The Garlic Ballads

the uncommonly expansive sky, one at each point of the compass, lighting up the land as if it were daytime. Parakeet feathers shimmered in many colors; birds’ eyes sparkled gemlike in the blinding light.
    He raised the saber in his right hand, then his left. He was a giant. He slashed at the contemptible parakeets who’d risen up to circle him; cold blood from their dismembered bodies splashed onto his face, and as he reached up to wipe it away with his free hand, the stench of parakeet blood filled his nostrils.
    Undaunted, the birds entered the house through the windows and door, then flew back out. The moons had long since fallen out of the sky above the gray courtyard, which was dotted by blurred woodpiles. He stood in the doorway, saber in hand, waiting. A parakeet flew up near him, mischievously, rolling its colorful wing feathers. His saber described an arc as it sliced through the bird; half fell at his feet, the other half landed a yard or so away. With a single lack he sent the half-bird at his feet sailing over the wall; then he skewered the other half with the tip of his saber and brought it up close to get a better look. The muscles were still twitching, the exposed innards quivering; a breath of hot air hit him full in the face. Cold, sticky blood slid down the blade and onto the brass guard over the hilt. A flick of the wrist, and the second half of the parakeet sailed over the wall.
    The surviving parakeets, enraged by what he had done, raised a terrifying screech of protest. Assuming a fighting stance, he accepted the challenge: “Come on, you bastards, here I am!” He then rushed headlong into the thick flock of birds, swinging the saber over his head. A shower of parakeets thudded earthward, some dead when they hit the ground, others mortally wounded, hopping in the dirt like frogs. But the birds, having a numerical advantage, launched a counterattack. Now he was fighting for his own survival.
    Finally he collapsed wearily onto a heap of small, bloody corpses, as the surviving parakeets circled above, screeching piteously, the fight taken out of them.
    Hoofbeats sounded in the lane. Summoning up what little energy he had left, Gao Ma gripped his saber tighdy and stood up, just in time to see his beloved chestnut colt poke its head over the broken wall. It seemed thinner; its eyes, larger now, and filled with compassion, were fixed on him. Tears gushed from his eyes: “Dearest … don’t leave me, please don’t leave me … I miss you … I need you….”
    The horse slowly drew its head back into the surrounding darkness. He heard hoofbeats, heading south, away from him: loud and crisp at first, then softer and dull-edged, and finally, nothing.

2.

    He handed a wad of bank notes to his neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Yu. “Elder Brother, Sister-in-Law, this is all I have. See what you can do. If it’s not enough, consider it a down payment. I’ll pay you back someday, I promise.”
    He sat leaning against the wall beneath the window, saber in hand.
    The Yus exchanged glances. “Should we inform her brothers?” she asked. “Your mother-in-law was arrested yesterday, along with Gao Yang.”
    “Do what you can, folks, that’s all I ask.”
    “Cremation or burial?” the man asked.
    The idea of flames lapping the skin of Jinju and the infant in her belly nearly broke his heart. “Burial,” he said firmly.
    The Yus hurried off, just as curious neighbors swooped down on the place. Some wept, others looked on dry-eyed and expressionless. The village boss, Gao Jinjiao, prowled the area, nosing around and sighing conspicuously. “Worthy Nephew,” he said as he approached Gao Ma, “You … urn …”
    Gao Ma flashed his saber. “Village Boss, don’t push me!”
    Gao Jinjiao scooted out of the way without even bothering to stand up straight.
    Mrs. Yu returned with two yards of red satin, which she laid out in the yard after calling some women over. One of them, a seamstress, went inside to take Jinju’s measurements. Then she went to work with her scissors.
    More curious villagers streamed into the yard, trampling the mangled parakeets, whose colorful feathers, swept up by breezes, stuck to their legs, clothing, and faces—but no one noticed.
    Jinju’s body was laid out on the kang, in plain view of Gao Ma. The sun, direcdy overhead now, shone down through the red and yellow jute branches and talon-shaped leaves to light up her face and turn it into a golden chrysanthemum—a
jinju
—whose