it.”
Kiyoaki realized that even though he was having to speak in English, he had just succeeded in conveying to Chao P. his fascination with dreams, something he had never dared reveal even to Honda. He felt himself liking Chao P. more and more. From then on, however, the conversation lagged, and Kiyoaki, noticing the mischievous twinkle in Prince Kridsada’s eyes, suddenly realized the difficulty: he had not insisted on seeing the picture, which was what Chao P. had wanted him to do.
“Please show me the photo of the dream that followed you from Siam,” he hastened to ask.
“Do you mean the temple or the girl?” Kridsada interjected, as playful as ever. And although Chao P. scolded him for his frivolous bad manners, he was unrepentant. When his cousin finally took out the photograph, he thrust out his hand eagerly to point.
“Princess Chantrapa is my younger sister. Her name means ‘moonlight.’ But we usually call her Ying Chan.”
Looking at the picture, Kiyoaki was rather disappointed to see a much plainer young girl than he had imagined. She wore Western clothes, a dress of white lace. Her hair was tied with a white ribbon and she wore a pearl necklace. She looked modest and unsophisticated. Any student at Peers might well be carrying a picture of a girl like her. The beautiful, waving fall of her hair to her shoulders showed signs of care. But the rather strong brows over wide, timid eyes, the lips slightly parted like the petals of an exotic flower before the rains come—her features all gave the unmistakable impression of girlish innocence unconscious of its own beauty. Of course that had its charm, but much like a young nestling quite oblivious of its power to fly, she was too passively content.
“Compared with this girl,” Kiyoaki thought, “Satoko is a hundred, a thousand times more of a woman. And isn’t that why she is often so hateful to me—because she is so much a woman? Besides, she’s far more beautiful than this girl. And she knows how beautiful she is. There’s nothing she doesn’t know, unfortunately, including how immature I am.”
Chao P., seeing how Kiyoaki was staring at the picture of his sweetheart and perhaps feeling slightly alarmed that he might be too attracted to her, suddenly reached out his fineboned, amber-skinned hand and retrieved it. As he did so, Kiyoaki’s eye was caught by a flash of green, and for the first time he noticed Chao P.’s beautiful ring. Its stone was a rich, square-cut emerald. On either side of it, the fierce beasts’ heads of a pair of yaksha, the warrior gods, had been finely etched in gold. All in all, it was an immense ring of such quality that for Kiyoaki to have overlooked it until now was proof of how little he was inclined to take notice of others.
“I was born in May. It’s my birthstone,” Prince Pattanadid explained, slightly embarrassed again. “Ying Chan gave it to me as a farewell present.”
“But if you wore something as magnificent as that at Peers, I’m afraid they’d order you to stop,” warned Kiyoaki.
Taken aback by this, the two princes began to confer earnestly in their native language, but quickly realizing their inadvertent rudeness, they switched back to English for Kiyoaki’s sake. Kiyoaki told them that he would speak to his father about making arrangements for them to have a safety deposit at the bank. After this had been settled and the atmosphere had warmed still further, Prince Kridsada brought out a small photograph of his own sweetheart. And then both princes urged Kiyoaki to do the same.
“In Japan we are not accustomed to exchanging pictures,” he said hastily, under the spur of youthful vanity. “But I’ll certainly introduce her to you very soon.” He did not have the courage to show them the pictures of Satoko that filled the album he had kept from early childhood.
It suddenly dawned on Kiyoaki that although his good looks had excited praise and admiration all his life, he had nearly
Kiyoaki realized that even though he was having to speak in English, he had just succeeded in conveying to Chao P. his fascination with dreams, something he had never dared reveal even to Honda. He felt himself liking Chao P. more and more. From then on, however, the conversation lagged, and Kiyoaki, noticing the mischievous twinkle in Prince Kridsada’s eyes, suddenly realized the difficulty: he had not insisted on seeing the picture, which was what Chao P. had wanted him to do.
“Please show me the photo of the dream that followed you from Siam,” he hastened to ask.
“Do you mean the temple or the girl?” Kridsada interjected, as playful as ever. And although Chao P. scolded him for his frivolous bad manners, he was unrepentant. When his cousin finally took out the photograph, he thrust out his hand eagerly to point.
“Princess Chantrapa is my younger sister. Her name means ‘moonlight.’ But we usually call her Ying Chan.”
Looking at the picture, Kiyoaki was rather disappointed to see a much plainer young girl than he had imagined. She wore Western clothes, a dress of white lace. Her hair was tied with a white ribbon and she wore a pearl necklace. She looked modest and unsophisticated. Any student at Peers might well be carrying a picture of a girl like her. The beautiful, waving fall of her hair to her shoulders showed signs of care. But the rather strong brows over wide, timid eyes, the lips slightly parted like the petals of an exotic flower before the rains come—her features all gave the unmistakable impression of girlish innocence unconscious of its own beauty. Of course that had its charm, but much like a young nestling quite oblivious of its power to fly, she was too passively content.
“Compared with this girl,” Kiyoaki thought, “Satoko is a hundred, a thousand times more of a woman. And isn’t that why she is often so hateful to me—because she is so much a woman? Besides, she’s far more beautiful than this girl. And she knows how beautiful she is. There’s nothing she doesn’t know, unfortunately, including how immature I am.”
Chao P., seeing how Kiyoaki was staring at the picture of his sweetheart and perhaps feeling slightly alarmed that he might be too attracted to her, suddenly reached out his fineboned, amber-skinned hand and retrieved it. As he did so, Kiyoaki’s eye was caught by a flash of green, and for the first time he noticed Chao P.’s beautiful ring. Its stone was a rich, square-cut emerald. On either side of it, the fierce beasts’ heads of a pair of yaksha, the warrior gods, had been finely etched in gold. All in all, it was an immense ring of such quality that for Kiyoaki to have overlooked it until now was proof of how little he was inclined to take notice of others.
“I was born in May. It’s my birthstone,” Prince Pattanadid explained, slightly embarrassed again. “Ying Chan gave it to me as a farewell present.”
“But if you wore something as magnificent as that at Peers, I’m afraid they’d order you to stop,” warned Kiyoaki.
Taken aback by this, the two princes began to confer earnestly in their native language, but quickly realizing their inadvertent rudeness, they switched back to English for Kiyoaki’s sake. Kiyoaki told them that he would speak to his father about making arrangements for them to have a safety deposit at the bank. After this had been settled and the atmosphere had warmed still further, Prince Kridsada brought out a small photograph of his own sweetheart. And then both princes urged Kiyoaki to do the same.
“In Japan we are not accustomed to exchanging pictures,” he said hastily, under the spur of youthful vanity. “But I’ll certainly introduce her to you very soon.” He did not have the courage to show them the pictures of Satoko that filled the album he had kept from early childhood.
It suddenly dawned on Kiyoaki that although his good looks had excited praise and admiration all his life, he had nearly
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