The Garlic Ballads

The shrill squawks of the parakeets grated on the ears, as the chestnut colt, tail swishing rapidly, paced the area, its bright eyes poking holes in the misty darkness. It began nibbling at a pile of chaff, only half-seriously, it appeared, but enough to send the slightly mildewy smell of millet on the wind to Gao Ma, who crept around the stack to inch closer to Jinju’s barred gate, through which slivers of light seeped. He couldn’t tell what time it was, since his watch didn’t have a luminous dial. Around nine, he figured. Just then the clock in Gao Zhileng’s home began to chime, and Gao Ma moved far enough away from the parakeet squawks to count the chimes. Nine all together. He’d guessed right. His thoughts drifted back to what had happened the night before and to the movie Le Rouge et le Noir, which he had seen in the army: Julien takes Madame de Rênal’s hand while he is counting the peals of the church bell.

Gao Ma had squeezed Jinju’s hand, and she had squeezed his back. They hadn’t let go until Zhang Kou finished his ballad, and then only with great reluctance. In the confusion of all the getting up and going, he whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow night by the millet chaff. We need to talk.”

He wasn’t looking at her, didn’t even know if she heard him. But the next day he worked so absentmindedly that he frequendy dug up seedlings and spared the weeds. The afternoon sun was still high in the sky when he went home, where he trimmed his beard, squeezed a couple of pimples alongside his nose, scraped some of the gunk off his teeth with the scissors, and washed his shaved scalp and neck with toilet soap. After a hurried meal he dug out his seldom-used toothbrush and toothpaste to give his teeth a good brushing.

The parakeets’ squawking made him edgy, and each time he strode up to the gate, he meekly turned and headed back. Then the gate creaked, setting off a drumroll in his heart. He thrust his hand into the stack of chaff up to the elbow without feeling a thing. The chestnut colt, suddenly energized, began to gallop, its hooves sending dirt clods thudding into the chaff with scary resonance.

“Where do you think you’re going at this late hour?” Fourth Aunt shouted.

“It’s not late. It’s barely dark out.” Just hearing Jinju’s voice made him feel slightly guilty.

“I asked you where you’re going,” Fourth Aunt repeated.

“Down to the riverbank to cool off,” Jinju replied with determination.

“Don’t be long.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away.”

Jinju, Jinju, Gao Ma moaned softly, how do you stand it all?

The latch clanged loudly as the gate was pulled shut. From his vantage point beside the chaff, Gao Ma longingly watched her blurred silhouette head north toward the river instead of coming toward him. He managed to keep from running after her, assuming this was a sham for her mother’s benefit.

Jinju … Jinju … He buried his face in the chaff, his eyes dampening. Meanwhile the colt galloped back and forth behind him, and the parakeets squawked. Off to the south, in the stinking, weed-infested reservoir, frogs croaked to one another, the mournful sound falling unpleasantly on the ear.

All this reminded Gao Ma of the night three years earlier when he and the regiment commander’s concubine had slipped away together: how the pert-nosed, freckle-faced woman threw herself into his arms, how he held her tight and smelled her heavy body odor. Like holding a wooden log, he embraced her even though he didn’t love her. You’re despicable, he had cursed himself, pretending to be in love in order to enhance your prospects with her patron. Yet things have a way of evening out, and I paid a heavy price for my hypocrisy.

But it’s different with Jinju. I’d die for Jinju, my Jinju.

She walked in the shadow of the wall, skirting the starlit threshing floor, and came toward him. His heart pounded wildly, he began to tremble, his teeth chattered.

She walked around the stack and stopped a few feet from him. “What do you want to talk to me about, Elder Brother Gao Ma?” Her voice quaked.

“Jinju …” His lips were so stiff he could barely get the words out. He heard his own heartbeat and a voice that quaked like a woman’s. He coughed — it sounded forced and unnatural.

“Dont … please don’t make any noise,” she pleaded anxiously as she backed up several steps.

The colt, feeling mischievous, rubbed its flank against the stack, even extracted some chaff with its lips and flung it to the ground in front of them.

“Not here,” he said. “Let’s go down to the trench.”

“I can’t…. If you have something to say, hurry up and say it.”

“Not here, I said.” He walked down the edge of the threshing floor, all the way to the trench. Jinju still hadn’t moved. But when he turned to go back for her, she began walking timidly toward him. He threaded his way through the indigo bushes and waited for her at the bottom of the trench, and when she reached the gently sloping side, he took her hand and pulled her to him.