After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

CHAPTER 15 
Aomame 
FIRMLY, LIKE ATTACHING AN ANCHOR 
TO A BALLOON
Aomame devoted a great deal of attention to her daily diet. Vegetarian dishes were 
central to the meals she prepared for herself, to which she added seafood, mostly 
white fish. An occasional piece of chicken was about all the meat she would eat. She 
chose only fresh ingredients and kept seasonings to a minimum, rejecting high-fat 
ingredients entirely and keeping her intake of carbohydrates low. Salads she would 
eat with a touch of olive oil, salt, and lemon juice, never dressings. She did not just 
eat a lot of vegetables, she also studied their nutritional elements in detail and made 
sure she was eating a well-balanced selection. She fashioned her own original menus 
and shared them with sports club members when asked. “Forget about counting 
calories,” she would always advise them. “Once you develop a knack for choosing the 
proper ingredients and eating in moderation, you don’t have to pay attention to 
numbers.” 
This is not to say that she clung obsessively to her ascetic menus. If she felt a 
strong desire for meat, she would pop into a restaurant and order a thick steak or lamb 
chops. She believed that an unbearable desire for a particular food meant that the 
body was sending signals for something it truly needed, and she would follow the call 
of nature. 
She enjoyed wine and sake, but she established three days a week when she would 
not drink at all in order to avoid excessive alcohol intake, as a way to both protect her 
liver and control the sugar in her bloodstream. For Aomame, her body was sacred, to 
be kept clean always, without a fleck of dust or the slightest stain. Whatever one 
enshrined there was another question, to be thought about later. 
Aomame had no excess flesh, only muscle. She would confirm this for herself in 
detail each day, standing stark naked in front of the mirror. Not that she was thrilled at 
the sight of her own body. Quite the opposite. Her breasts were not big enough, and 
they were asymmetrical. Her pubic hair grew like a patch of grass that had been 
trampled by a passing army. She couldn’t stop herself from scowling at the sight of 
her own body, but there was nothing there for her to pinch. 
She lived frugally, but her meals were the only things on which she deliberately spent 
her money. She never compromised on the quality of her groceries, and drank only 
good-quality wines. On those rare occasions when she ate out, she would choose 
restaurants that prepared their food with the greatest care. Almost nothing else 

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mattered to her—not clothing, not cosmetics, not accessories. Jeans and a sweater 
were all she needed for commuting to work at the sports club, and once she was there 
she would spend the day in a jersey top and bottom—without accessories, of course. 
She rarely had occasion to go out in fancy clothing. Once Tamaki Otsuka was 
married, she no longer had any women friends to dine out with. She would wear 
makeup and dress well when she was out in search of a one-night stand, but that was 
once a month and didn’t require an extensive wardrobe. 
When necessary, Aomame would make the rounds of the boutiques in Aoyama to 
have one “killer dress” made and to buy an accessory or two and a pair of heels to 
match. That was all she needed. Ordinarily she wore flats and a ponytail. As long as 
she washed her face well with soap and water and applied moisturizer, she always had 
a glow. The most important thing was to have a clean, healthy body. 
Aomame had been used to living a simple, unadorned life since childhood. Self-
denial and moderation were the values pounded into her as long as she could 
remember. Her family’s home was free of all extras, and “waste” was their most 
commonly used word. They had no television and did not subscribe to a newspaper. 
Even news was looked upon in her home as a