Mo Yan - The Garlic Ballads

2.

The roar of waves woke her, breaking over her persistently until she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Gao Ma’s gaunt face, framed in the rich orange rays of sunlight. His face was purple, his lips parched and cracked; there were dark circles around his eyes, and his hair looked like the wiry fur of a street mutt. Shuddering at the sight, she quickly became aware that her hand was in the tight grip of his, and as she gazed into his eyes, she felt as if a total stranger were grasping her hand. A sense of terror that swept through her was invaded by faint lurkings of guilt, the recognition of which further terrified her. She pulled her hand free and shrank from him, until her path of retreat was blocked by a tall and unyielding wall of jute. Golden slivers of sunlight seeped through the interstices of the jute wall, and the talon-shaped leaves quivered in some secret sign.

It was Father’s voice, old and raspy: “Jinju … Jinju …” She sat up rigidly and grabbed Gao Mas hand. “Jinju … Jinju …” Elder Brother’s voice, shrill and flustered. Their calls glided over the tips of jute bushes and continued on toward the horizon. Gao Ma sat up, his eyes round and alert, like those of a cornered dog.

They held their breath and listened intently. The rustling of bushes and the sounds of heavy breathing at the sandbar to the north deepened the stillness of dusk. She could hear her own heartbeat.

“Jinju … Jinju … Jinju … Jinju! You little whore, you’re doing this to ruin me!”?

She could almost see her father crying. Releasing Gao Ma’s hand, she stood up with tears in her eyes.

Father’s shouts were, if anything, drearier than ever. She called out just before Gao Ma clamped his hand over her mouth. The hand reeked of garlic — she clawed at it, her muffled shouts oozing out between the fingers. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and began dragging her away. She clawed at his head. As he sucked in his breath, the hand covering her mouth fell. Something wet and sticky emerged from under her fingernails as they dug into his scalp, and she watched trickles of golden-red blood appear at his hairline and flow into his eyebrows.

She threw her arms around his neck. “You … what is it?” She was crying.

He touched his forehead with his palm. “You scraped off a scab where the stool hit me.”

Laying her head on his shoulder, she sobbed softly. “Elder Brother Gao Ma, it’s all my fault … I did this to you.”

“It’s not your fault. I asked for it.” He paused. “Jinju, I see things more clearly now. You go back home.” He squatted down and held his head in his hands.

“No … Elder Brother …” She knelt down and wrapped her arms around his knees. “My mind’s made up,” she said. “I’ll follow you anywhere, even if we have to beg to get by.”

3.

Night set in as the sun sank beneath the horizon. The jute tips were capped by an ethereal green mist, through which a dozen or so fist-sized stars peeked. Jinju twisted her ankle and fell. “Gao Ma,” she gasped. “I cant walk another step.

He bent down and helped her up. “We have to keep moving. Your family will send people to find us.”

“But I can’t walk anymore.…” By now she was crying.

He let go of her arms and began pacing the area. Autumn insects chirped amid the jute; a dog barked in a distant village.

Jinju lay on her back in a daze. Her ankle was swelling and her legs ached. “Get some sleep,” he said. “There must be five thousand acres of jute here, and the only way they could find us would be to use police dogs. Close your eyes and get some sleep.”

She awoke during the middle of the night. The sky was filled with stars, all winking mysteriously. Heavy pearl drops of dew splashed noisily on jute leaves that had fallen to the ground. Insects chirped more loudly than ever, setting up a racket like the plucking of lute strings by a bamboo pick. A sound like shifting sand rose from the floor of the jute field. This must be what it’s like to sail the ocean, she thought, lying on her back. The jute had an acrid smell that scooped up the rank aroma of moist earth as it leapt from the ground. A pair of night birds circled above, the flapping of their wings and their eerie screeches penetrating the thickening mist. She tried to roll over, but her body seemed weighted down, turned to stone. A myriad of tiny, thin sounds rose from the field, as if mysterious little creatures were prancing and tiptoeing among the jute plants, from which phosphorescent eyes glimmered and winked. Her terror returned.

Mustering all her strength, Jinju staggered to her feet. The cold autumn-night air had chilled her to the bone, numbing her limbs with the dampness of the ground. She was suddenly reminded of something her mother had told her: sleeping on damp ground in misty night air is an open invitation to leprosy. Mother’s face flashed before her eyes, giving rise to remorse: no heated kang to sleep on, no scurrying mice in the rafters, no crickets chirping in the corner of the wall, and none of Elder Brother’s talking in his sleep or Second Brother’s snores in the next room. She stood as if her body had ceased to function, her thoughts fixated on her cozy, smoky kang. Frightened by thoughts of the night around her and of the day to come, she suddenly saw herself as absurd and Gao Ma as loathsome.

Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and now stars shimmered brighdy, some of the light turning pale green as it reflected off of the jute leaves and stalks. She looked at Gao Ma, who was sitting up only three paces away, his hands clasped around his knees to pillow his head. He neither moved nor made a sound, like a figure carved of stone. At that moment they were separated by an immense gulf, and she felt alone as, one by one, the green eyes around drew nearer and nearer, and the crisp tramping of dry leaves by tiny paws rattled in her ears. Behind her lay a blanket of cold air, as icy snouts nuzzled the nape of her neck. A scream tore from her throat — she couldn’t help herself.

Gao Ma leapt to his feet and ran in a circle; the jute crackled like burning oil, and a line of little green lights flew around him like a spinning hoop. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

This was a man, not a cold, dark rock on a reef, and his panic snapped her out of her imaginings. Waves of cold air behind her drove her into his arms; into the heat from his body

“Elder Brother Gao Ma, I’m scared, and I’m cold….”

“Don’t be scared, Jinju, I’m right here.”

He held her tightly, and the strength of his arms rekindled long-dormant memories. Only months before he had held me like this and pressed his bristly mouth against mine. But now she had neither the will nor the strength to answer the call of his burning lips, which reeked of moldy garlic.

She twisted her stiff neck around and hugged him tightly. “I’m cold … numb all over.…”

Gao Ma loosened his grip, and her knees buckled. He picked up her coat from where she had lain, and as he shook it out, green flashes spilled into the surrounding jute, swelling and shrinking, brightening and fading.

Gao Ma draped the coat over her shoulders. Made heavy by the wet night air, it gave off the rank odor of a foul dogskin. He laid her down on the ground to massage her limbs with his callused hands. Each finger and toe, every muscle and tendon was rubbed and massaged, her joints pinched and prodded. Electric currents spread from each spot his hands touched. A warmth flowed from her feet to her head and back down to her feet. Closing her eyes to mere slits, she reached out to catch the green sparkles that floated about his naked back, which was thin and bony. But what she found most enticing were his dark, pea-sized, manly nipples, which she suddenly felt compelled to pinch.