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Show 424 were faces of gnomes and sorcerers too, and faces of men that distended themselves into faces of animals. The curve of a cheekbone, the pulpy firmness of a lower lip, the droop of skin under one eye came from no place in particular that he could identify; it was as though they inhabited the paper he drew on and he had only located the parts and drawn them out like string. But there were things besides faces. On the wall across from him there were whole bodies, for instance, and these surprised him more than the faces, because bodies had proportions and articulations that were not static, but changed with each change in gesture, and you always risked getting the further arm or leg out of perspective with the nearer one if you worked without a model. But he didn't. There were dancing women in feathery gowns; there were men holding pieces of furniture or climbing murky staircases. There was even one corner of a softball diamond where four boys and a girl in toreadors stood waiting for something, their eyes fixed intently on something outside the range of the picture, and they all occupied the same plane of reality and there was no confusing the big ones and the little ones, or which were closer to you, and they stood in different attitudes, one of the boys with his cap in his hands, chewing on the bill, the girl with her hands on her hips. There were also drawings of strange creatures that had no names. Some were concealed in dark interiors, their presence merely suggested by highlights made with a putty eraser. He put his face into the bowl, glad that no one could see him, and licked up the last of the milk and the few clots of granola he had missed with his spoon. He carried the spoon and bowl across the hall into the bathroom with him and rinsed them out before he got into the tub. While soaping out his pores he reflected that it was a good day when you had done |
