The Garlic Ballads

I’d leave it up to him.
    “What worries me,” Number Two said, “is that once Father’s been cremated, Secretary Wang won’t admit to anything.”
    “Don’t talk like a fool, Number Two,” Deputy Yang scolded him. “Secretary Wang is a party secretary, after all. More wealth passes through his fingers every day than you can count. As long as you don’t make things difficult for him, you won’t have to worry about being taken care of. The township government may be small, but it’s still government, and the money that slips through the cracks would be enough for you folks to get by on from here on out.”
    Number One said, “Eighth Uncle, people say we should report this to the county. What do you think?”
    “It’s your father who’s dead, not mine,” Deputy Yang replied, “so it’s up to you. But I wouldn’t, if it were me. It’s too late to do anything for him now, so it’s time to think about yourselves—in other words, money. I say get it any way you can. If you take your case to the county, even if the driver goes to jail, what good does that do you? Once a case gets into the courts, things have to be done by the book. The most you can hope for then is a few hundred for funeral expenses. With Secretary Wang’s connections at the county level, even if the driver is sent to jail, he’ll be out in a couple of months and back on the street, doing whatever it is he does. And by offending Secretary Wang, you’ll have marked yourselves as undesirables. In that case, you boys can forget about ever seeing a wedding day. On the other hand, if you forget about reporting it, and worry about taking care of the funeral arrangements instead, people will call you just plain folks, and with the reputation of a good family, Secretary Wang will be happy to settle things amicably, to your advantage. Now go do what you think is right.”
    “Is money the only thing people live for?” Gao Ma asked.
    “Aha!” Deputy Yang said. “So you’re here, too, are you? What are you up to? First you entice their daughter away, then you get her pregnant without marrying her, and wedding plans for three families—Cao, Fang, and Liu—are scrapped, all because of you. You ruined everything, so what does that make you? Boys, do what you want. There’s nothing in it for me, anyway. I don’t have to worry about people talking behind my back.”
    The older Fang boy spoke up: “Gao Ma, you’ve done enough harm for one person. Go scrape up the ten thousand and take Jinju with you. We don’t want a sister like that, and we sure as hell don’t want a brother-in-law like you!”
    Gao Ma, his face scarlet, walked off without another word.

3.

    As she lay in her jail cell, Fourth Aunt relived the events surrounding the return of Fourth Uncle from the government compound. Once again it was the lame elder brother in front and the younger brother in the rear, which caused the door to rock and Fourth Uncle’s head to loll from side to side. The sound of his head thumping against the door wasn’t nearly as crisp as it had been on the way over. No sooner had they emerged onto the street than the gate was closed behind them. Troubled by feelings of emptiness, Fourth Aunt turned to take a last look inside, where she saw a group of administrative types stream into the yard as if popping out of the ground, to gather around Deputy Yang; there were sneers and grins on their faces, Deputy Yang’s included.
    The passage of Fourth Uncle’s corpse attracted far less attention than it had on the way over, when anyone who could walk fell in behind the grisly procession. Now the cortege comprised only a few yapping dogs.
    Back home, the brothers laid their poles in front of the gate, making the door thud against the ground and raising clouds of noise from Gao Zhileng’s parakeets. Jinju, a blank look in her eyes, opened the gate. “Carry your father inside and lay him on the kang,” Fourth Aunt said. Neither son spoke or budged.
    “Mother,” Number One broke the silence, “people say you shouldn’t lay the corpse of someone who’s died a violent death on the kang—”
    Fourth Aunt cut him off. “Your father worked like a dog all his life, and now that he’s dead is he to be denied the comfort of a warm kang? That would be more than I could stand.”
    Number Two remarked, “He is dead, after all, so a regular bed is just as good. ‘Death is like extinguishing a light,’ as the saying goes. ‘Breath becomes a spring