Mo Yan - The Garlic Ballads

After evacuating the long coils of intestines, Number Two was about to throw them away when Number One said they went well with wine if you cleaned them up. As for the calf, he said that an unborn bovine fetus had medicinal properties, and that people got rich palming it off as balm of deer uterus.

Don’t be so sad, Sister-in-Law. You say they gave you five years? Well, those years will just fly by, and by the time you get out, your son will be a useful member of society.

4.

“Better to be a military advisor than a property divider,” the village boss, Gao Jinjiao, said. “Why me? Officials who don’t bail people out of jams should stay home and plant their yams.’ Okay, let’s hear what each of you has to say, and confine it to the here and now.”

“Director,” Number One said, “we want you to divide it up.”

So Gao Jinjiao began. “You have a four-room house. One for each brother, two for Fourth Aunt. When she dies — I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Fourth Aunt, but the truth isn’t always pleasant — each of you gets one of her rooms. Since one is larger than the other, the smaller one includes the gate and the arch above it. The kitchen utensils will be divided into three portions; then you’ll draw lots to see who gets which portion. Damages for Fourth Uncle and the cow came to three thousand six hundred yuan, which divides out to twelve hundred apiece. There is thirteen hundred yuan in the bank, so each son gets four hundred, Fourth Aunt gets five. When Gao Ma hands over the ten thousand, half will go to Fourth Aunt, the other half will be divided equally between the two brothers. When Jinju marries, Fourth Aunt will be responsible for the dowry. You boys are welcome to help out, but no one’s forcing you to. Your grain stores will be divided into three and a half portions, with Jinju getting the half-portion. When Fourth Aunt gets ‘ to the age where she can’t take care of herself, you boys will take turns caring for her, alternating every month or every year, however you want to work it out. That’s about it. Have I forgotten anything?”

“What about the garlic?” Elder Brother asked.

“Divide that into three portions as well,” Gao Jinjiao replied. “But is Fourth Aunt able to go to market and sell her share of the garlic at her age? Number One, why not add her share to yours, and you sell it at the market, then divide the profits?”

“Director, with this leg of mine

Okay, then, how about you, Number Two?”

“If he won’t do it, I’ll be damned if I will!”

“This is your mother we’re talking about, not some total stranger.”

“I don’t need their help. I’ll sell it myself!” Fourth Aunt proclaimed.

“That settles it,” Number Two said.

“Anything else?” Gao Jinjiao asked.

Number One said, “I recall he had a new jacket.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it, you little bastard?” Fourth Aunt snapped at her son. ‘That jacket’s for me.”

“Remember the saying,” Number One protested. “ ‘Father’s jacket, Mother’s bindings, next generation riches finding.’ Why do you want to keep his jacket?”

“Since we’re dividing things up, let’s do it right,” Number Two remarked.

“Majority rules,” Gao Jinjiao declared. “You’d better bring it out, Fourth Aunt.”

She opened the beat-up old chest and took out the jacket.

“Brother,” Number One said, “now that we’ve divided up all the family property, my bachelorhood is settled once and for all. Since you can easily find a wife, I should get the jacket.”

“Dear Brother,” Number Two replied, “I can eat shit, I just don’t like the taste. Since we’re dividing the family property, we have to be fair. No one should do better than anyone else.”

One jacket, and both of you want it,” Gao Jinjiao commented. “Any ideas? Except for cutting it in two, that is.”

“Then cut it in two if that’s the only way,” Number Two demanded. Picking the jacket up, he draped it over a wood stump, went inside for his cleaver, and split the jacket right down the middle seam, as Fourth Aunt looked on and cried her eyes out. Then, gritting his teeth with the fire of determination in his eyes, he picked up the two* halves and tossed one to his brother. “Half for you and half for me,” he said. “We’re even.”

A sneering Jinju picked up a pair of worn-out shoes. “These were Father’s. One for you and one for you!”—and she flung a single shoe at each of her brothers.

1.

A jailer led him down the long corridor while another walked behind him to the right, pressing a rifle muzzle up against his ribs. An identical gray metal door with an identical small opening fronted each cell, the only differences being the Arabic numbers above the doors and the faces looking out through the tiny openings. They were bloated, grotesquely enlarged, the faces of living ghosts. He shuddered. Every step was torture. Behind one of the windows a female convict giggled. “Jailer, here’s twenty cents, buy me some sanitary napkins, okay?” The jailer responded with an angry curse: “Slut!” But when Gao Yang turned to see what the woman looked like, he felt a nudge from the rifle. “Keep moving!”

Reaching the end of the corridor, they passed through a steel door and climbed a narrow, rickety staircase. The jailer’s leather shoes clacked loudly on the wooden steps, while the slaps of Gao Yang’s bare feet were barely audible. The warm, dry wood felt so much better on his feet than the damp, slippery concrete corridor floor. Up and up he climbed, with no end in sight; he was soon panting, and as the staircase wound steeply round, he began to get dizzy. If not for the jailer behind him, silently nudging him along with his rifle, he’d have lain down like a dying dog, spread out over as many steps as were required to support him. His injured ankle throbbed like a pulsating heart; the surrounding skin was so puffy his anklebone all but disappeared. It burned and ached. Old man in heaven, please don’t let it get infected, he uttered in silent prayer. Would that aristocratic woman be willing to lance it and release the pus? That thought reminded him of how she had smelled.

A large room with a wooden floor painted red. White plaster shows through the peeling green paint on the walls. Bright daylight shines down from the ceiling on four crackling electric prods. Desks line the northern wall. A male and two female jailers sit behind the desks. One of the women has a face like a persimmon fresh from the garden. He recognizes the words painted on the wall behind them.

A jailer orders him to sit on the floor, for which he is immensely grateful. He is then told to stretch his legs out in front and rest his manacled hands on his knees. He does as he’s told.

“Is your name Gao Yang?”

“Yes.”

“Age?”

“Forty-one.”

“Occupation?”

“Farmer.”

“Family background?”

“Urn … my, uh, parents were landlords….”

“Are you familiar with government policy?”