The Garlic Ballads

her lashes … millet moves in waves, then is stilled when the wind stops. The ripe stalks bow low as a pair of screeching magpies flies past, one nipping at the other’s tail. A curious sparrow follows them, mixing its cries with theirs. The air is pungent with the smell of garlic fresh from the ground.
    Jinju is alone in the field, bent over as she cuts down the millet, dropping handful after handful between her legs, where it rustles heavily, hits the ground, and curls upward like a bushy yellow tail. My millet is all bundled and stacked. Emaciated lines of corn trying to see the sun fill the gaps between the stacks, the results of intercropping; but the millet bullies the puny cornstalks. Two acres isn’t enough for a bachelor like me. I’ve had my eye on her ever since I was discharged from the army last year. She’s no beauty; but then neither am I. Not that she’s ugly; but then neither am I. She was just a gangly little girl when I left; now she’s so grown up, and so robust. I like robust women. I’ll take my millet home this afternoon. My Shanghai-made Diamond-Brand wristwatch, which runs about twenty seconds fast every day, says 11:03.1 set it with the radio a few days ago, so it’s actually right on eleven. I can take my time getting home.
    Gao Ma’s sense of pity ran deep as he stood, scythe in hand, secretly watching Jinju, who worked with the same concentration as the magpies chasing one another overhead, followed closely by the solitary sparrow. She didn’t know someone was behind her. Gao Ma kept a small cassette player in his pocket, listening to it with earphones. The rundown batteries distorted the sound. But it was good music, and that’s what counted. A young girl is like a flower. Jinju’s back was broad and flat, her hair damp. She was breathing hard.
    The good-hearted Gao Ma removed the earphones and lay them against his neck, where the distorted music was still audible. “Jinju,” he called out softly. Music coming through the spongy earphone tips vibrated against his throat, making it itch. He reached up and adjusted them.
    She straightened up slowly, a blank look on her sweaty, dusty face. She was holding a scythe in her right hand and a bundle of millet in her left. Wordlessly she gazed into the face of Gao Ma, who was mesmerized by the curve of her bosom beneath the pockets of a tattered, faded blue tunic. He said nothing. Jinju tossed down her scythe, split the millet into two bundles, and laid them on the ground. Then she took out a piece of hemp and wrapped up the bundles.
    “Jinju, why do you have to do this alone?”
    “My brother went to market,” she replied softly, wiping her face with her sleeve and pounding her waist with a fist. Sweat had turned her face pale. Wet strands of hair stuck to her temples.
    “Cramp in your side?”
    She smiled. Faint green stains dotted her front teeth, but the others sparkled. A missing collar button revealed an expanse of soft, white cleavage that unnerved him. The open throat was dotted with tiny red marks from the millet spikes, which had also deposited bits of white powder on her skin.
    “Your older brother went to market?” He wished he hadn’t said that, since her older brother was a cripple; it was the second brother who normally went to market.
    “No,” she replied evenly.
    “Then he should be out here helping you.”
    She squinted in the sunlight. He felt sorry for her.
    “What time is it, Elder Brother Gao Ma?”
    He looked at his watch. “Eleven-fifteen.” He quickly added, “But my watch is a little fast.”.
    She sighed softly and looked over at his field of millet. “You’re lucky, Elder Brother Gao Ma, you’ve got only yourself to worry about. Now that you’re finished, you can take it easy.” She sighed again, then turned and picked up her scythe. “I have to get back to work.”
    He stood motionless behind her bent figure for a moment. “I’ll help you,” he said with a sigh.
    “Thanks, but I can’t let you do that,” she said as she straightened up.
    He looked her in the eye. “Why not? I don’t have anything else to do. Besides, what are neighbors for?”
    She lowered her head and muttered, “Well, I could use some help.”
    He took the cassette player out of his pocket, switched it off, and laid it on the ground, earphones and all.
    “What do you play on that?” she asked.
    “Music,” he replied, cinching up his belt.
    “It must sound nice.”
    “It’s okay, except the batteries