I don't know if it's really stucco or not, or even what stucco is, precisely, but I like the snappy sound of the word, and that's good enough for me.
I popped the stucco into my mouth. Then I chewed and chewed until, finally, I was able to swallow it.
Once you dislodge the first piece, the rest is easy. Over and over, I stripped flakes of stucco from the crumbling wall and ate them.
"You shouldn't be eating that!" said a voice from under the refrigerator.
That had to be the kitchen god.
A kitchen god is small, has three faces, and lives in the dark corners of the kitchen. The first time I saw one, I screamed, which earned me a scolding from my mother. That was before I started first grade. My mother then was younger than I am now.
"You must never be scared of the kitchen god, or neglect him, either," my mother said.
Were kitchen gods common, I wondered. Did they inhabit other people's kitchens, too? My mother never instructed me to keep my mouth shut about ours; nevertheless, I didn't breathe a word about him to Ayaka, who lived next door, or to my cousin, Shō.
I'm a grown woman now, but in all these years I haven't told a soul about the kitchen god. After I got married, I moved into this company apartment with my husband, but it didn't take long for a kitchen god to show up. This kitchen god, however, was unlike the one I had grown up with: the three faces were different, as was the sound of his voice, and its cadence.
"He's here," I told my mother.
"He's present, you mean," she said sternly.
"So, they're everywhere," I said.
"You mean, they are present everywhere."
"It seems they're present everywhere."
"Yes, they are present.
"My mother lowered her voice. "It's because you have the right attitude, Izumi," she said.
"Attitude?"
"Yes, kitchen gods only inhabit the kitchens of women who display the proper attitude."
Denne historien er fra July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue)-utgaven av The New Yorker.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Denne historien er fra July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue)-utgaven av The New Yorker.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
YULE RULES
“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point.”
COLLISION COURSE
In Devika Rege’ first novel, India enters a troubling new era.
NEW CHAPTER
Is the twentieth-century novel a genre unto itself?
STUCK ON YOU
Pain and pleasure at a tattoo convention.
HEAVY SNOW HAN KANG
Kyungha-ya. That was the entirety of Inseon’s message: my name.
REPRISE
Reckoning with Donald Trump's return to power.
WHAT'S YOUR PARENTING-FAILURE STYLE?
Whether you’re horrifying your teen with nauseating sex-ed analogies or watching TikToks while your toddler eats a bagel from the subway floor, face it: you’re flailing in the vast chasm of your child’s relentless needs.
COLOR INSTINCT
Jadé Fadojutimi, a British painter, sees the world through a prism.
THE FAMILY PLAN
The pro-life movement’ new playbook.
President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.
On a mid-October Sunday not long ago sun high, wind cool-I was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a book festival, and I took a stroll. There were few people on the streets-like the population of a lot of capital cities, Harrisburg's swells on weekdays with lawyers and lobbyists and legislative staffers, and dwindles on the weekends. But, on the façades of small businesses and in the doorways of private homes, I could see evidence of political activity. Across from the sparkling Susquehanna River, there was a row of Democratic lawn signs: Malcolm Kenyatta for auditor general, Bob Casey for U.S. Senate, and, most important, in white letters atop a periwinkle not unlike that of the sky, Kamala Harris for President.
