The Garlic Ballads

by Mo Yan

  Crowds lined the road, eyes staring and mouth slack, as if waiting to snap at some floating object.

  They shuffled down the street, birds following their progress overhead and sending a foul rain down on prisoners and guards alike. But no one made a sound, as if oblivious to the assault, and no one raised a hand to wipe the black and white bird droppings from his head or shoulders.

  The road seemed endless as Gao Yang passed an occasional cluster of buildings with slogans painted on the sides, or a construction site with pale yellow derricks reaching the clouds; but always there were crowds of gawkers, including one hideous -looking, bare-assed juvenile who flung a cow chip at them, although it was impossible to tell if he was trying to hit a prisoner, or a policeman, or both, or was just moved to throw something. Whatever his intent, the missile caused a brief disruption in the procession, but not enough to stop it.

  They entered a wooded area and headed down a footpath barely wide enough for three people shoulder to shoulder. The policemen brushed against the mossy bark of trees, making soft scraping sounds. Sometimes the path was strewn with golden leaves, at others covered with pools of foul green water in which tiny red insects snapped and flipped like miniature shrimp; the surface was alive with red insects taking off or landing.

  A heavy rain began to fall as they crossed some railroad tracks, raindrops thudding onto shaved heads like pebbles. As Gao Yang tucked his head down between his shoulders, he carelessly banged his injured ankle on a railroad tie, sending sharp pains from the outside of his foot all the way up to the hollow of his knee. The skin above his ankle ruptured, releasing a pool of pus that ran into his shoe. My brand-new shoes, he thought sadly. Officers, can I stop to squeeze the pus out of my foot?” he pleaded with his police escorts.

  They ignored his request, like deaf-mutes. No wonder: they cleared the tracks just as a freight train chugged by, its wheels sending clouds of dust into the air and passing so close it nearly separated Gao Yang from the seat of his pants. It also seemed to take the rain with it.

  A rooster with immature wing feathers came flapping out of some bushes across the road, cocked its head, and sized up a puzzled Gao Yang. What’s a rooster doing out here in the middle of nowhere? While he was caught up in this question, the rooster rushed him from behind, its neck bobbing with each step, and pecked his injured, pus-filled ankle, causing such intense pain that he nearly broke the iron grip of the policemen on either side of him. Startled by the sudden, violent movement, they dug their fingers into his upper arms.

  The little rooster stuck like glue, pecking at him every couple of steps, while the policemen, ignoring his screams of pain, kept propelling him forward. Then, as they negotiated the down slope of a hill, the rooster actually plucked a white tendon out of the open sore on Gao Yangs ankle. Digging in with its claws, its tail feathers touching the ground, its neck feathers fanned out, and its comb turning bright red, it tugged on the tendon with all its might, pulling it a foot or more until it snapped in two. Gao Yang, reeling, turned to see the little rooster swallowing it like one big noodle. The gaunt policeman leaned over and stuck his pointy mouth up to Gao Yang’s ear. “Okay,” he whispered, “he’s plucked out the root of your problem.” The stubble around his mouth brushed against Gao Yang, who involuntarily drew in his neck. The man’s garlic breath nearly bowled Gao Yang over.

  Having crossed the tracks, they turned west, then north. Shortly after that they headed east, then doubled back to the south—or so it seemed to Gao Yang. They were walking through fields with waist-high plants on whose branches objects like Ping-Pong balls grew. Green in color, the pods were covered with a pale fuzz. Gao Yang had no idea what they were. But the fat policeman bent down, picked one, popped it into his mouth, and chewed until frothy green slobber dribbled down his chin. Then he spat a sticky gob into the palm of his hand. It looked like something scraped out of a cow’s stomach.

  The fat policeman held him fast while his gaunt companion kept tugging forward. Gao Yang’s arms twisted as he lurched sideways, snapping the handcuff chain taut. The stalemate held for a moment, until the gaunt policeman stood still, breathing hard. Yet even though he was no longer pulling Gao Yang forward, his iron grip intensified. The fat policeman bent down and stuck the gooey mass onto Gao Yang’s injured ankle, then covered it with a bristly white leaf. A coolness spread upward. “An old folk remedy for injuries,” the policeman said. “Your sore will heal within three days.”

  The procession had left them far enough behind that all they could see was an expanse of that strange crop. Not a soul anywhere, but there were unmistakable signs of people passing through the foliage. The white underbellies of large green leaves showed the path the procession had taken. Lifting Gao Yang up until his feet left the ground, the policemen began trotting with their prisoner.

  Eventually they caught up with the others at a railroad crossing, which, for all they knew, could have been the same one as a while ago. Nine prisoners and eighteen policemen, standing in three rows, were waiting for them on the elevated track bed. A half-turn, and the procession trebled its length, one black sandwiched between two whites, like a stiff black-and-white snake. Fourth Aunt was the only female prisoner, her escorts the only policewomen. They were shouting, the sound loud and lingering, the words indistinguishable.

  After rejoining the procession and forming up again into three columns, the procession entered an unlighted tunnel, where the water was ankle deep and dripped from the overhead arch, making a hollow sound in the inky darkness. Some wagons shot past, the horses’ hooves splashing loudly.

  They emerged from the tunnel onto May First Boulevard, to their surprise, and five minutes later were in May First Square, walking on a layer of rotting, disgustingly slippery garlic. Gao Yang felt miserable about his new shoes.

  Throngs of peasants lined the square. The frost on their faces, dusted with grime, didn’t look as if it would ever melt. Tears streamed down the cheeks of the few who were looking up into the sun, nearly blinded by its rays. One of them looked like an ape man, the kind he’d seen in a Schoolbook—narrow, jutting forehead, wide mouth, long, apelike arms. Anyway, this strange creature leaped out of the crowd, raised one of his long arms, opened his mouth wide, and bellowed, “Hua-lala, hua-lala, one hand on a nice big tit, add soy sauce and vinegar …” Gao Yang had no idea what he meant, but he heard his gaunt police escort mutter angrily, “A loony, a real loony!”

  After passing through the square, they turned into a narrow lane, where a boy in a nylon jacket had a pigtailed girl pinned up against a hollow in the wall and was nibbling at her face. She was trying her best to push him away. Mud-spattered geese strutted back and forth behind them. The procession passed so close behind the boy that the girl wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him to her so the column could squeeze by.

  They emerged from the lane, and there in front of them, amazingly, was May First Boulevard—again. Across the street a multistoried building was going up behind a rumbling cement mixer tended by a boy and a girl no more than eleven or twelve years old. He was shoveling sand and pouring lime and cement into the funnel, while she squirted water into the funnel with a black plastic hose that shook so violently from the high pressure that she could barely hold it. The mixing oar scraped loudly against the funnel. Then the pale-yellow derrick slowly lifted a prefab concrete slab with airholes. Four men in hard hats sat on it playing poker, shocking observers by their nonchalance.

  After another tum around the square, the prison wall was in front of him once again. The electrified wire crackled and gave off blue sparks. The piece of red cloth still hung from it. “Team Leader Xing,” one of the policemen shouted, “shouldn’t we be heading back to rest?”

  A tall, heavyset fellow with a dark face glanced at his wristwatch, then looked up at the sky. “Half an hour,” he shouted back.

  The prison gate opened with a clang, and the police herded the prisoners inside the yard. Rather than put them back into their cells, they had the
m sit in a circle on the lush green grass, where they were told to stretch their legs out in front of them, hands on their knees. The police walked off lazily, their place taken by an armed guard who kept watch over the prisoners. Some of the policemen went to the toilet, others did stretching exercises on a horizontal bar.

  After ten minutes or so, Fourth Aunt’s escorts emerged with red lacquer trays holding soft drinks in opened bottles with drinking straws. There were two lands. “The colors are different, but they taste exactly the same,” they announced. “One bottle apiece.” One of them bent down in front of Gao Yang. “Which do you want?”

  He looked uncertainly at the bottles on her tray. Some were the color of blood; others appeared to be filled with ink.

  “Hurry up, choose one. And no changing your mind later.”

  “I’ll take a red one,” he said firmly.

  She handed him a bottle filled with the red liquid, which he accepted with both hands, then held, not daring to start right away.

  After all the drinks were distributed, Gao Yang noticed that everyone but Gao Ma had chosen red.

  “Go on, drink,” one of the policewomen said.

  But the prisoners just looked at each other, not daring to take a drink.

  “You can’t repair a wall with dog shit!” the policewoman complained angrily. “Drink up, I said. On three: one, two, three, drink!”

  Gao Yang took a timid sip; a liquid tasting like garlic slid tickling down his throat.

  When the soft drinks were finished, the police regrouped, taking up their positions alongside the prisoners to form three ranks. After proceeding out the prison gate, they turned north, crossed the street, and climbed the steps of a large building with a spacious hall. It was packed with spectators, and you could have heard a pin drop. Solemn airs.

  A booming voice broke the silence: “Bring up the prisoners associated with the Paradise County garlic incident!”

  Two policemen removed Gao Yang’s handcuffs, pulled his shoulders back and forced his head down, then dragged and carried him to the defendants’ dock.

  2.

  The first thing Gao Yang saw when he looked past the railing was a large, shiny replica of the national seal. He was pinned uncomfortably between his two escorts, one fat, one skinny. A cultured-looking uniformed official with sagging jowls sat beneath the seal; seven or eight additional uniformed men were fanned out beside him, all looking like characters in a movie.

  The man in the middle, who was older than the others, cleared his throat and spoke into a microphone wrapped in red: “The first session of the Paradise County garlic incident proceedings will come to order!” He stood up—the guards on either side of him remained seated—and began reading names from a list. When his name was read out, Gao Yang didn’t know what to do. “Say ‘Present,’ “ his skinny escort said, nudging him.

  “All defendants are present,” the officer announced. “Now the charges. On the twenty-eighth of May, defendants Gao Ma, Gao Yang, the woman Fang née Wu, Zheng Changnian …” he droned on, “… smashed, looted, and demolished the county government offices, beating and injuring a number of civil servants in the process. The People’s Tribunal of Paradise County, agreeing to hear the case in accordance with Article 105, Section 1, Book 3 of the Criminal Code, has decreed a public trial before a panel of judges.”

  Gao Yang heard the spectators behind him buzz excitedly. Order in the court!” the officer demanded, banging the table with his fist. He then took a sip of tea and said, “Three judges make up the panel, headed by me, Kang Botao, presiding judge of the Paradise County People’s Tribunal. My associates are Yu Ya, member of the Standing Committee of the People’s Consultative Congress of Paradise County, and Jiang Xiwang, director of the General Office of the Paradise County Branch of the People’s Congress. Miss Song Xiufen serves as clerk. The prosecutor is Liu Feng, Deputy Chief Procurator of the Paradise County People’s Procuratorate.”

  The presiding judge sat down, as if thoroughly exhausted, took another sip of tea, and said hoarsely, “In accordance with Article 113, Subsection 1, Section 2 of the Criminal Code, the defendants have the right to challenge any member of the panel of judges, the court clerk, or the prosecutor. They also have the right to argue on their own behalf.”

  Gao Yang understood the presiding judge’s words but little of his meaning. He was so nervous his heart raced one moment and seemed to stop the next. His bladder felt as if it were about to burst, even though he knew it was empty. When he squirmed to ease the pressure, his police escorts told him to sit still.

  “Do I hear any challenges? Hm?” the presiding judge asked listlessly. “No? Fine. The prosecutor will read the formal charges.”

  The prosecutor rose. He had a pinched, tinny voice, and Gao Yang could tell by the accent that he wasn’t local. With his eyes glued to the prosecutor’s flapping lips and tightly knit brow, he gradually forgot about having to pee. Unsure of what the man was saying, he sensed vaguely that the events being chronicled had little to do with him.

  The presiding judge laid down his tea. “The court will now entertain pleas. Defendant Gao Ma, did you or did you not shout reactionary slogans, inciting the masses to smash and loot the county offices on the morning of May twenty-eighth ?”

  Gao Yang turned to look at Gao Ma, who stood in a separate dock some distance away staring at a slowly moving ceiling fan.

  “Defendant Gao Ma, did you understand the question?” The presiding judge sounded sterner this time.

  Gao Ma lowered his head until he was staring straight at the presiding judge. “I despise you people!”

  “You despise us? What on earth for?” the presiding judge said sarcastically. “We are proceeding on the basis of facts and by the authority of the law. We will not punish an innocent person nor let a single guilty one go free. Whether or not you accept that is irrelevant. Call the first witness.”

  The first witness was a fair-skinned youngster who fiddled with his shirt the whole time he was on the stand.

  “What is your name and where do you work?”

  “My name is Wang Jinshan. I’m a driver for the county.”

  “Wang Jinshan, you must tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, subject to the laws of perjury. Do you understand?”

  The witness nodded. “On the morning of May twenty-eighth I drove one of County Administrator Zhong’s guests to the station, and on the way back I was caught in a traffic jam about a hundred yards east of the county office building. There I saw the prisoner Gao Ma shout from the top of an oxcart, ‘Down with corrupt officials! Down with bureaucrats!’ “

  “The witness is excused,” the presiding judge said. “Do you have anything to say to that, Gao Ma?”

  “I despise you people!” Gao Ma replied coldly.

  As the trial proceeded, Gao Yang’s knees began to knock and he grew lightheaded. When the presiding judge addressed him, he said, “Sir, I’ve already told everything. Please don’t ask me any more questions.”

  “This is a court of law, and you will behave accordingly,” the judge replied, releasing a spray of spittle. But soon even he seemed to weary of the questioning, which hardly varied, so he announced, “That’s all I have. Now we’ll hear final arguments by the prosecutor.”

  The prosecutor stood up, made some brief comments, then sat back down.

  “Now we’ll hear from the injured parties.”

  Three individuals whose hands were wrapped in gauze came forward.

  Blah blah blah, yak yak yak, went the injured parties.

  “Do the defendants have anything to say?” the presiding judge asked.

  “Sir, my poor husband was killed. Altogether I lost him, two cows, and a wagon, and all Party Secretary Wang gave me was thirty-five hundred yuan. Sir, I’ve been victimized….” By the time she finished, Fourth Aunt was pounding the railing in front of her and wailing.

  The presiding judge frowned. “Defendant Fang née Wu, that has nothing to do with the case befor
e us.”

  “Sir, you officials aren’t supposed to protect each other like that!” she complained.

  “Defendant Fang née Wu, you are out of order. Any more outbursts like that and I’ll hold you in contempt of court. The presiding judge was clearly irritated. “Defense counsel may now present its case.”

  Among the representatives for the defendants was a young military officer. Gao Yang had seen him before but couldn’t recall where.

  “I am an instructor in the Marxist-Leninist Teaching and Research Section at the Artillery Academy. In accordance with Section 3, Article 26 of the Criminal Code, I am entided to defend my father, defendant Zheng Changnian.”

  His statement breathed life into the proceedings. A buzzing echoed off of the domed ceiling. Even the prisoners looked around until they spotted the white-haired old man seated in the center dock.

  “Order in the court!” the presiding judge demanded.

  The spectators quieted down to hear what the young officer had to say.

  Looking straight at the presiding judge, he began, “Your Honor, before I begin my father’s defense, I request permission to make an opening statement related to the trial.”

  “Permission granted,” the presiding judge said.

  He turned to face the spectators, speaking with a passion that touched everyone who heard him. “Your Honors, ladies and gentlemen, the situation in our farming villages has changed drastically in the wake of the Party’s Third Plenary Session of the Eleventh Central Committee, including those here in Paradise County. The peasants are much better off than they were during the Cultural Revolution. This is obvious to everyone. But the benefits they enjoyed as a result of rural economic reforms are gradually disappearing.”

  “Please don’t stray too far from the subject,” the presiding judge broke in.

  “Thank you for reminding me, Your Honor. I’ll get right to the point. In recent years the peasants have been called upon to shoulder ever heavier burdens: fees, taxes, fines, and inflated prices for just about everything they need. No wonder you hear them talk about plucking the wild goose’s tail feathers as it flies by. Over the past couple of years these trends have gotten out of control, which is why, I believe, the Paradise County garlic incident should have come as no surprise.”