The Garlic Ballads

son once lived in Zhang Family Bay. Her name was Zhang née Liu; her sons name was Nine-five. Little Nine-five was smarter than the other boys, so his mother went out begging to earn his tuition. But Nine-five, a mischievous little boy, was forever getting into trouble. His teacher always left the room after passing out the homework assignments. Why? Since that’s a story in itself, I’ll start with it.
    The mother of one of the students, a boy named Winter-born, was a real beauty, so the story goes. Everyone called her Teapot Lid. One day the teacher asked Winter-born, “Does your mother ever think about me, Winter-born?” When he went home that day, Winter-born said to his mother, “Mother, the teacher wants to know if you ever think about him.” His mother smiled but said nothing. One day led to another, and each time the teacher saw Winter-born he asked the same question. And Winter-born dutifully went home and told his mother. One day, after the teacher asked, as always, and his student went home and told his mother, as always, she said, “Tell your teacher that I do think about him, and invite him to drop by tomorrow.” The next day, after the student had carried out his mother’s wishes, the teacher hurriedly passed out the assignment, turned, and bolted out of the classroom. Where was he headed? To Winter-born’s house, where the boy’s mother was sitting on the kang, face powdered and hair oiled. The moment he laid eyes on her, he rushed up like a cat pouncing on a mouse and began fondling her breasts and kissing her on the mouth. She let his hands roam freely until he tried to undo her waistband. Yet he persisted until the waistband was loosened. But then came a knock at the door. Oh-oh,” she exclaimed, “it’s Winter-born’s father!” The teacher was scared silly. What to do? The knocking at the door grew more urgent. “Teacher,” Winter-born’s mother said, “there’s a millstone in the back room. Pretend you’re a donkey turning the millstone.” Caring only about his own skin, the teacher jumped at the idea. A millstone stood in the center of the room, just as she had said. Two pecks of raw wheat had been spread over it, waiting to be ground. So, grabbing the handle, he began turning the millstone; neither too large nor too small, it was just the right size for a grown man. Through the door he heard Winter-born’s mother climb slowly off the kang and open the door for her husband, who demanded, “What were you doing in here—-committing adultery?” “How dare you!” she replied indignandy. “I borrowed a donkey to turn the millstone, since we’re out of flour, as you very well know.” “An obedient animal?” he asked. “No, it took forever to hitch it up to the millstone,” she said with a pout. “That’s why it took me so long to answer the door.” She continued: “And for that I get accused of committing adultery!” “Wait here,” Winter-born’s father said, “while I go give that bastard of a donkey a good beating. That should make you feel better.” The teacher, nearly filling his shorts and peeing his pants, turned the millstone with renewed vigor. “Hear that?” Winter-born’s mother said. “The donkey heard you and started pulling even harder.” “Warm me a pot of wine,” Winter-born’s father said, after which the teacher overheard the couple drink and whisper and giggle on the kang. How to describe the feeling that flooded his heart—sweet, sour, bitter, spicy? He couldn’t say for sure, but as he pondered these thoughts, his movements slowed. “You borrowed a lazy donkey,” Winter-born’s father said. “I’m going in there to give the bastard a good beating!” That got the teacher moving again—-he nearly flew around that millstone. “No need,” Winter-born’s mother said. “It speeds up every time it hears your voice.” The sweaty-faced teacher turned the mill for all he was worth. “Teapot Lid, since the boy isn’t home, let’s have some fun,” Winter-born’s father said. “Why, you greedy thing!” she said. “What if the donkey hears us?” “I’ll go stop up its ears,” Winter-born’s father said. The rattled teacher nearly flew around that millstone. “No need for that,” Winter-born’s mother said. “All it cares about is turning the millstone. It’s not interested in what we do.” So the teacher listened to them have their fun, getting a taste of how the mute feels when he eats bitter herbs and can