Mo Yan - The Garlic Ballads

The older Fang boy spoke up: “Gao Ma, you’ve done enough harm for one person. Go scrape up the ten thousand and take Jinju with you. We don’t want a sister like that, and we sure as hell don’t want a brother-in-law like you!”

Gao Ma, his face scarlet, walked off without another word.

3.

As she lay in her jail cell, Fourth Aunt relived the events surrounding the return of Fourth Uncle from the government compound. Once again it was the lame elder brother in front and the younger brother in the rear, which caused the door to rock and Fourth Uncle’s head to loll from side to side. The sound of his head thumping against the door wasn’t nearly as crisp as it had been on the way over. No sooner had they emerged onto the street than the gate was closed behind them. Troubled by feelings of emptiness, Fourth Aunt turned to take a last look inside, where she saw a group of administrative types stream into the yard as if popping out of the ground, to gather around Deputy Yang; there were sneers and grins on their faces, Deputy Yang’s included.

The passage of Fourth Uncle’s corpse attracted far less attention than it had on the way over, when anyone who could walk fell in behind the grisly procession. Now the cortege comprised only a few yapping dogs.

Back home, the brothers laid their poles in front of the gate, making the door thud against the ground and raising clouds of noise from Gao Zhileng’s parakeets. Jinju, a blank look in her eyes, opened the gate. “Carry your father inside and lay him on the kang,” Fourth Aunt said. Neither son spoke or budged.

“Mother,” Number One broke the silence, “people say you shouldn’t lay the corpse of someone who’s died a violent death on the kang—”

Fourth Aunt cut him off. “Your father worked like a dog all his life, and now that he’s dead is he to be denied the comfort of a warm kang? That would be more than I could stand.”

Number Two remarked, “He is dead, after all, so a regular bed is just as good. ‘Death is like extinguishing a light,’ as the saying goes. ‘Breath becomes a spring breeze, flesh and bones turn to mud.’ If you put him on a heated kang, he’ll turn bad even faster.”

“In other words, do you plan to let your own father lie outside?”

“It’s as good a place as any,” Number Two replied. “The cool winds will cut down on the smell, and we’ll be spared the trouble of having to carry him outside tomorrow morning.”

“And let the dogs get at him?”

“Mother,” Number One spoke up, “we’ll be skinning the cow and carving up the meat to take to market tomorrow. What Deputy Yang said made sense, especially the part about how the dead are gone, but the survivors have to keep on living.”

Poor Fourth Aunt had no choice. Between sobs she said, “Husband, since your sons won’t let you sleep on the kang, you’ll have to lie out here tonight.”

“Don’t make yourself feel worse, Mother,” the older son said. “Go in and lie down. We’ll take care of things out here.” He then lit the lantern and set it on a stone roller alongside the threshing floor, while his brother brought out a pair of stools and placed them several feet apart on the ground. They picked up the door on which Fourth Uncles corpse lay and rested it on the stools.

“Go inside and get some rest, Mother,” her older son urged. “We’ll watch the body. Say what you want, but Father was fated to die like this, so there’s no reason to be so sad.”

But she sat down beside the raised door and cleaned maggots out of Fourth Uncle’s various openings with a twig while her sons spread a beat-up old tarp out on the threshing floor and rolled the dead cow up onto it until its belly was facing skyward. Then they propped the animal in that position by placing bricks on either side of its backbone. Four legs, stiff as boards, stuck straight up in the air.

Number One picked up a carving knife, Number Two a cleaver. Beginning in the center of the abdomen, they sliced the animal open, then began skinning it, Number One to the east, Number Two to the west. Fourth Aunt’s nostrils picked up the powerful stench of the dead cow and of Fourth Uncle.

Sister-in-Law, the murky light from that lantern fell on my husband’s face, and his black eyes bored into me until blasts of cold air shot out of every joint in my body. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t dig those maggots out of him. I know it sounds disgusting, but it didn’t seem so to me at the time. I hated those maggots, and I squashed every one I got my hands on. And my sons, all they cared about was skinning that cow. Not a thought for their own father. But my daughter carried a basin of water outside to clean his face with damp cotton. And since we didn’t have another knife, she trimmed the gray stubble on his chin with a pair of scissors, and even cut back his nose hairs. He cut quite a figure when he was young, but got all shriveled up when he was old, and was a real sight. Then she brought out his dark-green jacket, and the two of us put it on him. I know it doesnt seem right for a couple of women to be dressing a man, but right after I asked my sons to help, I noticed their bloody hands and told them to forget it. Jinju, I said, this is your own father, not some strange man, so let’s you and me do it. He was skin and bones, and the clothes helped a lot. All this time, my sons were’s truggling with that cowhide, until their faces were all sweaty. That reminded me of a joke. An old man calls his three sons to his deathbed. ‘I’m going to die soon. How do you boys plan to dispose of my body?” The eldest son says, “Dad, we’re so poor we can’t afford a decent coffin, so I say we buy a cheap pine box, put you in it, and bury you. How does that sound?”

“No good,” his father says, shaking his head, “no good at all.”

“Dad,” the second son says, “I think we ought to wrap you in an old straw mat and bury you that way. How’s that?”

“No good,” his father says, “no good at all.” The third son says, “Dad, here’s what I recommend: we chop you into three pieces, skin you, and take everything to market, where we palm you off as dogmeat, beef, and donkey. What do you think of that?” Their father smiles and says, “Number Three knows his father’s mind. Now don’t forget to add a little water to the meat to keep the weight up.” Are you asleep, Sister-in-Law?

Her sons’ hands were so coated with blood and gore that the knives kept slipping, so they wiped them off on the ground; the yellow grains of sand that stuck to their hands looked like little gold nuggets. Flies from the government compound, having picked up the smell, came flitting over and landed on the cow’s carcass, crawling all over it. Number Two smashed them with the side of his cleaver. Meanwhüe, Fourth Aunt told Jinju to get her well-used fan so she could keep the flies from landing on Fourth Uncle’s face and producing more maggots.

The sound of birds on the wing broke the silence above them. Dark recesses in the wall were home to the green eyes and urgent pant-ings of wild creatures.

Around midnight the brothers finally finished skinning the cow. Now the animal was in the raw, except for its four hooves — sort of like a naked man wearing only a pair of shoes. Number Two dumped a bucket of water on the skinned animal; then the boys squatted alongside it and smoked cigarettes. When they finished their smokes, they began the butchering process. “Easy, now,” Number One said. “Don’t damage the organs.” Number Two made an incision in the abdomen, and the animal’s guts tumbled out, along with the unborn calf. A hot, rank odor assailed Fourth Aunt’s nostrils. The shrieks of birds rent the sky above them.