The Garlic Ballads

petals were coaxed open by autumn sunlight. He touched her face. It had the sleek resilience of costly velvet.
    Then the Fang brothers showed up. First came Number Two, who marched sullenly across the yard, kicking parakeet feathers into the air; they floated down onto the red satin. As he strode through the door, a parakeet flew straight at him, as if wanting to peck out his eye. A swipe of his hand sent the bird crashing into the wall. He walked up to the kang and lifted a corner of the blanket, exposing Jinju’s face. She smiled up at him.
    Disgusted, he let the blanket fall and walked into the yard. “Gao Ma,” he snarled, “you’ve ruined our family, you fucking bastard!” Rolling up his sleeves as he went, he headed straight for the wall, where Gao Ma was banging the dull side of the saber with the dangling manacle chain—
clang chng chng
. He glared at Fang Two through bloodshot eyes, stopping him in his tracks. Fang Two paused only to growl, “I’m charging you with the death of my sister!”
    He had barely stormed off when Fang One came into the crowded yard, limping more noticeably than ever. His hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were clouded; he had become an old man almost overnight. He announced his arrival with loud wails that swirled through the yard—just like an old woman. Inside the house he pounded the kang and wept. “Sister—my poor baby sister—you shouldn’t have died like this!”
    Fang One’s persistent wailing infected a gaggle of old women, who dabbed their teary eyes as they led the men into the room to carry him outside. “Elder Brother Fang,” they tried to console him, “there’s nothing you can do for her now except arrange for the funeral. That’s a brother’s responsibihty.”
    It worked; he stopped wailing, wiped his runny nose, and said, “Marrying off a daughter is the same as dumping water on the ground. She stopped being a member of the Fang family long ago. Whether she’s buried in a crypt or tossed into a ditch is no concern of ours.”
    He began to limp off, crying as he went.
    Gao Ma stood up and halted him with a shout. “See if there’s anything left inside that you want to take with you.”
    Fang One paused, but said nothing, then continued on out of the yard.
    The women carried Jinju’s red satin funeral clothes inside, where they stripped her naked, washed her, and dressed her for her final trip. When they were finished, she wore bright red from head to toe, just like a new bride.
    Gao Zhileng’s feet nearly flew as he charged into Gao Ma’s yard, where the corpses of his parakeets were strewn. He cursed and wept as he picked up the mangled bodies and laid them in a basket he’d brought along. “Gao Ma, Gao Ma, what did these birds ever do to you? Do what you want with people, but why kill my birds? They were my wealth. Now I’ve got nothing….”
    Seven or eight surviving parakeets perched precariously on the tips of jute plants, rumpled feathers covered with blood. Their squawks were cries of desolation. Even Gao Ma felt sorry for them. Gao Zhileng puckered up and summoned them with a strange whistle.
    “I’m from the provincial TV station. We heard about the tragic love affair between you and the giri Jinju. Would you mind telling our viewers exactly what happened?” The reporter, a man in his thirties who wore owl-shaped glasses, had a large mouth and terrible breath.
    “I’m with the county league of women, in charge of investigating the three-family marriage contract, and would like your views on the subject.” She was young and heavily powdered. Her mouth had the smell of urine, and it was all Gao Ma could do to keep from lopping off her head with his saber.
    “Get out of here, all of you!” he snarled as he got to his feet, saber in hand. “I have nothing to say to any of you!”
    “Elder Brother Gao Ma, it’s too hot to worry about a coffin. Besides, the price of wood has soared since the Manchurian forest fire,” Yu Qiushui said as he took another look at Jinju’s swollen belly. “I bought a couple of rush mats and two yards of plastic. Wrapping her in plastic, then covering her with rush mats is as good as a coffin. That way we can get her peacefully into the ground without delay. What do you think?”
    “Whatever you say, Elder Brother,” Gao Ma replied.
    Meanwhile the TV reporter was all over the place, squatting and kneeling to get the best shots, including one of the parakeets perched on jute plants. It