Mo Yan - The Garlic Ballads

Suddenly the lamplight brightened considerably, and the sounds of the diesel motor and gurgling water grew louder and clearer. Seeing his own shadow made Gao Yang bashfully aware of his own timidity, even as he walked up to the lamp. It hung from a wooden pole beside a red, twelve-horsepower diesel motor mounted on four wooden posts above the path. The fan belt didn’t appear to be turning, but he knew that was an illusion, since the shiny metal clip kept flashing past and making a clicking noise. Clear water gurgled up through a thick plastic hose inserted deep into a well and gushed out of the pump. A pair of sneakers on a sheet of plastic was the only sign of life, even when he squinted to get a better look. The air was heavy with the smell of young corn.

“Who’s there?” came a voice out of the darkness.

“Just a passerby in need of a little water,” he replied.

Rustling cornstalks preceded the appearance of a tall, husky man with a hoe over his shoulder. He walked up to the pump and washed his muddy feet in the gushing water, then rinsed off the hoe. Lamplight shimmered in the water dripping from the blade.

After jumping across the irrigation ditch, the man leaned against his hoe and said, “Go ahead, drink as much as you want.”

Gao Yang ran over, knelt down, and thrust his mouth into the powerful stream of water, which numbed his lips and nearly choked him. When he couldn’t drink another drop, he washed his face, filled his pail, and carried it over to the lantern.

The man was observing him closely, so he returned the favor.

He was a poised young man in a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of uniform trousers. He reached down to unfasten a shiny watch that hung from his belt, and slipped it over his wrist. He checked the time. “What are you doing out so late?”

“Selling my garlic. I haven’t had a drop to drink all day long. The sound of your water was music to my ears.”

“What township are you from?”

“Gaotong.”

“That’s a long ways from here. Didn’t your local co-op set up a purchasing station?”

“They’re too busy selling fertilizer to worry about things like that.”

The young man laughed. “That’s normal. Everybody wants to get rich these days. How did the sale go?”

“Not good. When our turn came, we were told that the warehouse was full and no more garlic would be bought for the time being. If they were going to reopen tomorrow, I’d hang around all night instead of going home. But who the devil knows if the scales will be back in business this month or even this year!”

Out came the rest — he couldn’t help himself. “It was a near riot,” he said. “The scales were smashed, the table set on fire, windows broke — they even torched an official sedan.”

“Do you mean to say the masses rose up in revolt?” the young man asked excitedly.

“I don’t know about a revolt,” Gao Yang replied with a sigh, “but it was a riot for sure. Some didn’t seem to care what happened to them.”

“My father and one of my brothers went to town to sell our garlic. I wonder if they’re okay.”

Gao Yang’s gaze fell on the young mans white, even teeth, and he could tell he was trying to disguise his northern accent. “There’s something special about you, Elder Brother,” he commented. “I can tell.”

“I’m in the army, nothing special,” the young man said.

“I can see you’re a decent man. No matter how well life is treating you, you still come home to help your father. That tells me you’re bound to have a bright future.”

The young man took out a pack of cigarettes, which looked like a fresh flower in the lamplight. He offered one to Gao Yang. “I don’t smoke,” Gao Yang said, “but a friend of mine is waiting for me back on the road. I’m sure he’s never smoked a cigarette this good before.” He tucked it behind his ear, picked up his pail, and retraced his steps back to the road.

“Where’d you go for that water, the East Ocean?”. Fourth Uncle grumbled. The donkey stood there stupidly. Fourth Uncle’s cow was lying on the road beside the cart.

“Here, have some water,” Gao Yang said. “I’ll take care of the animals.”

Burying his face in the pail, Fourth Uncle drank his fill, then stood up and belched several times. Gao Yang removed the cigarette from behind his ear and handed it to him. “I met someone special,” he said. “He said he was just a soldier, but I could see right off he was an officer. When he offered me a cigarette, I said I don’t smoke, but I brought it back for you.”

Fourth Uncle accepted it and held it up under his nose. “It smells pretty ordinary.”

“He came home to help his father in the field, even though he’s an officer. Not bad, hm? Most people nowadays can’t wait to throw away their beggar’s staff and beat up on the next person with one. Look at our own Wang Tai. He pretends he doesnt even know us.

“Had enough?” Gao Yang asked. “I’ll water the cow.”

“Start with the donkey. This cow of mine wont chew her cud. I’m afraid she might be sick. She’s pregnant, and if I lose her on top of not selling my garlic, I’m in bad shape.”

The donkey, having gotten wind of the water, began to snort, but Gao Yang walked up to the cow. She tried to get to her feet, but couldn’t manage without Fourth Uncle’s help. A bluish light emerged from her large, sad eyes. Gao Yang held the pail under her nose, but she only lapped up a swallow or two before raising her head and licking her lips and nose with her long tongue.

“Is that all she’s going to drink?” Gao Yang asked.

“She’s picky. The only way Fourth Aunt can get her to drink is by spreading bran on top of the water.”

“A life of ease, even the cow you please,” Gao Yang quipped. “Not many years ago people went without bran, let alone cows.”

“Quit dawdling and water your donkey.”

The donkey strained at the bit as it lapped up every last drop in the pail, then shook its head to show it wanted more.

“Let’s get moving,” Fourth Uncle said. “The animals will get sick if they don’t work up a sweat after that cold water.”

“How much did she cost you, Fourth Uncle?”

“Nine hundred thirty, not counting the tax.”

“That much?” Gao Yang clicked his tongue. “You could cover her from head to hoof with that many bills.”

“Money’s worthless these days,” Fourth Uncle said. “Pork has gone up ninety fen in six months — ninety fen a pound! We can’t afford more than a few pounds a year.”

“But you make out okay, Fourth Uncle, since you can count on a calf every year. If the first one’s a female, you break even right there. Raising cows is a lot better than planting garlic.”

“You only see one side of things,” Fourth Uncle protested. “Do you suppose all a cow needs is the northwest wind? Where do you think the hay and mash come from?”

Their conversation waned as the night deepened. Both carts rocked lightly from side to side. A weary Gao Yang jumped onto his cart — donkey be damned — and sat down, leaning against the rail. His eyelids felt weighted down, but he forced himself to stay awake. By then they were on sandy soil; the roadside foliage was unchanged from the night before, except that the absence of moonlight kept the leaves from shining. Also unchanged, and interminable, were the chirps of katydids and crickets.

Another incline placed an even greater strain on the donkey, which began to sound like an asthmatic old man. Gao Yang got off the cart and walked on the road, lessening the animal’s wheezing a bit. Fourth Uncle stayed on his cart and let his pregnant cow pull him up the incline, whatever the strain; that did not go unnoticed by Gao Yang. I thought he had a kinder heart than that, he mused, reminding himself to have as little as possible to do with people like him from now on.