Mo Yan - The Garlic Ballads

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 thatsecond 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.