Is It Okay
The gallery on Alder Street had four rooms, and on a wet Tuesday afternoon it had one visitor. The woman at the desk was drawing in a small book and didn’t look up.
Junko stopped in front of the desk. “Sorry — is it okay if I take photos?”
“Sure,” the woman said.
She took two photos and came back. “Is it okay if I sit on the bench?”
“It’s a bench,” the woman said.
Junko sat on the bench for six or seven minutes. Then she stood in front of a small drawing of a pair of old shoes, with her hands behind her back, the way she always did in galleries.
“Sorry. Is it okay if I go closer? There’s a line on the floor.”
“That’s for school groups.”
“Is it okay if I open the curtain? I think there’s another room back there.”
“There’s another room back there.”
That was permission number four. The woman still hadn’t looked at her.
Junko went in, came out, and stopped at the desk again. The small drawing of the shoes had no name under it.
“Who drew this one?” she asked.
The woman looked up for the first time. “Me.”
“How much is it?”
“Forty.”
Junko paid in cash. Then she took the drawing off the wall herself, and she didn’t ask if that was okay.