The Garlic Ballads

by Mo Yan

  Unable to utter a sound, tortured by memory, Gao Yang gnawed frantically on the bark, which rubbed his lips raw until the tree was spotted with his blood. But he didn’t notice the pain. He swallowed the bitter mixture of saliva and bark juice, which brought a remarkable coolness to his throat—his vocal cords loosened, the knots unraveled. Carefully, oh so carefully, fearful that his powers of speech might leave him again: “Xinghua, Daddy’s over here …” he managed to say before his face was streaked with tears.

  “Now what?” the stammering policeman asked his partner.

  “Go back and get a Wanted poster issued,” Drumhead said. “He wont get away!”

  “What about the village boss?”

  “Slinked off long ago, like a common lout.”

  “Daddy—I cant find my way out! Come get me out of here—hurry …”

  Xinghua was lost in the maze of trees, and the sight of that tiny spot of red nearly broke Gao Yang’s heart. It seemed like only yesterday that he had kicked that little red behind of hers for no good reason, sending her sprawling in the middle of the yard, one hand spread out like a claw that clutched at a dark pile of chicken droppings. She had picked herself up and cowered against the wall, her lips trembling as she fought back sobs and tears welling up in her coal-black eyes. Overcome with remorse, he banged his head against the tree. “Let me go!” he screamed. “Let me go—”

  Drumhead clasped him in a headlock to keep him from hurting himself while his partner walked around to unlock the manacles. “G-Gao Yang,” the stammerer said, “don’t try anything funny.”

  But as soon as his hands were free, he started to fight—clawing, kicking, and biting—which left three bloody scratches on the stammerer’s face. As he wrenched free of the headlock and turned to run toward the tiny spot of red, a light flashed before his eyes, then a shower of green sparks—he dimly noticed something in the policeman’s hand giving off eerie green sparks when it touched his chest. Pins pierced his body; he screamed, twitching in agony, then slumped to the ground.

  The first thing he noticed upon regaining consciousness was the pair of shiny handcuffs clamped around his wrists and digging deeply into the flesh, nearly cutting to the bone. He was too groggy to recall where he was. The stammering policeman waved the terrifying object in front of him.

  “Start walking,” he said soberly. “And no fooling around!”

  2.

  Meekly he followed Drumhead up the sandy embankment toward the willow grove. There they turned and trudged across the dry riverbed, where fine sand stung his injured ankle and burned the soles of his feet. He limped along, the stammerer right behind him. Xinghuas wails from the acacia grove were like a magnet that drew his head back to her. The stammerer nudged him with that awful thing, sending chills up his spine. He tucked his neck down between his shoulders; covered with goose bumps, he steeled himself for the rolling thunder of pain he knew was coming. But instead there was only a command: “Keep walking.”

  As he walked, the image of the thing in the policeman’s hand took his mind off his daughter’s wails. He realized what it was: one of those electric prods he’d heard whispers about. The chills running up his spine penetrated the marrow of his bones.

  After threading their way through another grove of trees, they crossed a second embankment and emerged onto an open field about fifty yards in length, which in turn led to a paved road. The policemen escorted Gao Yang into the township government compound, where Whiskers Zhu, a member of the police substation, rushed out to compliment Drumhead and his stammering partner on their good work.

  Hope welled up in Gao Yang’s heart at the sight of a familiar face. Old Zhu,” he said, “where are they taking me?”

  “Someplace where you wont need ration coupons for food.”

  “Please tell them to let me go. My wife just had a baby.”

  “So what? Everyone’s treated the same under the law.”

  Gao Yang hung his head in dejection.

  “Are Guo and Zheng back yet?” Drumhead asked.

  “Guo’s here, but Zheng isn’t back yet,” Zhu replied.

  “Wehere shall we put the prisoner?” Drumhead asked.

  “Lock him up in the office.” Zhu turned to lead the way, followed by Gao Yang and his police escort.

  The first thing he saw as they shoved him into the station house was a horse-faced young man in manacles curled up on the floor against the wall. He had obviously gotten quite a working-over, for his left eye was black and blue and nearly swollen shut; an icy glare emerged through the slit, while the uninjured right eye was filled with a look of pathetic desperation. Two handsome young policemen were sitting on a slat bench smoking cigarettes.

  They pushed Gao Yang down against the wall, next to the horse-faced young man, and as the two of them took each other’s measure, the other man curled his lip and nodded meaningfully. Gao Yang was sure he knew the fellow from somewhere, but couldn’t remember where. Damn! he lamented. That thing must have fried my brain!

  The four policemen were talking: With a son of a bitch like that you have to beat him first and ask questions later. He’s in a world of his own, no matter what weird stuff is happening around him. That son of a bitch Gao Ma jumped a wall and got away. You two idiots go back and get out a Wanted poster. Why aren’t old Zheng and Song Anni back yet? They had the easiest job. That old lady’s got a couple of sons. Here come old Zheng and Song Anni now.

  He heard the long, drawn-out weeping of a woman; so, he noticed, did everyone else in the room. The young policeman named Guo dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it with his heel. “To hell with women,” he muttered disdainfully. “All they know how to do is cry. It’s enough to drive you crazy. Now take our young hero over here—” he pointed to the horse-faced young man with his chin—”you couldn’t get a teardrop out of him if you put a razor to his throat.”

  The horse-faced young man snapped back loudly, “C-c-cry for the likes of you?”

  The policemen were speechless for a moment before erupting into laughter. Drumhead turned to his partner. “Say, Kong, old pal, looks like we’ve g-g-got your brother here!”

  That did not sit well with the stammerer. “G-get your old lady, Drum, old p-pal!” he shot back.

  The horse-faced young man’s speech impediment jogged Gao Yang’s memory. He was the young hothead who smashed the county administrator’s telephone.

  Two police officers—a man and a woman—came into the room, shoving an old woman ahead of them, her hair flying. They had no sooner gotten her to sit on the floor than she began pounding it with her fists and shouting between sobs, “God … my God … I’m doomed oh my God … My own husband how could he do that to me leave me here all alone come down here and take me with you wherever you are oh my God …”

  The policewoman, barely in her twenties, had short hair, large eyes, and long lashes—a pretty young woman whose oval face was flushed from the heat. “Stop that crying!” she bellowed.

  The scowl on her face scared the wits out of Gao Yang, who had never seen such ferocity in a woman before. She wore brown leather shoes with pointed toes and high heels. A holstered pistol hung from her belt. She glowered to show her displeasure at being scrutinized so closely. Gao Yang lowered his head, and by the time he looked up again, a pair of mirror-lens sunglasses hid her eyes from view. She kicked the old woman on the floor. “Still crying, are you? You crafty old bitch, you ancient counterrevolutionary!”

  The old woman shrieked. “Ouch! You cruel-hearted girl, you … you’re hurting me

  One of the young policemen covered his mouth and sniggered. “Say, Song,” he teased, “you ve gone and hurt her.”

  The policewoman blushed. She spat at him.

  The old woman was still sobbing. “Aunt Fang,” Whiskers Zhu said, “keep it down. You have to face the music sooner or later, and crying wont help.”

  “If you don’t stop,” the policewoman threatened, “I’ll sew your damned mouth shut!”

 
The old woman looked up and screamed hysterically, “Go ahead, sew it up! You little cunt, no one should be that heartless at your age! Keep it up and you’ll have a baby with no asshole!”

  As her colleagues roared with laughter, the policewoman walked up to lack the old woman again, but the one called Zheng stopped her.

  Gao Yang knew the woman who was crying and making such a fuss—it was Fourth Aunt Fang. She didn’t realize that her hands were manacled until she tried to wipe her tear-streaked face, and the sight of the shiny bracelets set her off again.

  “Comrades,” Zhu piped up, “all this has put you to a lot of trouble. Come have something to eat.”

  The delivery boy from a local restaurant was riding up to the station house on his bicycle, clutching a food basket with one hand and a bundle of beer bottles with the other, letting the bike steer itself. He screeched to a halt at the gate and jumped off his bike with the food and beer.

  “He sure knows how to ride that thing,” Zheng said.

  Whiskers Zhu turned to greet the delivery boy. “What took you so long?”

  “Too many parties today. Five at your township offices alone, plus one at the supply and marketing co-op, one at the bank, and another at the hospital. I’ve had my hands full here, not to mention the villages down the road.”

  “Quite a gold mine you ve got there,” Zhu said.

  “For the boss, maybe, but I could run my legs off and he wouldn’t give me a cent more than I’m getting now.” He opened the food basket, which was filled with meat, fish, and poultry. The tantalizing smells started Gao Yang salivating.

  “Put the lid back on till I can tidy up the room,” Zhu said.

  “Make it quick. I still have to go to Secretary Wang’s home in North Village. He called to ask where his order was.”

  “Find an empty room for the prisoners,” Zheng said.

  “Where am I supposed to find an empty room?” Zhu asked.

  “P-put them in the truck,” the stammering policeman suggested.

  “Who’s responsible if they get away?”

  “Handcuff them to a tree,” Drumhead said. “That way they’ll get some shade, too.”

  “Get up, all of you!” one of the young policemen ordered the prisoners.

  Gao Yang was the first to stand up, followed by the horse-faced young man. Fourth Aunt Fang stayed on the floor and sobbed. “I’m not getting up. If I’m going to die I’ll do it with a roof over my head.

  “Mrs. Fang,” Zheng said, “if you keep acting like that, we might have to get rough.”

  “So what?” she shouted. “What will you do, beat me to death?”

  “No, I wont beat you to death,” Zheng said with a sneer, “but if you refuse to obey orders and create a disturbance, I’m within my rights to use force. You may not know what electricity feels like, but that second son of yours knows well enough.”

  Zheng took an electric prod out of his belt and waved it in front of her. “If you’re not on your feet by the time I count to three, I’ll let you have it.”

  “One …”

  “Go ahead, let me have it. Pig!”

  “Two …”

  “Go ahead, let me have it!”

  “Three!” Zheng shouted as he stuck the prod up under her nose. She shrieked and rolled on the floor before scrambling to her feet.

  As the other policemen laughed, the one named Guo pointed to the horse-faced young man. “This son of a bitch is in a world of his own,” he said. “Not even an electric shock fazes him.”

  “You re joking,” Zheng said.

  “Try it, if you don’t believe me.”

  Zheng pressed the switch of the prod, which spat green sparks of crackling electricity. “I don’t believe you,” he said, touching the young man’s neck.

  Not a twitch; just a contemptuous smile.

  “That’s weird,” Zheng marveled. “Maybe it’s busted.”

  “There’s one sure way to find out,” Guo suggested.

  “Impossible,” Zheng mumbled, then touched his own neck with it. He shrieked, dropping the prod; holding his head in his hands, he crumpled to the floor.

  The other policemen roared with laughter.

  “That’s what we call testing the law on the lawman,” Guo remarked sarcastically.

  They walked about fifty paces down the broad compound path, Gao Yang led by the stammering policeman, the horse-faced young man in the custody of one of the young policemen, and Fourth Aunt Fang being dragged along by Zheng and the policewoman. The path led to the county road, which was lined with a couple of dozen tall poplars, each as big around as a tub.

  The handcuffs were removed and the prisoners pushed back against the trees, their arms forced back around the trunks so their police escort could snap the handcuffs on. “Ouch! Damn it, you’re breaking my arms!” It was Fourth Aunt Fang.

  “J-just to be on the safe side,” the stammerer said to the policewoman, Song Anni.

  Her response was a lazy yawn.

  The police all went inside to enjoy their food and beer, now that their prisoners were standing shackled to the trees; but they soon slid slowly down the trunks until they were sitting on the ground, arms wrenched behind them.

  The shade kept shifting eastward, until the late-afternoon sun shone directly down on the prisoners. Everything turned black for Gao Yang, whose arms felt as if they had floated away, leaving a burning sensation in his shoulders. The horse-faced young man beside him was puking loudly. Gao Yang turned to look at him.

  The drooping head at the end of the man’s long neck forced his shoulder blades straight up. His chest heaved violently, and there was a sticky, nasty mess on the ground, a mixture of red and white; bottleneck flies were already swarming over from the toilet. Gao Yang jerked his head around, as his stomach lurched and a pocket of air rushed noisily to his throat. His mouth flew open and out gushed a yellow liquid.

  The wailing of Fourth Aunt, who was on his left, had soon turned to sobs, and now even they had faded away. Was she dead? Alarmed by this thought, he turned to look. No, she wasn’t dead. She was gasping for breath, and if her arms hadn’t been pulled so tightly behind her, she would have been sprawled facedown on the ground. One of her shoes had fallen off, revealing a dark, pointed foot stretched out to the side, where ants swarmed over it. Her head wasn’t touching the ground, but her white hair was.

  I’m not crying, Gao Yang muttered to himself. I’m not.

  Summoning all his energy, he got to his feet and pushed his back against the tree trunk as hard as he could, in order to take some of the pressure off his arms. The policewoman, Song Anni, came up to survey the scene. She removed her cap, smoothing her lush black hair, but kept her sunglasses on as she wiped her moist, shiny lips with a handkerchief that quickly covered her mouth as her glance landed on the horse-faced young man’s mess. “No problems here?” she asked in a muffled voice.

  Gao Yang didn’t feel like answering, and Fourth Aunt was incapable of it, so it was up to the horse-faced young man: “No p-problem, even if I f-fuck your old lady!”

  Terrified that she was going to hit the young man, Gao Yang spun around to look at him. But the policewoman just turned and walked away, her mouth covered by the handkerchief.

  “Worthy brother,” Gao Yang said, struggling to get the words out, “don’t make things any harder on yourself.”

  The young man just grinned. His face was as pale as a sheet of paper.

  The policewoman returned with Zhu and Zheng in tow. Zhu had a metal pail, Zheng carried three empty beer bottles, and the policewoman held a ladle.

  At the tap the water pressure was so strong it made Zhu’s pail sing; he filled it to overflowing and carried it away without turning off the water, which sloshed over the bricks and tiles on the ground. The fragrance of fresh water drifted on the air to Gao Yang, who breathed it in deeply. It was almost as if a strange beast in his stomach were calling out: “Water… Your Honor… be merciful… water, please” Zheng no sooner put one of his
bottles under the tap than it was full, froth quickly gathering at the top. He walked up to Gao Yang with three full bottles. “Want some?”

  Gao Yang nodded vigorously. He could smell the water, and the sight of Zheng’s puffy face filled him with such gratitude he nearly wept.

  Zheng held one of the bottles up to Gao Yang, who grabbed the mouth with his teeth and sucked in thirstily, taking a huge slug, some of it taking a wrong turn down his windpipe. He choked so violently his eyes rolled back in his head. Zheng tossed the bottle to the ground and began pounding him on the back. Water shot out of Gao Yang’s mouth and nose.

  “Slow down,” Zheng said. “There’s plenty.”

  Even after polishing off three bottles of water, Gao Yang was still thirsty. His throat was on fire, but he could see by the look of displeasure on Zheng’s face that it would be unwise to ask for more.

  The horse-faced young man struggled to his feet and was helped to some water by Whiskers Zhu. Gao Yang stared greedily as he drank five bottles. Two more than me, he grumbled inwardly.

  Fourth Aunt was probably unconscious, since the policewoman was ladling water over her. Clear when it hit her, the water dripped to the ground a dirty gray. Her short-sleeved jacket, made of mosquito netting and long a stranger to soap and water, regained some of its original whiteness in the dousing. With wet clothes clinging to her back, she looked skeletal, her shoulder blades poking up like sharp crags. Hair stuck to her scalp, from which dirty water dripped to the ground and formed shiny puddles.

  The stink rising from her body made Gao Yang’s stomach lurch. Maybe, he thought, she’s already dead. But just as he shivered from the fearful thought, he saw her white head rise slowly, straining the poor woman’s neck to its limit. The water made her hair look thinner than ever, and all he could think of was how much uglier bald women are than bald men. That in turn reminded him of his mother, who was bald when she died, and he nearly wept.