The Garlic Ballads

Sadness kept her from answering. She was already recalling Mother’s virtues and some hazy events from her own childhood. My gimpy elder brother carried me piggyback; now he and Father are crawling and hobbling through the field, cutting down beans. The setting sun has lit up the western sky. Their heads glisten. Even the wildwoods are gentle and inviting. There to the north is the village where I’ve lived for twenty years. Ribbons of chimney smoke mean Mother is cooking dinner. If I run away … the thought was unendurable. Off to the east an ox plodded down the road, pulling a cart piled high with beans. “The dog days of summer, sweltering in the sixth month,” the driver was singing. “Second Daughter rides her donkey out into the wilderness….”

Sparrows flew by like a dissolving cloud, heading for Gao Ma’s corn, which stirred briefly. A tall figure came into view, then just as quickly vanished. She moved toward it but stopped. She was being pulled in opposite directions by equally powerful forces.

Father’s voice broke the stalemate: “What are you standing around for? The earlier we finish, the sooner we can go home.”

There was no warmth in his voice now, and her resolve returned in a flash. Throwing down her scythe, she ran toward Gao Ma’s cornfield.

“Where do you think you’re going?” an unhappy Father yelled.

She kept running.

“You’re not going home before we finish, are you?” Elder Brother shouted.

She turned. “I have to pee. You can come along if you don’t trust me!” Without another glance at either of them, she darted into the cornfield.

“Jinju.” Gao Ma grabbed her around the waist and held her for a moment. “Crouch down,” he whispered. “Run like the wind!”

They ran hand in hand down a furrow, heading south as fast as their legs would carry them. Dry corn leaves slapped her in the face, so she closed her eyes and simply ran where the hand led her. Warm tears slid down her cheeks. I’ll never come back, she was thinking. The silken thread tying her to home had parted, and there was no turning back. The din set up by dry corn leaves nearly paralyzed her with fear, and she could hear the pounding of her heart.

The cornfield was bordered by a riverbank lined with indigo bushes, and even in her confused state she sensed their unique, intoxicating aroma.

Gao Ma dragged her up onto the riverbank. Instinctively she turned to look back and saw an enormous bronze orb sinking slowly toward the horizon: she saw multihued clouds; she saw an expanse of sunlit fields; and she saw Father and Elder Brother stumbling toward her, brandishing their scythes. Tears gushed from her eyes.

Gao Ma dragged her down the inside slope of the riverbank, but by then she was too weak to stand. The narrow river formed the boundary between two counties — Pale Horse to the south, Paradise to the north. It was called Following Stream. The flow of shallow murky water caused a barely perceptible swaying of reeds at the river’s edge as Gao Ma hoisted her onto his back and ran into the water without taking off his shoes or rolling up his pant cuffs. From her piggyback vantage point she heard dry reeds whisper and water splash. She knew the mud was thick and gooey by the way he was panting.

After climbing the opposite bank, they were in Pale Horse County, where a vast marshland spread out before them, planted exclusively with jute. As a late crop, it was still kingfisher green, and still full of life. They felt stranded in the middle of an ocean, and no shore in sight.

With Jinju still perched on his back, Gao Ma dashed into the jute fields. Now they were like two fish in that ocean.

CHAPTER 5

In the eighth month sunflowers face the sun.

If the baby cries, give him to his mother.

Be brave, fellow townsmen, throw out your chests—

If you cant sell your garlic, go see the county administrator….

— from a ballad sung by Zhang Kou, the blind minstrel, during a garlic glut

1.

The police frantically placed the horse-faced young man into a red-and-yellow police wagon. Gao Yang couldn’t see his face, but there was blood all over the white tunic wrapped around his head, and more of it dripping to the ground. The unlocked handcuffs dangling from his wrist dragged along the ground as he was lifted into the wagon. A young policeman jumped into the cab to take over for the driver, who stood by ashen-faced, neck scrunched down and arms hanging stiffly at his sides as he quaked in terror. After confiscating his driver’s license, the policemen kicked him repeatedly.

“Little Gao, hurry up and get the prisoners loaded,” old Zheng shouted. “We’ll come back to pick this one up later.”