The Garlic Ballads

  Father wore his tattered conical rain hat, and wheezed badly. He held a switch in his hands as he stood in the school office, looking pitifully into the face of the nearly apoplectic principal. “Mr. Principal, sir, the boy didn’t know what he was doing.

  “What do you mean, he didn’t know what he was doing?” the principal barked as he banged his desk. “He’s a little hooligan!”

  “A hoo … ligan?”

  “He peed on the girls in his class! Was that your idea?”

  “Mr. Principal… sir … I’m a lifelong reader of the classics … benevolence, justice, rites, knowledge, trust… no contact between boys and girls. …” Father was wailing before he finished.

  “You can put away that bunch of feudalistic crap,” the principal snarled.

  “I had no idea he could do something as shameful as that,” said Father, who was trembling from head to toe. He raised the thick willow switch in his hands. “I… I’ll kill him.… I’ll beat you to death You let me down, you good-for-nothing little bastard As if I didn’t have enough trouble, now you do something like this….”

  The hunched-over old man in a tattered conical rain hat raised the willow switch in both hands … it arched downward toward Gao Yang’s head but landed on his shoulder….

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the principal bellowed. “Where do you think you are, pulling a stunt like that?” He yanked the switch out of Father’s hands and tossed it aside. “We’ve decided to expel Gao Yang. Take him home with you. Once you get him home you can beat him to death for all we care.”

  “Mr. Principal, please don’t expel me, please don’t….” Gao Yang felt awful.

  “You expect us to keep a hooligan like you?” The principal glared at him. “Go on—go with your father!”

  “Mr. Principal…” Father bent double, again holding the switch in both hands, quaking badly, tears running down his face. “Mr. Principal, I beg you … let him graduate, please.”

  “Button your lip!” the principal demanded. “Is Team Leader Wang out there?”

  Gao Yang watched Wang Tai’s father, Six-Wheels Wang, enter. Team Leader Six-Wheels would later be his superior for twenty years. For two decades Gao Yang would serve as one of his commune underlings. A tall, beefy man, he was barefoot and stripped to the waist; his skin was tanned and healthy looking. Refusing to wear a belt, he always tied his baggy white pants at the waist, his scythe tucked into the waistband. Gao Yang called him Master Six.

  “Principal,” Six-Wheels said in his gravelly voice, “what do you want me for?”

  “Team Leader Wang,” the principal said, “now don’t get mad, but your son, Wang Tai, peed on some of the girls in his class…. Something like that, well, it’s not a good idea. The heads of households share the responsibility for their children’s upbringing with those of us at school.”

  “Where is the little asshole?” Six-Wheels Wang growled.

  The principal gave the high sign to one of the teachers, who dragged Wang Tai into the office.

  “You little asshole,” Six-Wheels said to his son, “did you pee on girls in your class? Is that where you’re supposed to pee?”

  Wang Tai stood silently, his head bowed as he picked at his fingernails.

  “Who told you to do something like that?” Six-Wheels asked.

  Wang Tai pointed at Gao Yang. “Him,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.

  Gao Yang was shocked. His head swirled.

  “He wasn’t satisfied doing a terrible thing like that himself,” the principal said to Gao Yang’s father. “He had to drag the son of a poor and lower-middle-class peasant into his shameful affair. Things like this don’t happen by accident.”

  “My family is cursed … family is cursed … produce scum like this … scum …” Father was pacing.

  “You’ve always been a bad boy,” Six-Wheels Wang said to Gao Yang. One of these days your bad nature will be the death of you.” Then he turned to Gao Yang’s father. “How could you sire a bad seed like this?” he asked. “Hm?”

  Father picked up the switch and hit Gao Yang square in the head … a couple of anguished cries…. Gao Yang tried to recall if hé had cried out. It had been twenty years, and he had no idea whether he had cried out or not. He remembered wanting to shout: “Father, all I did was drink my own piss!”

  “Cheer up, Little Brother,” the middle-aged inmate consoled Gao Yang. “You’ll be fine now that you’ve passed the test. You took it like a man. You know when to stand your ground and when to give in. The best is yet to come for you. Once you leave here you’ll never return.”

  To wash down the crumbs of his piss-soaked bun, the old inmate drank what was left in the soup bowl, reaching in to pick up a yellow sliver of garlic stuck to the bottom and shove it into his mouth. Last of all he licked the frothy, oily sides of the bowl—slurp slurp—like a dog.

  The whistle sounded again, long and loud, followed by a tinny voice: “Attention all cells! Lights out! Bedtime! After-dark regulations: One, no talking or whispering. Two, no swapping beds. Three, no sleeping in the nude.”

  The yellow light went out abrupdy, throwing the cell into darkness. In the silence that ensued, Gao Yang heard his three cellmates breathing and saw six eyes flashing in the darkness as if luminous. Drained of energy, he sat on his gray blanket, which reeked of garlic; swarms of mosquitoes took to the air, filling the darkness with their buzzing.

  The seemingly interminable day was finally reaching its dark conclusion. He laid his head on the blanket and closed his eyes, which gave up two meaningless tears. He sighed, so softly that no one heard him, and through the spaces between the bars he saw the blurred outline of the derrick high in the sky, the soft-yellow crescent moon hanging at its tip looking soft and inviting.

  CHAPTER 8

  A treacherous ape, a turncoat dog—

  Ingratitude has existed since ancient times.

  Little Wang, you’ve thrown away your scythe and hoe

  To learn the tyrant’s walk, just like a crab….

  —from a ballad sung by Zhang Kou following the garlic glut,

  to curse roundly Wang Tai, the new deputy director

  of the county supply and marketing cooperative

  1.

  The police van had traveled so far down the road that the dust had already settled on asphalt that was a blinding ribbon of reflected light. A squashed toad that had been there since who knows when was now no more than a dried-out flattened skin, like a decal. Jinju struggled to her feet and stumbled up to the side of the road; sweat-soaked, her knees knocking, her mind a blank, she sat down in a clump of grass, seemingly more dead than alive.

  The road cut through a vast cropland, with waist-high corn and sorghum nearby and waves of golden millet in the distance. The black soil looked like a patchwork quilt in the fields, which had been prepared for a seeding of soybeans or corn. The dry air and blazing sun made the soil crack and sizzle. Everything the sun touched turned golden yellow, particularly the county government compound, where sunflowers were in bloom.

  She sat lost in her thoughts until the sun sank in the west and clouds of mist climbed skyward; gloomy songs rose from the fields. Each summer day, as night fell, cool breezes drew songs from the throats of peasants. Thick layers of dust covered their naked bodies, which seemed to grow as the suns power faded. An ox was pulling a plow, turning the soil in a garlic field. Seen from a distance, the earth tumbled over glistening blades of the plow, rolling constandy, a shiny black wave in the wake of the plow.

  Numbly, she watched the activity out in the field, and when the old man behind the plow began to sing, she wept openly.

  “Sunset at West Mountain, the sky turns dark”—the old man flicked his whip, making the tip dance above the ox’s head—”Second Aunt rides her mule to Yangguan …”

  He stopped after only two lines. But a few moments later, he was at it again: “Sunset at West Mountain, the sky turns dark / Second Aunt rides her mule to Yangguan …” br />
  The same two lines, then he stopped again.

  Jinju stood up, brushed the dirt off her backside with her bundle, and slowly headed home.

  Father was dead, Mother had been arrested. A month earlier, he had been run over by the township party secretary’s car, while she had been thrown into a wagon by the police and taken away, and Jinju didn’t know why.

  She walked onto the river embankment, but her bulging belly made it necessary to lean backwards to keep her balance on the way down. Gingerly she stepped on the slick grass and onto the sandy stretch where weeping willows grew. The spongy soil was dotted with clumps of conch grass—green with yellow tips. Leaning against a medium-sized willow, she gazed at the glossy brown-and-green bark, on which an army of red ants was marching. Not knowing what thoughts she should force into the emptiness of her mind, she gradually became aware of a swelling in her legs and the violent thrashing of her child. She sucked in a mouthful of cold air, leaned over, and held her breath as she wrapped her arms tightly around the tree.

  Sweat beaded her forehead; tears oozed from the corners of her eyes. The child in her belly pounded and kicked as if he harbored a secret grievance against her. Feeling deeply wronged, she heard her unborn baby cry and fulminate, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that it was a boy, and that he was glaring up at her at that very moment.

  Do you want to come out, my child? Is that what you want? She sat tentatively on the sandy soil and rubbed her hand lightly over the taut skin of her belly. It’s not time yet, my child—don’t be in such a hurry, she implored. But that infuriated the fetus, who pounded and kicked as never before, eyes wide with loathing, screeching and weeping. … I’ve never seen a baby cry with its eyes open Child, please don’t be in such a hurry to come out.… She scraped a piece of bark off the tree … a stream of warm liquid ran down her legs…. Child, you cant come out now.…

  Jinju’s heartbreaking wails so startled the orioles above her that they squawked loudly and flew off to points unknown.

  “Elder Brother Gao Ma … Eider Brother Gao Ma … come save me … hurry.” Her loud wails shattered the silence of the willow grove.

  The child in her belly would not be mollified. Cruel and relendess, his bloodshot eyes opened wide, he screeched, “Let me out of here! Let me out, I say!”

  By bracing herself against the tree and biting down hard on her lip, she was able to struggle to her feet. Every punch and kick doubled her up with pain and wrenched a tortured shout from her throat. The image of that frightful little thing floated before her eyes: skinny, dark, a high nose, big eyes, two rows of hard teeth.

  Dont bite me, child … let loose … don’t bite….

  Forcing herself into a crouch, she shuffled forward a few steps amid drooping willow branches whose leaves were covered with aphids that fell onto her face, neck, hair, and shoulders when she brushed against them. The warm liquid was seeping into her shoes, where it mixed with sand to form a gritty mud that made her feet slip and slide as if her shoes were filled with slime. She moved from one willow tree to the next, forcing them all to share the torment she endured. Hordes of aphids twinkled like fireflies, until the willow branches and leaves seemed coated with oil.

  Child … don’t glare at me like that… don’t do that…. I know you’re suffocating from oppression … not eating well, nothing good to drink … want to come out….

  Jinju stumbled and fell, wrenching a painful shout from the child in her belly, who savagely bit the wall of the womb. The stabbing pain brought her to her knees. She crawled on the ground in agony, fingers digging into the sandy soil like steel claws.

  Child … you bit a hole in me … bit a hole. … I have to crawl like a lowly dog….

  Her belly scraped the sandy ground as she moved ahead on all fours, sweat and teardrops marking her passage in the dust. She cried her heart out, all because of an unruly, trouble-making, black-hearted child who was ripping her apart. She was terrified of the spiteful little brat who squirmed like a silkworm inside her, trying to stretch the limits of the space that confined him. But the walls were springy as rubber, so he no sooner stretched it in one spot than it snapped back in another. That made him so angry he flailed and kicked and bit for all he was worth. “You bitch! You lousy bitch!” he cursed.

  Child … oh, my child … spare me … your mother…. I’ll get down on my knees for you….

  Moved by her pleas, he stopped biting and kicking the wall of her womb. The pain eased up at once, and she let her tear-streaked, sweat-soaked face drop to the sandy soil, overcome with gratitude for her sons display of mercy.

  The setting sun painted the tips of the willow trees gold. Jinju raised her dusty, gritty face and saw wisps of milky-white smoke rising above the village. Gingerly she stood up, fearful of rekindling the anger of her child.

  By the time she made her way to Gao Mas door, the red sun had fallen well below the willow branches. The snapping of whips above the heads of oxen on village roads and the strains of music steeped in salty water turned the evening sky a bright red.

  I think about your mother, who departed early for the Yellow Springs,

  Leaving you and your sisters miserable and lonely—

  A motherless child is a horse with no reins.

  On your own at fourteen to sing in a brothel:

  Since the dawn of time harlots have been spared hughter reserved for the poor…

  Instead of selling your body you should have a memorial arch erected in your honor

  To repay this debt of blood.

  2.

  They pushed and squeezed their way out of the jute field. The high sun had burned off the pervasive mist and cleared heaven and earth. Across the pale strip of road they saw thousands of acres of chili peppers planted by Pale Horse County farmers—a stretch of fiery red as far as the eye could see.

  The moment they emerged from the field, Jinju felt as if she were standing naked in front of a crowd. Frantic with shame, she quickly retreated back into the field, followed by Gao Ma. “Keep moving,” he pressed her. “Why cower in here?”

  “Elder Brother Gao Ma,” she said, “we can’t travel in broad daylight.”

  “We’re in Pale Horse County now. No one knows us here,” Gao Ma said with mounting anxiety.

  “I’m scared. What if we run into somebody we know?”

  “We wont,” he reassured her. “And even if we did, we have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “How can you say that? Look what you’ve done to me….” She sat down and began to cry.

  “All right, my little granny,” he said, exasperated. “You women are scared of wolves in front and tigers in back, changing your minds every couple of minutes.”

  “I can’t walk anymore. My legs hurt.”

  “No flimsy excuses now.”

  “And I’m sleepy.”

  First scratching his head, then shaking it, Gao Ma said, “We can’t live the rest of our lives in this jute field.”

  “I don’t care, I’m not moving while the suns out.”

  “Then we’ll wait till tonight.” He helped her to her feet. “But let’s move inside a little. It’s too dangerous here.”

  “I …”

  “I know, you can’t walk anymore.” He knelt in front of her. “I’ll carry you piggyback.” After handing her his bundle, he reached back and wrapped his arms around the back of her knees. She glided effortlessly up onto his back.

  Before long he was huffing and puffing, his dark neck thrust out at a sharp angle. Beginning to take pity on him, she prodded him with her knees. “Put me down,” she said. “I can walk now.”

  Without a word in reply, Gao Ma slid his hands upward until they were cupped around her buttocks, which he gentìy squeezed. A feeling as if her organs were blossoming like fresh flowers spread through her body. She moaned and lightly pummeled Gao Ma’s neck, he tripped, and they fell in a heap.

  The jute plants trembled uneasily—only a few at first, but they were soon joined by the others
as a wind rose, and all the sounds in the world were swallowed up by the booming yet surprisingly gende noise of jute leaves and branches scraping against one another.

  3.

  Early the following morning, Jinju and Gao Ma, their clothes dusty and wet with dew, walked up to the Pale Horse County long-distance bus station.

  It was a tall, handsome building—on the outside, at least—whose colorfully shaded lights above the gate illuminated both the large red letters of the signboard and the pale-green plaster façade. Pushcarts that opened after dark formed two rows leading up to the gate, like a long eorridor. Sleepy-eyed vendors, male and female, stood wearily behind their carts. Jinju watched a young vendor in her twenties cover up a yawn with her hand; when she was finished, tears stood in her eyes, which looked like lethargic tadpoles in the reflected blue flames from a sizzling gas lantern.

  “Sweet pears … sweet pears … want some sweet pears?” a woman called to them from behind her pushcart. “Grapes … grapes … buy these fine grapes!” a man called from behind his. Apples, autumn peaches, honeyed dates: whatever you could desire, they sold. The smell of overripe fruit hung in the air, and the ground was littered with waste paper, the rotting skins of various fruits, and human excrement.

  Jinju imagined something hidden behind the vendors’ benign looks. Deep down they’re cursing or laughing at me, she thought. They know who I am, and they know the things ? ve done over the past couple of days. That one over there, she can see the mud stains on my back and the crushed jute leaves on my clothes. And that old bastard over there, staring at me like I’m one of those women…. Overwhelmed by a powerful sense of degradation, Jinju shrank inward until her legs froze and her lips were tightly shut. Lowering her head in abject shame, she held on to Gao Ma’s jacket. Feelings of remorse returned, and a sense that the road ahead was sealed to her. Thoughts of the future were terrifying.