The Garlic Ballads

the traveling opera troupe.
    “Sister, Sister, such a fetching sight / Ushered into the bridal chamber late at night / A golden needle pierces the lotus blossom / Stains of precious juice greet the morning light.”
    Dirty old man! Gao Yang swore under his breath as he urged his donkey on. But it would be a long night, and there was a great distance to travel, so the thought of having someone to talk to was appealing. When the silhouette of the cart came into view, he hailed, “Is that you, Fourth Uncle? It’s me, Gao Yang.” • Fourth Uncle kept his silence.
    Katydids chirped in roadside foliage, “ Gao Yang’s donkey clip-clopped loudly on the paved road, and the air was heavy with the smell of garlic as the moon rose behind tall trees, its pale rays falling onto the road. Filled with hope, he caught up with the cart in front. “Is that you, Fourth Uncle?” he repeated.
    Fourth Uncle grunted in reply.
    “Keep singing, Fourth Uncle.”
    Fourth Uncle sighed. “Sing? At this point I can’t even cry.”
    “I started out so early this morning, I never figured to be behind you, Fourth Uncle.”
    “There are others ahead of us. Haven’t you seen all the animal droppings?”
    “Didn’t you sell your crop yesterday, Fourth Uncle?”
    “Did you?”
    “Didn’t go. My wife just had a baby, and it was such a difficult delivery I was too busy to leave the house.”
    “What did she have?” Fourth Uncle asked.
    “A boy.” Gao Yang could not conceal his excitement. His wife had given him a son, and there had been a bumper crop of garlic. Gao Yang, your fortunes have changed. He thought about his mother’s grave. It was an auspicious site. What he had suffered over not divulging the location to the authorities all those years before had been worth it.
    Fourth Uncle, who was sitting on the cart railing, lit his pipe, the match flame briefly illuminating his face. The bowl glowed as the acrid smell of burning tobacco was carried off on the chilled night air.
    Gao Yang guessed why Fourth Uncle was so melancholy. “People’s lives are controlled by fate, Fourth Uncle. Marriage and wealth are determined before we’re born, so it’s useless to worry about them.” Trying to comfort Fourth Uncle, he discovered, lifted his own spirits, and he took no pleasure in Fourth Uncle’s problems. There was enough joy in his heart for him to hope that Fourth Uncle’s sons would also find wives soon. “Peasants like us can’t hold a candle to the well-to-do. Some folks’ lives aren’t worth living, and some stuff isn’t worth having. It could be worse for us—we could all be out begging. We know where our next meal is coming from, and tattered clothes are better than walking around bare-assed naked. Sure, life’s tough, but we’ve got our health, and a game leg or withered arm is better than leprosy. Don’t you agree, Fourth Uncle?”
    Another grunted response as Fourth Uncle sucked on his pipe. Silvery moonlight bathed the shafts of his cart, the horns of the cow pulling it, the ears of Gao Yang’s donkey, and the thin plastic tarpaulin covering the garlic.
    “My mother’s death helped to convince me that we should be content with our lot and no harder on ourselves than we have to. If everyone was on top, who would hold them up at the bottom? If everybody went to town for a good time, who would stay home to plant the crops? When the old man up there made people, he used different raw materials. The good stuff went for officials, the so-so stuff for workers, and whatever was left for us peasants. You and me, we’re made of scraps, and we’re lucky just to be alive. Isn’t that right, Fourth Uncle? Like that cow of yours, for example. She pulls your garlic, and has to give you a ride in the bargain. If she slows down, she gets a taste of your whip. The same rules govern all living creatures. That’s why you have to endure, Fourth Uncle. If you make it, you’re a man, and if you don’t, you’re a ghost. Some years ago, Wang Tai and his bunch made me drink my own piss— that was before Wang Tai’s heyday—so I gritted my teeth and did it. It was just a little piss, that’s all. The things we worry about are all in our heads. We fool ourselves into believing we’re clean. Those doctors in their white smocks, are they clean? Then why do they eat afterbirth? Just think, it comes out of a woman’s you-know-what, all bloody and everything, and without even washing it, they cover it with chopped garlic,