Butter: A Novel of Food and Murder

by Asako Yuzuki

her lips had a petal-like fullness to them.

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Peering over Reiko’s shoulder to read the picture book, Rika found herself transported back to their time at university, when she and Reiko had often shared textbooks in the lecture hall. While out walking in the jungle, the young boy, Little Babaji, encounters a group of four tigers who steal his clothes and possessions. In their new finery, the tigers become distracted arguing over which is the grandest. Forgetting all about Little Babaji, they begin snapping at one another, biting each other’s tails until they’ve formed a ring around a tree. Clamped together, they start chasing each other round and round, going so fast that they begin to melt into a yellow butter. Babaji’s father finds the butter and brings it home, and there the melted tigers are slathered on hotcakes, ending up in the Babaji family’s stomachs. This cruel turn of events is narrated with the utmost matter-of-factness.

The reason the case had garnered so much attention was that this woman, who had led several men around by the nose and maintained such a queenly presence in the courtroom, was neither young nor beautiful.

And here I thought they were impressed by her wit. Ugh. Men.

In principle, all women should give themselves permission to demand good treatment, but the world made doing so profoundly difficult.

The butter and rosy-coloured roe combination coats each and every spaghetti strand, bringing out that delicious semolina scent and generating a flavour that feels like a wave of kindness rising up uncontrollably from inside your chest.

It’s weird, isn’t it? Why is it that with nobody to watch over them, men can’t stop themselves from falling into disrepair? And that disrepair is then looked upon kindly and excused by the world, seen not as a failure of personal responsibility but something poignant and tragic.’

And then women are put in the tragic role of saving them

As it melted under the heat of her tongue, the sweet butter expanded lusciously, rousing all the cells across her body capable of apprehending its rich goodness. The dense sponge saturated with the rich, weighty aroma of milk made her think that she would never again be satisfied by fluffy shortcake with its sweet and sour tang.

THE IMAGERY.

Rika had enjoyed those trips on her mother’s bike to the libraries that she so loved, but if her mother failed to pick up even one of his reservations, her father’s mood would turn sour and he’d fall silent, so there had always been a desperate quality to her mother’s expression. Thinking back on it, it was from that point on that the financial difficulties had begun.

I’m being deliberately harsh when I say this, but for the record, I definitely don’t think it’s a good idea for you to put on weight. I haven’t got fixed ideas about the way women should look or anything, but if people around you think you’re not making an effort, you’ll lose their respect.

A friend of mine who edits cookery books for a living said that they’ve started having complaints about recipes that leave things to the individual’s discretion. She thinks it’s because people are increasingly worried about making mistakes, and losing faith in their own judgement – they don’t know what “a good amount” looks like for them. When in fact, cooking is all about trial and error.’

‘For what purpose, exactly, do you want to lose weight? Are you worried about not being attractive to men? Because in that case, you have nothing to fear. Men are naturally attracted to shapely, full-figured women. When I say men, I’m of course referring to real men, who are emotionally mature, affluent, and capable of generosity. Men who favour women with bodies like skinny children are the ones with no confidence in themselves. They’re without exception servile, sexually and emotionally immature, with no capacity for financial generosity, either.’

She’d been so nervous before arriving, yet she now felt she wanted to do it all again, right from the amuse bouche on. Could she say with any confidence that she’d tasted it all? When would be the next time she came? In a few years’ time, or would this visit be her last? The sadness swelled in her at the very idea.

I’ll be full of beans again by tomorrow, I promise.’

Japanese women are required to be self-denying, hard-working and ascetic, and in the same breath, to be feminine, soft and caring towards men. Everyone finds that an impossible balance to strike, and they struggle desperately as a result. Even when they do manage to strike it, there’s no redemption to be had. They’re never fully free. That’s what women are feeling.’

Refusing to look after yourself because there’s nobody around to care about you is a form of violence towards somebody. To my eyes, you’re not living a reckless sort of life, but if you truly don’t care what becomes of you, then that’s really sad.

‘I always thought that I’d be imposing on you if I did something like this, but I think that, on reflection, that’s exactly what’s been lacking. I’ve started to realise that nothing ever happens if you don’t impose on people.’

The way the women spoke, it was as if her father was an oversized baby that her mother was neglecting. Even as they affected kindness, their voices were full of envy and anger towards her mother for fleeing her father in pursuit of her own freedom, and for being now in the process of getting her life back on track.

Yet I couldn’t rid myself of the sense that if I stopped moving, the merry-go-round called our family would simply cease to rotate. If I stopped moving, then I wouldn’t be loved. And if I was the one moving, then I had no proof that I was loved.

They were confessing things to one another with great earnestness – one of them hadn’t fitted in well back home, one didn’t like the big city, one wanted to save money, one wanted to lose weight. At the beginning they hadn’t sounded at all lively, but I suppose that as they went on chatting, it brightened their spirits. Gradually they began smiling, and eventually concocted a plan for the four of them to go on holiday together. By the time they stood up from the table, they looked like regular university students, having a whale of a time. I felt wounded by the speed of their transformation and the depth of their self-interest, and angered by how they seemed satisfied when not a single one of their original problems had been solved.

The refreshing acidity of the tomatoes that were tossed in next cleansed her chest.

The recipe instructed to add water and boil the rice there in the pan, but Rika feared she wouldn’t be able to get it right this way, and instead transferred the mixture into her rice cooker and set it on the speediest setting. This technique was adapted from a foolproof way of making paella that Reiko had taught her.

Japanese people have a bad habit of trying too hard when entertaining. We try to do everything perfectly all by ourselves, and that’s why the habit of inviting people round and enjoying it in a relaxed way hasn’t caught on in this country. She had a feeling that her life from now on was going to be a lot easier. She felt the tension that had accumulated from the move and the long hours cooking now draining from her body.

She wanted to meet her and tell her that this world deserved to be lived in. Or, no – that this world deserved to be tasted, greedily.