The Garlic Ballads

what you did at the county government compound on May 28th—destroying two telephones, setting fire to a stack of dossiers, and injuring a typist—was criminal, so your arrest was justified. And before the incident you incited the crowd to riot. Some call that counterrevolutionary activity intended to destroy social order, for which you must be punished.”
    “Is it serious enough for you to shoot me?”
    “No. I want a detailed account of your relationship with Fang Jinju. In my view, the tragic love affair was a major factor in your criminalization. “
    “You’ve wrong! I hate you all! If I could I’d skin every single corrupt official!”
    ? “You don’t want my help?”
    “I want you to shoot me!”
    The interrogator walked out shaking his head. Gao Ma heard him say to someone, “There’s a man whose head is screwed on wrong.”

C HAPTER 18

    Calling me a counterrevolutionary is a slanderous lie:
I, Zhang Kou, have always been a law-abiding citizen.
The Communist Party, which didn’t fear the Jap devils—
Is it now afraid to listen to its own people?
    —from a ballad sung by Zhang Kou following his interrogation

1.

    Morning. A rail-thin cook was led into the cell. “Tell old Sun here what you want for your last meal, Number One,” the jailer said.
    The prisoner was momentarily speechless. ‘Tm not giving up yet,” he said finally.
    “Your appeal was denied. The sentence will be carried out.”
    The condemned prisoner’s head slumped forward.
    “Come on, now,” the jailer said, “be reasonable, and tell us what you’d like. This is the last village on your trip. Let us dispense a little revolutionary humanism.”
    “Tell me,” the cook urged. “We don’t want you leaving as a hungry ghost. It’s a long trip down to the Yellow Springs, and you’ll need a full stomach to make it.”
    The condemned man breathed a long sigh and raised his head. There was a faraway look in his eyes, but a glow in his cheeks.
    “Braised pork,” he said.
    “Okay, braised pork it is,” Cook Sun agreed.
    “With potatoes. And I want the meat nice and fatty.”
    “Okay, braised pork and potatoes. Fatty meat. What else?”
    The man’s eyes narrowed into slits as he strained to expand the menu.
    “Dont be afraid to ask,” Cook Sun said. “Whatever you want. It’s on the house.”
    He scrunched up his mouth as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I’d like some wafer cakes, fried on a griddle and stuffed with green onions, and, let’s see … some bean paste.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That’s enough,” the condemned prisoner said, adding warmly, “Sorry to put you to all this trouble.”
    “It’s my job,” Cook Sun remarked. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
    The two men left the cell.
    The condemned prisoner lay facedown on his cot and sobbed piteously, nearly drawing tears of sympathy from Gao Yang, who walked up quietly and tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t cry like that,” he whispered. “It won’t help.”
    The condemned man rolled over and grabbed his hand. But when the frightened Gao Yang tried to pull it back, he said, “Don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you. I wish I hadn’t waited until my dying day to appreciate what it means to have a friend. You’ll be getting out someday, won’t you? Would you go see my father and make sure he doesnt grieve over me? Tell him I had braised pork, potatoes, and wafer cakes made from bleached flour, with green onions and bean paste, for my last meal. I’m from Song Family Village. My father’s name is Song Shuangyang.”
    “I give you my word,” Gao Yang promised.
    A short while later, the cook returned with the braised pork and potatoes, some peeled green onions, a bowl of bean paste, a stack of wafer cakes, plus half a bottle of rice wine.
    The guard removed the condemned prisoner’s manacles, then sat across from him, his revolver drawn, as the prisoner knelt before the food and wine. His hand shook as he poured the wine into a cup, then tipped his head back and tossed it down, managing a single “Father!” before he was choked up by a flood of tears.

2.

    As the condemned man was taken out, he turned to give Gao Yang a smile, which plunged into his heart like a knife.
    “Outside, Number Nine!” a jailer ordered through the open door. Gao Yang nearly jumped out of his skin. A stream of warm urine dampened his shorts.
    “I’ve got a wife and kids at home, Officer! Make me eat shit or drink my own piss, but please