The Garlic Ballads

Come have something to eat.”
    The delivery boy from a local restaurant was riding up to the station house on his bicycle, clutching a food basket with one hand and a bundle of beer bottles with the other, letting the bike steer itself. He screeched to a halt at the gate and jumped off his bike with the food and beer.
    “He sure knows how to ride that thing,” Zheng said.
    Whiskers Zhu turned to greet the delivery boy. “What took you so long?”
    “Too many parties today. Five at your township offices alone, plus one at the supply and marketing co-op, one at the bank, and another at the hospital. I’ve had my hands full here, not to mention the villages down the road.”
    “Quite a gold mine you ve got there,” Zhu said.
    “For the boss, maybe, but I could run my legs off and he wouldn’t give me a cent more than I’m getting now.” He opened the food basket, which was filled with meat, fish, and poultry. The tantalizing smells started Gao Yang salivating.
    “Put the lid back on till I can tidy up the room,” Zhu said.
    “Make it quick. I still have to go to Secretary Wang’s home in North Village. He called to ask where his order was.”
    “Find an empty room for the prisoners,” Zheng said.
    “Where am I supposed to find an empty room?” Zhu asked.
    “P-put them in the truck,” the stammering policeman suggested.
    “Who’s responsible if they get away?”
    “Handcuff them to a tree,” Drumhead said. “That way they’ll get some shade, too.”
    “Get up, all of you!” one of the young policemen ordered the prisoners.
    Gao Yang was the first to stand up, followed by the horse-faced young man. Fourth Aunt Fang stayed on the floor and sobbed. “I’m not getting up. If I’m going to die I’ll do it with a roof over my head.
    “Mrs. Fang,” Zheng said, “if you keep acting like that, we might have to get rough.”
    “So what?” she shouted. “What will you do, beat me to death?”
    “No, I wont beat you to death,” Zheng said with a sneer, “but if you refuse to obey orders and create a disturbance, I’m within my rights to use force. You may not know what electricity feels like, but that second son of yours knows well enough.”
    Zheng took an electric prod out of his belt and waved it in front of her. “If you’re not on your feet by the time I count to three, I’ll let you have it.”
    “One …”
    “Go ahead, let me have it. Pig!”
    “Two …”
    “Go ahead, let me have it!”
    “Three!” Zheng shouted as he stuck the prod up under her nose. She shrieked and rolled on the floor before scrambling to her feet.
    As the other policemen laughed, the one named Guo pointed to the horse-faced young man. “This son of a bitch is in a world of his own,” he said. “Not even an electric shock fazes him.”
    “You re joking,” Zheng said.
    “Try it, if you don’t believe me.”
    Zheng pressed the switch of the prod, which spat green sparks of crackling electricity. “I don’t believe you,” he said, touching the young man’s neck.
    Not a twitch; just a contemptuous smile.
    “That’s weird,” Zheng marveled. “Maybe it’s busted.”
    “There’s one sure way to find out,” Guo suggested.
    “Impossible,” Zheng mumbled, then touched his own neck with it. He shrieked, dropping the prod; holding his head in his hands, he crumpled to the floor.
    The other policemen roared with laughter.
    “That’s what we call testing the law on the lawman,” Guo remarked sarcastically.
    They walked about fifty paces down the broad compound path, Gao Yang led by the stammering policeman, the horse-faced young man in the custody of one of the young policemen, and Fourth Aunt Fang being dragged along by Zheng and the policewoman. The path led to the county road, which was lined with a couple of dozen tall poplars, each as big around as a tub.
    The handcuffs were removed and the prisoners pushed back against the trees, their arms forced back around the trunks so their police escort could snap the handcuffs on. “Ouch! Damn it, you’re breaking my arms!” It was Fourth Aunt Fang.
    “J-just to be on the safe side,” the stammerer said to the policewoman, Song Anni.
    Her response was a lazy yawn.
    The police all went inside to enjoy their food and beer, now that their prisoners were standing shackled to the trees; but they soon slid slowly down the trunks until they were sitting on the ground, arms wrenched behind them.
    The shade kept shifting eastward, until the