The Garlic Ballads

they shoved him into the station house was a horse-faced young man in manacles curled up on the floor against the wall. He had obviously gotten quite a working-over, for his left eye was black and blue and nearly swollen shut; an icy glare emerged through the slit, while the uninjured right eye was filled with a look of pathetic desperation. Two handsome young policemen were sitting on a slat bench smoking cigarettes.
    They pushed Gao Yang down against the wall, next to the horse-faced young man, and as the two of them took each other’s measure, the other man curled his lip and nodded meaningfully. Gao Yang was sure he knew the fellow from somewhere, but couldn’t remember where. Damn! he lamented. That thing must have fried my brain!
    The four policemen were talking: With a son of a bitch like that you have to beat him first and ask questions later. He’s in a world of his own, no matter what weird stuff is happening around him. That son of a bitch Gao Ma jumped a wall and got away. You two idiots go back and get out a Wanted poster. Why aren’t old Zheng and Song Anni back yet? They had the easiest job. That old lady’s got a couple of sons. Here come old Zheng and Song Anni now.
    He heard the long, drawn-out weeping of a woman; so, he noticed, did everyone else in the room. The young policeman named Guo dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it with his heel. “To hell with women,” he muttered disdainfully. “All they know how to do is cry. It’s enough to drive you crazy. Now take our young hero over here—” he pointed to the horse-faced young man with his chin—”you couldn’t get a teardrop out of him if you put a razor to his throat.”
    The horse-faced young man snapped back loudly, “C-c-cry for the likes of you?”
    The policemen were speechless for a moment before erupting into laughter. Drumhead turned to his partner. “Say, Kong, old pal, looks like we’ve g-g-got your brother here!”
    That did not sit well with the stammerer. “G-get your old lady, Drum, old p-pal!” he shot back.
    The horse-faced young man’s speech impediment jogged Gao Yang’s memory. He was the young hothead who smashed the county administrator’s telephone.
    Two police officers—a man and a woman—came into the room, shoving an old woman ahead of them, her hair flying. They had no sooner gotten her to sit on the floor than she began pounding it with her fists and shouting between sobs, “God … my God … I’m doomed oh my God … My own husband how could he do that to me leave me here all alone come down here and take me with you wherever you are oh my God …”
    The policewoman, barely in her twenties, had short hair, large eyes, and long lashes—a pretty young woman whose oval face was flushed from the heat. “Stop that crying!” she bellowed.
    The scowl on her face scared the wits out of Gao Yang, who had never seen such ferocity in a woman before. She wore brown leather shoes with pointed toes and high heels. A holstered pistol hung from her belt. She glowered to show her displeasure at being scrutinized so closely. Gao Yang lowered his head, and by the time he looked up again, a pair of mirror-lens sunglasses hid her eyes from view. She kicked the old woman on the floor. “Still crying, are you? You crafty old bitch, you ancient counterrevolutionary!”
    The old woman shrieked. “Ouch! You cruel-hearted girl, you … you’re hurting me
    One of the young policemen covered his mouth and sniggered. “Say, Song,” he teased, “you ve gone and hurt her.”
    The policewoman blushed. She spat at him.
    The old woman was still sobbing. “Aunt Fang,” Whiskers Zhu said, “keep it down. You have to face the music sooner or later, and crying wont help.”
    “If you don’t stop,” the policewoman threatened, “I’ll sew your damned mouth shut!”
    The old woman looked up and screamed hysterically, “Go ahead, sew it up! You little cunt, no one should be that heartless at your age! Keep it up and you’ll have a baby with no asshole!”
    As her colleagues roared with laughter, the policewoman walked up to lack the old woman again, but the one called Zheng stopped her.
    Gao Yang knew the woman who was crying and making such a fuss—it was Fourth Aunt Fang. She didn’t realize that her hands were manacled until she tried to wipe her tear-streaked face, and the sight of the shiny bracelets set her off again.
    “Comrades,” Zhu piped up, “all this has put you to a lot of trouble.