had begun filled him with pleasure, as though they were laying the hands of
their hearts one on top of the other.
“Well, it’s finished.” Kiriko stopped drawing and looked back and forth
from the sketch to Junji’s face, comparing the two. “It does look a bit like
you, doesn’t it?”
“Here, let me draw a little more.”
“Where? Around the eyes?”
“It’s my face—if I don’t finish it myself…” “You’re awfully sure of
yourself, aren’t you?”
“No. But—why did you draw my face?”
“Because we’re coming from drawing practice, I would think. But also
because when I started drawing I kept being reminded of my late daughter.
She was just the right age to marry someone like you. I had her when I was
nineteen—she was my only child.”
“Of course, I thought about her even when I looked at that model. Her
body wasn’t very pretty— I really didn’t even want to draw her. But it was
fun drawing you.”
“You’ll have to let me draw your face next time, assuming that we can
go home on the same train after the next class.”
Kiriko did not respond to this.
“If my daughter were alive she would have been able to meet you too.”
Grief hovered in Kiriko’s eyes as she stared at Junji’s face.
“She had never known love—she died just when the bud of her flower
was starting to open. And I think that must have been best for her. . . .
Maybe that’s what happiness is?”
“I didn’t think people had any way of knowing whether they’re happy or
unhappy once they die. Don’t you think the people left behind just go ahead
