Mo Yan - The Garlic Ballads

Gao Yang spotted Fourth Aunt Fang holding on to the bars in the women’s side. He barely recognized her, she had changed so much in the day since he’d last seen her. He chose not to hail her.

Under the watchful eyes of silent prisoners holding on to the bars, the guards carried a large bamboo basket over to the tomato patch. They were giggling and having a grand time, especially a short, freckle-faced girl of about twenty, who was laughing the loudest.

Gao Yang heard his young cellmate call out playfully, Officer, be a good girl and toss one of those tomatoes this way, all right?”

The woman just gaped at the cage.

“Come on, be a good girl, and toss me one,” he tried again.

“Call me ‘Great-Aunt,’ “ the freckle-faced guard said, “and maybe I will.”

“Great-Aunt!” the young prisoner shouted without hesitation.

Shocked at first, she then doubled over with laughter.

“Little Liu, you’d better give your great-nephew a tomato,” her companions teased her.

So she straightened up, pulled a half-ripe tomato out of the bamboo basket, took careful aim, and flung it with all her might. It rebounded off a bar and landed a couple of feet from the cage.

“Is that the best you can do, Little Liu?” one of her companions, who was skinny as fishbone, mocked her.

The freckle-faced guard picked up another tomato, aimed it at the young inmate, and let fly again. This one made it through the bars and landed on the cement floor, where it was pounced on by a swarm of prisoners. Gao Yang couldn’t see who wound up with the tomato, but he heard strange, piteous wails.

“Damn it!” the young inmate cursed. “That was a gift from my great-aunt! Damn it to hell! The tiger kills the prey just so the bear can eat.”

By now the tomato was in someone else’s stomach, so the prisoners went back to holding the bars and gazing outside.

“Great-Aunt, one more, please!” the young inmate pleaded.

He was joined by a chorus of shouts—”Great-Aunt” by some prisoners, “Big Sister” by others — and the unmistakable voice of his middle-aged cellmate: “Fuck your great-aunt!” By then the guards were pelting the cage with tomatoes, over which the prisoners fought like a pack of mad dogs, snarling and growling and forming tight little clusters.

Guards came rushing up from both ends of the corridor, rifles at the ready, followed by turnkeys, who ran into the cage. Rifle bolts clicked as the cloth-shod turnkeys kicked the array of legs and buttocks in front of them. The shriek of a police whisde split the air.

“Get your asses back inside, all of you!” the turnkeys shouted.

Like a tightly packed school of fish, the inmates slipped through the little metal door. It clanged shut and was bolted behind Gao Yang, the last man in. The exercise period was over.

The cage, the garden, the barbed wire — all of it gone. For the first time, Gao Yang realized how narrow the corridor was. He heard a man arguing with the female guards outside. The high-pitched voice of the freckle-faced officer was easy to distinguish from all the others.

4.

Reentering the cell felt like crawling into a cave, one so dark it dulled Gao Yang’s sight and hearing — but not, unfortunately, his sense of smell. The stench of mildew and rot nearly bowled him over.

In a low voice the middle-aged inmate said, “You there, new man, stand up.”

“Elder B-Brother,” he stammered, “what do you want from me?”

The man grinned conspiratorily. “How were those noodles?”

“They were good,” he replied shyly.

“Did you hear that? He said they were good.”

“Good, but hard to digest,” the young inmate said.

“You got special food,” the old prisoner spat out as he rushed Gao Yang and began scratching his head and face.

The middle-aged inmate pulled the old man away and forced Gao Yang to back up. When his back was against the wall, he gazed fearfully at the opening in the door. “Don’t shout, or I’ll strangle you,” the inmate threatened. “An ass-licking, tail-wagging dog is what you are!”

“Elder Brother … please don’t.”

“Tell us what kind of noodles they were.”

He shook his head.

“I know, they were hollow-core noodles. Now we’ll see how hollow your core is!” The inmate signaled the others. “Come on, men, three punches apiece, until we get him to puke!”

The young inmate clenched his fist, took aim at Gao Yang’s breastbone, and delivered three quick, hard punches.

Gao Yang wailed piteously, and while his mouth was open, the mass of noodles came tumbling out. When he was through vomiting, he lay sprawled on the cement floor.

Okay, thief,” the middle-aged inmate said, “I heard you yell for your great-aunt out there, but you didn’t get a single tomato. So now I’m going to reward you.”

“Uncle, I don’t want—”

“Keep your voice down. I’m going to let you lap up the noodles he just deposited on the floor.”

Down on his knees, the young inmate begged softly, “Uncle, good Uncle, dear Uncle, I promise I’ll never again—”

The sudden rattle of keys at the door sent the three men scurrying to their cots.

The door opened with a blaze of light, and an officer standing in the doorway held up a sheet of paper. “Number Nine, out!”

Crawling over to the door as fast as he could, leaving a trail of tears and snot, Gao Yang pleaded, Officer, please, please save me!”

“What’s wrong with you, Number Nine?” the officer asked him.

“He’s sick,” the middle-aged inmate said. “All feverish, talks jibberish. They brought him some food from the infirmary, but he threw everything up.”

“Should we still take him out?” the man asked his partner.

“Let’s try it and see what happens.” “On your feet!” the guard ordered.

As soon as Gao Yang was standing, the nearest officer snapped a pair of golden handcuffs over his wrists.

1.

After clambering unsteadily to his feet, Gao Ma toppled over again, just as seven or eight gaily colored parakeets flew in through the open window, made passes above and below the roof beams, then playfully hugged the walls, brushing past Jinju’s hanging corpse. The silkiness of their feathers made them appear bare-skinned. Jinju’s body swung gracefully, causing the doorframe to creak. In the late-night silence even the faintest sounds thudded against his eardrum. Although no pain disturbed his numbed heart, the sickeningly sweet taste in his mouth told him he was about to cough up blood again. “Gao Ma!” He shouted his own name. Gao Ma, you were fated to take a bloody fall from the moment Jinju became yours. You have coughed up blood, vomited blood, spat blood, pissed blood — you are blood-spattered from head to toe.

Clutching the doorframe, he straightened up slowly, like a bent tree reaching for the sky. It was hard, but he managed to stand on his own two feet. It’s all my fault, Jinju. The sight of her sagging belly made the sickeningly sweet taste in his throat stronger than ever. Mounting a bench, he fumbled with the knot in the rope — shaky hands, feeble fingers. The strong, acrid, and garlicky smell of her body hit him full-force; so did the sickeningly sweet taste in his throat. He could discern a slight difference between the smell of her blood and his. A man’s blood is blazing hot, a woman’s icy cold. A woman’s blood is clean and pure, a man’s dirty and polluted. Parakeets flitted under his armpits and between his legs, their malicious squawks making his heart skip a beat. He lacked the strength to loosen the knot. The rope was so thick, and was stretched so taut, that he knew he could never untie it.