The Garlic Ballads

parents.”
    Jinju spat defiantly. “I’m not going to listen to them, and I wont be a party to that bogus marriage pact!”
    “Her problem is she hasn’t been beaten enough,” Second Brother Fang Yixiang commented. “She’s spoiled.”
    Jinju picked up a bowl and threw it at him. “Then beat me, you thug, come and beat me!”
    “Have you lost your mind?” asked Fourth Uncle, cocking his head. In the kerosene lamplight his face seemed cast in bronze.
    “What if I have?” She kicked the table.
    Fourth Uncle jumped to his feet like an aging lion, fuming; he reached for his pipe again and swung it wildly at her head, which she protected with her arms, dodging the blow and screaming in terror.
    While the Fang brothers’ attention was diverted, Gao Ma staggered to his feet. “It’s me you want,” he said. A chill swept through Jinju’s heart as she watched him teeter precariously.
    The brothers whirled, the older one struggling to maintain his balance, the younger one standing straight and tall, as Gao Ma rushed forward, straight into a wattle fence, which protested loudly before toppling over, taking him with it. The fence was intended to protect the family’s vegetable garden; and later on, whenever Gao Ma relived the episode, he recalled the smell of fresh cucumbers.
    “Get him off our property!” Fourth Uncle commanded.
    Stepping onto the downed fence, the brothers jerked Gao Ma to his feet and dragged him out to the gate. He was such a big man that the older son was bent nearly double from the strain.
    Jinju rolled on the ground, crying pitifully. “Ever since you were a baby,” her mother complained, “all you’ve known how to do is eat and dress up. We spoiled you rotten. Now what do you want from us?”
    Jinju heard a thump, followed by the slamming of the front gate, and she knew her brothers had dumped Gao Ma outside. They cast distorted, awful shadows—one long, one short—that filled her with disgust. Her heart contracting, she sat on the toppled fence, where she cried and cried, until her grief and humiliation were submerged in a sense of remorse that started out as a mere trickle but grew into a flood tide. Then, having no more tears to shed, she jumped up in a mad search for something to destroy; unfortunately, she was too lightheaded to stand properly, and collapsed back onto the fence. Her hands thrust into the darkness in front of her, where they touched a thorny vine covered with young cucumbers. In her frenzy, she plucked them off as fast as she could, then tore at the vine, ripping it out of the ground and flinging it at her father as he squatted by the table sucking on his pipe. The vine twisted and writhed in the ring of lamplight, like a dying snake. But instead of hitting her father, it landed on the messy dinner table. He jumped to his feet. Mother climbed to hers.
    “You little rebel bastard!” Father shrieked.
    “You’ll be the death of us. Is that what you want?” Mother complained tearfully.
    “Jinju, how could you do that?” Elder Brother asked sternly.
    “Beat her!” Second Brother hissed.
    “Go ahead, beat me!” she shouted as she climbed unsteadily to her feet and charged Second Brother, who stepped aside and grabbed her by the hair as she passed. Clenching his teeth, he shook her several times before flinging her into the garden, where she crushed or tore or broke everything within reach, screaming at the top of her lungs; when she finished with the cucumbers, she turned her wrath on her own clothing.
    “Why did you do that?” Elder Brother complained to Second Brother. “As long as our parents are alive, only they have the right to discipline her. All we can do is reason with her.”
    Second Brother snorted contemptuously. “I’ve had all I can take from you,” he said. “You got yourself a wife, and now you think you’re better than everyone else.”
    Instead of arguing back, the crippled Elder Brother limped across the wattle fence, bent down, and tried to help his sister up. But his cold hands merely intensified her disgust, and she twisted free of his grip.
    “Sister,” he implored her after straightening up. “Please do as I say. Get up and stop crying. Our parents are getting old. Starting with dirty diapers and bed-wetting, they raised us to adulthood. The last thing they need now is more heartache.”
    She was still crying, but her anger had begun to wane.
    “It’s all my fault. Since I can’t get a wife on my own, I have to use