The Garlic Ballads

the violent thrashing of her child. She sucked in a mouthful of cold air, leaned over, and held her breath as she wrapped her arms tightly around the tree.
    Sweat beaded her forehead; tears oozed from the corners of her eyes. The child in her belly pounded and kicked as if he harbored a secret grievance against her. Feeling deeply wronged, she heard her unborn baby cry and fulminate, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that it was a boy, and that he was glaring up at her at that very moment.
    Do you want to come out, my child? Is that what you want? She sat tentatively on the sandy soil and rubbed her hand lightly over the taut skin of her belly. It’s not time yet, my child—don’t be in such a hurry, she implored. But that infuriated the fetus, who pounded and kicked as never before, eyes wide with loathing, screeching and weeping. … I’ve never seen a baby cry with its eyes open Child, please don’t be in such a hurry to come out.… She scraped a piece of bark off the tree … a stream of warm liquid ran down her legs…. Child, you cant come out now.…
    Jinju’s heartbreaking wails so startled the orioles above her that they squawked loudly and flew off to points unknown.
    “Elder Brother Gao Ma … Eider Brother Gao Ma … come save me … hurry.” Her loud wails shattered the silence of the willow grove.
    The child in her belly would not be mollified. Cruel and relendess, his bloodshot eyes opened wide, he screeched, “Let me out of here! Let me out, I say!”
    By bracing herself against the tree and biting down hard on her lip, she was able to struggle to her feet. Every punch and kick doubled her up with pain and wrenched a tortured shout from her throat. The image of that frightful little thing floated before her eyes: skinny, dark, a high nose, big eyes, two rows of hard teeth.
    Dont bite me, child … let loose … don’t bite….
    Forcing herself into a crouch, she shuffled forward a few steps amid drooping willow branches whose leaves were covered with aphids that fell onto her face, neck, hair, and shoulders when she brushed against them. The warm liquid was seeping into her shoes, where it mixed with sand to form a gritty mud that made her feet slip and slide as if her shoes were filled with slime. She moved from one willow tree to the next, forcing them all to share the torment she endured. Hordes of aphids twinkled like fireflies, until the willow branches and leaves seemed coated with oil.
    Child … don’t glare at me like that… don’t do that…. I know you’re suffocating from oppression … not eating well, nothing good to drink … want to come out….
    Jinju stumbled and fell, wrenching a painful shout from the child in her belly, who savagely bit the wall of the womb. The stabbing pain brought her to her knees. She crawled on the ground in agony, fingers digging into the sandy soil like steel claws.
    Child … you bit a hole in me … bit a hole. … I have to crawl like a lowly dog….
    Her belly scraped the sandy ground as she moved ahead on all fours, sweat and teardrops marking her passage in the dust. She cried her heart out, all because of an unruly, trouble-making, black-hearted child who was ripping her apart. She was terrified of the spiteful little brat who squirmed like a silkworm inside her, trying to stretch the limits of the space that confined him. But the walls were springy as rubber, so he no sooner stretched it in one spot than it snapped back in another. That made him so angry he flailed and kicked and bit for all he was worth. “You bitch! You lousy bitch!” he cursed.
    Child … oh, my child … spare me … your mother…. I’ll get down on my knees for you….
    Moved by her pleas, he stopped biting and kicking the wall of her womb. The pain eased up at once, and she let her tear-streaked, sweat-soaked face drop to the sandy soil, overcome with gratitude for her sons display of mercy.
    The setting sun painted the tips of the willow trees gold. Jinju raised her dusty, gritty face and saw wisps of milky-white smoke rising above the village. Gingerly she stood up, fearful of rekindling the anger of her child.
    By the time she made her way to Gao Mas door, the red sun had fallen well below the willow branches. The snapping of whips above the heads of oxen on village roads and the strains of music steeped in salty water turned the evening sky a bright red.
    I think about your mother, who departed early for the Yellow Springs,
Leaving you and your