The Garlic Ballads

so warm. Dimly he saw the once-kindly face of his mother. Opening his eyes to gaze through strata of mist, he discerned the shape of a large white face atop a long white gown. The gown had an antiseptic smell; the wearer, the clean, soapy smell of an aristocratic woman.
    It
was
an aristocratic woman, husky and thick-waisted, who held his wrist in icy fingers that moved up to his forehead, drawing the welcome antiseptic smell more powerfully to his nostrils. As he breathed it in greedily, the stuffiness of his chest began to dissolve. The scent of the woman gave him a powerful sense of well-being; an airy feeling of sadness, beauty, and blessedness all rolled into one cradled him. His nose ached—he was about to cry.
    “Hold this down.” He watched her shake a glittering glass tube, then slip it under his armpit. “Hold it tight.”
    A dark, gaunt, uniformed man wearing an unsure, uneasy expression stood behind the woman, hiding like a bashful child in front of strangers.
    “You should be dressed,” the woman said.
    He tried to say something in reply, but was unable to.
    “That’s how you people brought him in,” the middle-aged inmate said. “Stripped to the waist and barefoot.”
    “Warden Sun.” The woman turned to address the gaunt man behind her. “Can you have his family bring him some clothes?”
    The warden nodded, then disappeared behind her.
    “What’s it like, being in here?” he heard the warden ask.
    “Great!” the young inmate boomed. “Cool, comfortable, a touch of Paradise! If not for those damned lice, that is.”
    “Lice, you say?”
    “No—at least none that can speak.”
    Officer, how about dispensing some of that revolutionary humanism by getting rid of the lice in here?”
    “That’s a reasonable request,” the warden said. “Dr. Song, have the infirmary make up some pesticide.”
    “All together there are three of us in the infirmary. Where are we supposed to find the time to mix pesticide for every cell in the place?” Dr. Song grumbled as she removed the thermometer from under Gao Yang’s armpit. He heard her suck in her breath when she held it up to the fight.
    From her leather bag she removed an instrument, draped it around her neck, and stuck the ends in her ears. Then she lifted a shiny, round metal object dangling from the end of a quivering rubber tube and bent over until her large white face was directly over his. The smell of her skin nearly sent him into another world, as the metal object moved heavily from spot to spot on his chest—a most pleasurable pressure.
    If my life ends right now, in this cell, I’ll die fulfilled, he thought hazily. An aristocratic woman has touched my forehead and put her face next to mine, so close I can smell her natural fragrance and see the skin, fair as powder, below her neck when she bends over. It doesnt get any better than this.
    She tapped him. “Roll over,” she said gently, then held up a glass tube with dark rings around its surface. It was filled with a golden fluid and tipped with a long silvery needle. He rolled over as he was told. Her fingers, so soft and gentle, so cool and refreshing, so wonderful, grabbed the band of his underpants and jerked them down, exposing his buttocks to the cold air, which touched his anus; every muscle tensed. Something even colder touched his left cheek and began spreading outward.
    “Relax!” This time her voice was stern. “Relax your muscles. What are you afraid of? Havent you ever had a shot before?”
    She smacked him on the rear. “How am I supposed to stick a needle in something this tight?”
    What more could I ask of life? An aristocratic woman like this doesnt even care how dirty I am. She smacked my grimy ass with her clean hand! I could die here and now with no regrets.
    Gently she rubbed the spot with two fingers. “What happened to your foot?” she asked. “Why is it so swollen?”
    His thoughts turned to his ankle and the lacks rained on it by the policemen, and he was so overwhelmed by the pressure of the well-being he felt now that he was incapable of answering.
    Again she smacked him on the rear, but this time that was followed by a bee sting. He heard her breathe heavily as she pushed the needle in, and felt her pinkie make painless little nicks in his skin. Never before had such tenderness settled upon him. Feeling as if his very soul were in suspended animation, he shook with sobs.
    The doctor pulled the needle out. As she put her instruments into her