were music, even though I don’t understand it. I’d rather do that than be bothered with the nuisance of a translation each time.” He hoped that this would more or less bring to a close his dealings with Hishikawa.

  Subsequently Honda would recall again and again the delightful outing that day.

  The car could approach only partway to the Bang Pa In Palace. The remaining distance was covered on a court-style pleasure boat, which moved along a waterway consisting of both the river and flooded rice fields. From time to time a water buffalo would awaken from his nap in a paddy and suddenly rear up, his muddy back glinting in the sun. When the boat skirted a forest of tall trees, the Princess was delighted at the sight of numerous squirrels scurrying up and down the branches along the riverbank. On one occasion a small green snake, his head erect, could be seen leaping from one low branch to another.

  Golden spires rose above the jungle, each one freshly gilded, thanks to the donations of believers. Honda knew that the gold leaf was made in Japan and exported to Thailand in considerable quantity.

  He vividly recalled the few moments during which Princess Moonlight ceased her constant childish chatter and motionlessly leaned against the side of the boat, staring blankly into the distance. The female attendants, engrossed in their own merriment, were quite accustomed to such whimsical action on the part of the little girl and paid her no attention. Honda noticed immediately what it was she was watching and was quite shaken.

  A great cloud that had appeared from beyond the horizon now hid the sun. The sun was already high, and the cloud had to stretch its tentacles far to cover it. The black cloud reached out to overlay just the sun and, with some difficulty, succeeded. The highest part in the blue sky over the disk was a dazzling white, giving the lie to the ominous black density of the thicker area. Nor was that all; the extension had made the cloud too thin and resulted in a large rift in the lower portion, through which a radiant light streamed, as though the shining effulgence were blood endlessly spurting from a great wound.

  The distant horizon was covered by low-lying jungle. The foreground sparkled in radiant green, as though it were part of another world, grasping the sunshine that poured from the rift in the cloud. But the jungle farther away under the lower black portion was drenched by rains of such violence that fog seemed to be rising. The rain hung like some elaborate fungoid network, wrapping the dark jungle in its misty vapor. The rain net, which covered only a part of the distant horizon, was distinctly visible, and one could discern the horizontal movement of the drops whipped by the wind. The heavy shower, as if imprisoned, seemed concentrated in that area alone.

  Honda knew immediately what the child was looking at: she was seeing simultaneously time and space. That is to say, the area beneath the squall belonged to some future or past undetectable by the human eye. To be beneath a clear blue sky and perceive so clearly a world of rain meant that different time periods a
nd different spaces coexisted. The rain cloud permitted a glimpse of the gap between separate times, and the vast distance involved testified to the hiatus between the two spaces. The Princess was staring into the deep chasm of the universe.

  Her tiny, pink, wet tongue was absentmindedly but earnestly licking the pearl ring Honda had given her—the lady-in-waiting would have scolded if she had noticed. It was as if the tiny Princess, by licking the pearl, were testifying to the revelation of such a miracle.

  Bang Pa In.

  The name had become unforgettable.

  The Princess insisted on holding Honda’s hand as she walked along; and ignoring the ladies’ frowns, he let himself be guided by the tiny, damp fist. Thoroughly familiar with the land, the Princess led him to a Chinese villa, then to a French arbor, a Renaissance garden, an Arabian tower, to one spot after another, all of which pleased his eye.

  The floating pavilion in the center of a spacious artificial pond was particularly beautiful, like a fine objet d’art set upon the water.

  The stone stairs at the water’s edge had been invaded as the water rose and the bottom step was hidden in the depths of the pool. The white marble in the water was green with algae. Waterweed had wrapped itself around, covering it with tiny silver bubbles. Princess Moonlight wanted to dip her hands and feet into the water, but her attendants repeatedly forbade her to do so. Honda could not understand her words, but she seemed to think that the bubbles, like her ring, were pearls she wished to gather.

  When Honda stopped her, she calmed down immediately and seated herself on the stone steps beside him and looked out at the chapel that seemed to float in the center of the pond.

  It was not really a chapel, but a small pavilion used merely as a resting place while boating. Inside, it was quite empty, as one could see when the breeze parted the faded buff-yellow curtains.

  The simple building was enclosed by walls of thin black rods decorated in gold. Through the interstices the greenery of the opposite shore, the curling clouds, and the sky heavy with light were all visible. As Honda stared at the panorama, the magnificent clouds and the forest visible through the screen of rods took on the appearance of a picture composed of strangely long, vertical strips of colors. And, of course, the roof of the small pavilion was highly decorative, being constructed of four tiers of thick layers of brick-red, yellow, and green Chinese tiles and a brilliant thin spire of gold which pierced the blue sky.

  Whether he had thought of it then or whether the vision of the pavilion overlapped with that of the Princess later, Honda could not remember. But in his mind the slim black rods of the pavilion somehow turned into the ebony bodies of dancing girls momentarily poised for dance, adorned with many gold filigree ornaments and wearing their pointed headgear.

  5

  ALL RECOLLECTED EVENTS that happen without any verbal communication—especially those during which there is no special attempt made to establish such communication—become effortlessly so many beautiful miniature paintings, all equally edged in ornate golden frames. The time Honda had spent at the Rosette Palace was indelibly etched in his memory because of those moments of aesthetic pleasure. Segments of such sunny instants would suddenly well up, at times forming a momentary portrait of the little Princess: the childish roundness of her hand stretched out to the pearl bubbles on the steps submerged in the water; the delicate, clean lines on her fingers and her palms; the deep black of her short hair hanging against her cheek; the long, almost melancholy eyelashes; and on her dark forehead the reflection of water, flickering like mother-of-pearl against black ebony. The time was aglow, the air in the garden was filled with the humming of bees, and the mood of the strolling ladies was cheerful too. The essence of the moment was like coral, beautiful and exposed. Yet, in those moments, the Princess’s innocent, unclouded happiness and the series of agonizing and bloody events of her former two lives were combined like the clear and rainy skies of the distant jungle they had seen on their way to the palace.

  Honda felt as if he were standing in the center of time, as if in some enormous hall in which all partitions had been removed. It was spacious and free, not like the mundane dwellings to which he was accustomed. There, black pillars stood in serried ranks and he felt almost as if his eyes and voice could reach areas normally unattainable. In this great expanse created by the Princess’s happiness, behind the multitude of black pillars stood Kiyoaki and Isao and a myriad of other transmigrated shades lurking breathlessly as though in a game of hide-and-seek.

  The Princess laughed again. Rather, in her merrymaking she smiled constantly, but frequently her moist pink gums would suddenly flash in real laughter. With each outburst she would look up into Honda’s face.

  Once at the Bang Pa In the old ladies quickly put aside their formality. Forgetting their stiff decorum, they giggled and ran about in high spirits. The formality gone, their age was all that remained of their ceremoniousness. They occupied themselves in picking at betel nuts together, quite like greedy, wrinkled parrots clustering around a bagful of seeds. They also scratched wherever they itched, thrusting their hands under the hems of their skirts. They would cackle noisily as they strutted sideways in imitation of young dancing girls. One mummied dancer with wig-like white hair shining over her brown face stretched her betel-stained mouth in gaping laughter and raised her sharp elbows, thrust sideways as she danced; the exposed, dry bones of her angular arms cut sharp shadow-pictures against the background of blue sky with its layers of dazzling clouds.

  The Princess spoke, and at once the ladies stirred about. They surrounded the child and bustled off with her like a rolling whirlwind, leaving a surprised Honda alone. He grasped the meaning of their actions when he saw the small building that was their destination. She wanted to go to the bathroom.

  A princess going to the toilet! Honda was aware of a sharp pang of affection. He had previously imagined having a small daughter and feeling a fatherly love for her, but having never had any child, his imagination had always been limited. His response to the charming idea of the little Princess going to the bathroom was an intimation of flesh and blood and a totally new emotional experience. He wished it was possible for him to hold the Princess’s smooth brown thighs in his hands as she urinated.

  She was shy for a while upon returning, saying nothing and avoiding looking at him.

  After lunch they played games in the shade.

  Now Honda could not recall how the games went. They had sung simple, monotonous songs over and over, but he was ignorant of their meaning.

  He could recall only the scene where the Princess stood in the center of a sun-dappled lawn under the trees, and around her the three old ladies were sitting at ease, one with one knee raised, the others with their legs crossed. One of them seemed to have entered the play just to be sociable; she kept smoking tobacco wrapped in lotus petals. Another had a lacquered water bottle inlaid with pearl shells by her knee in readiness for the Princess who complained so often of thirst.

  Probably the game had something to do with the Ramayana. The Princess resembled Hanuman when she wielded a tree branch like a sword, assuming a hunchbacked stance and holding her breath in a comical way. Each time the ladies clapped their hands and chanted something, she changed her stance. By tilting her head slightly she was a delicate flower nodding to a fleeting breeze or a squirrel stopping to cock its head in the midst of its travels through the tree branches. Again, transformed into Prince Rama, she pointed gallantly heavenward with the sword held by a dark, slender arm extending from her gold-embroidered white blouse. At that instant a mountain pigeon swept down in front of her, obscuring her face with its wings. But she did not move. Honda discovered that the towering tree behind her was a lime. The broad leaves hanging at the tips of the long stems on the gloomy growth rustled at every soft touch of the breeze. Each green leaf was stamped with distinct yellow veins, as though tropical sunbeams had been woven into it.

  The Princess grew warm. Rather peevishly she asked something of the ol
d ladies. They consulted together, and standing up, signaled to Honda. The party quit the shade of the woods and moved on to the boat landing. Honda gathered they must be going home, but he was wrong. They gave the boatman an order, whereupon he brought out a large piece of printed cotton.

  Holding the fabric, they moved along the shore with its coiling mangrove roots until they found a more secluded spot. Two of the ladies lifted their skirts and walked into the water, holding either end of the cloth, which they completely opened when the water was hip high, so as to provide a screen that shut out the view from the opposite shore. The remaining lady accompanied the now naked Princess. The light reflected from the water on the emaciated thighs of the old women.

  The Princess cried out in delight when she caught sight of some small fish that had gathered round the mangrove roots. Honda was surprised that the ladies-in-waiting should act as though he were simply not there, but he assumed that that too must be some aspect of Thai etiquette. Seating himself at the base of a tree on the bank, he watched the Princess bathe.

  She was never quiet. Lit by the sunbeams dancing through the stripes in the cotton print, she smiled constantly at Honda. She made no effort to conceal her quite plump, childish belly as she splashed water on the ladies. When she was scolded she dashed away. The stagnant river water was not clear, but rather a yellowish brown, similar to the Princess’s skin. But even that turned into limpid, sparkling droplets when splashed in the light that filtered through the cotton print.

  Once the little girl raised her arm. Involuntarily Honda looked intently at her left side, at her small flat chest usually hidden by her arms. But he did not see the three black moles that should have been there. Whenever he could, he stared at the area until his eyes watered, thinking that perhaps the light moles were indistinct against the tan skin.

  6