"Aren't there bees—or is it ants—in peonies?" "What are you trying to do? No bluffing now." "I know! Clustering clouds that cover the flowers ..." "You must be thinking of clouds that cover the moon." "That's right. Wind that destroys the blossoms. It's the wind. The antonym of flower is wind." "Pretty poor. Sounds like a line out of a popular song. You betray your origins." "Well, then, how about something more recondite, say a mandolin?" "Still no good. The antonym of flower . you're supposed to name the thing in the world which is least like a flower." "That's what I'm trying to do. Wait! How about this—a woman?" "Then what's a synonym for woman?" "Entrails." "You're not very poetic, are you? Well, then, what's the antonym for entrails?" "Milk."
"That's pretty good. One more in that vein. Shame. What's the antonym of shame?" "Shameless—a popular cartoonist I could name." "What about Masao Horiki?" By the time we reached this point we had gradually become incapable of laughter, and were beginning to experience the particular oppressiveness, as if one's head were stuffed with broken glass, that comes from getting drunk on gin. "Don't be cheeky now. I for one have never been tied up like a common criminal the way you have." I was taken aback. Horiki at heart did not treat me like a full human being. lie could only consider me as the living corpse of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an idiot ghost. His friendship had no other purpose but to utilize me in whichever way would most further his own pleasures. This thought naturally did not make me very happy,
