The Garlic Ballads

Gao Yang nodded obsequiously to Wang Tai, who, ignoring him, went up and began arguing with the co-op representatives, eventually knocking over their scales. “No one’s going to walk off with a single stalk of Paradise garlic until my storehouse is filled,” Wang Tai insisted. The dejected representatives of the South Counties Supply and Marketing Cooperative climbed into their trucks and drove off.

So Gao Yang packed up his garlic. But before he left, he tried again to get the attention of Wang Tai as he walked off with his men.

Dark clouds filled the sky two days later, on May 28. It looked like rain. Gao Yang had just crossed the tracks when someone up ahead passed word down: “The supply and marketing co-op’s storehouses are full, so now we can sell our garlic anywhere we want.”

“But where? The locals have already squeezed out us farmers from outlying districts. They don’t care if we live or die.”

As the talk heated up, feelings of helplessness began to grip the farmers, but none turned his cart around and headed home. It was as if their only hope lay up ahead somewhere.

The line of wagons pressed forward, so Gao Yang fell in behind them, gradually realizing that instead of heading toward the cold-storage area, they were rolling down the renowned May First Boulevard on their way to May First Square, directly in front of the county government compound.

As the number of garlic farmers increased, the air above the square grew increasingly pungent. Dark clouds roiled above the downcast farmers, who began to grumble and swear. Zhang Kou, the blind minstrel, stood atop a rickety oxcart, strumming his erhu and chanting loudly in his raspy voice, froth bubbling at the corners of his mouth. His song plucked the heartstrings of everyone within earshot; Gao Yang couldn’t speak for the others, but he felt sad one moment and angry the next, with a measure of hidden fear mixed in. He had a premonition that trouble was brewing that day, for there, in a nearby lane, some people-he couldn’t tell who-were taking pictures of the square. He wanted to turn his wagon around and put some distance between him and this dangerous spot, but was hemmed in.

The county government compound was on the northern side of the boulevard, running past the public square. Pines and poplars grew tall and green behind the wall; fresh flowers bloomed everywhere; and a column of water rose in the center of the compound, only to fan out and rain down on the fountain below. The government offices were housed in a handsome three-story building with glass-inlaid arched eaves and yellow ceramic tiles set in the walls. A bright red flag billowed atop a flagpole. The place was as grand as an imperial palace. Traffic on May First Boulevard was blocked by the carts and wagons and their loads of garlic. Impatient drivers honked their horns, but their sonorous complaints were ignored. Noticing the carefree looks on others’ faces, Gao Yang relaxed. Why worry? he thought. The worst that can happen is I lose my load of garlic.

Zhang Kou, the blind minstrel, sang: “… Hand baby to Mother to stem its grief, / If you can’t sell your garlic, look up the county administrator…”

The heavy wrought-iron gate was shut tight. Well-dressed office workers peeked through windows to watch the goings-on in the square, where hundreds of people were massed before the gate. A cry went up: “Come out, County Administrator! Come out here, Zhong Weimin! If your name really means ‘Serve the People,’ then do it!”

Fists and clubs pounded the gate, but the compound remained still as death-not a person in sight, until an old caretaker came out to secure the gate with a huge padlock. While he was about his business, phlegm and spitde rained down on his clothes and face. Not daring to say a word, he turned and darted inside.

“Hey, you old dog, you old watchdog, come back and open this gate!” the crowd bellowed.

By now the horns of -the jammed-up cars were silent. Drivers leaned out their windows to see what was going on.

“Get the county administrator or the party secretary out here to give us an explanation!”

“Get out here, Zhong Weimin!”

Gao Yang saw a horse-faced young man perched on a cart, like a crane standing amid a flock of chickens. “Fellow townsmen,” he shouted, “dont just yell anything that comes to mind! The county administrator wont hear you that way. F-follow my lead!” He had a slight stammer.

The crowd roared its approval.

“His name is ‘Serve the People,’ but he should change it to ‘Serve Myself!” The horse-faced young man shook his fist.

The shout was repeated by the crowd, including Gao Yang, who was so caught up in the heat of the moment he too shook his fist.

“County Administrator, Master ‘Serve the People’ Zhong, come out and face your people!” The horse-faced young man had a strange look on his face; his lips hardly moved.

The crowd echoed his shout, a deafening roar to which Gao Yang contributed.

“Officials who don’t bail people out of jams should stay home and plant their yams!” Everyone knew that slogan, so they shouted it over and over.

Finally two men in Western suits emerged from the building and walked up to the gate. “Garlic farmers, quiet down! Quiet down, I said!”

The crowd held its collective tongue to observe the newcomers on the other side of the gate. The gaunt-faced one pointed to the middle-aged man beside him, who wore tinted sunglasses, and said, “Garlic farmers, this is Deputy Director Pang of the County Government Administrative Office. He has instructions.”

“Garlic farmers, I am here on behalf of the county administrator, who wants you all to go home and stop this unlawful and potentially explosive demonstration. Don’t let a few rabble-rousers lead you astray!”

“What about our garlic?” someone shouted.

“The county administrator says that since the co-op cold-storage storehouse is filled to capacity, take your garlic home with you. What you do with it is your business. If you can sell it, well and good. If not, eat it yourselves!”

“Go fuck yourself! You’re the ones who told us to plant the stuff, and now you refuse to take it off our hands. Is this some sick joke?”

‘To keep us from selling our crops, you confiscated or smashed the scales!’

“We can’t give the stuff away now!”

“Come out here, Zhong Weimin! Officials who don’t bail people out of jams should fuck off and plant their yams!”

“Back off, garlic farmers!” Deputy Director Pang screamed angrily, his face sweaty. “The county administrator can’t come out now He has important business to attend to. Dont you understand that he’s in charge of an entire county? His hands are full just taking care of really important matters. You don’t expect him to sell your garlic for you, too, do you?”

Gao Yang felt his heart go thump as he listened to Deputy Director Pang’s harangue. That’s right, he’s in charge of the whole county, and we can’t expect him to sell our garlic for us, can we? Of course not, even if we have to let it rot. He wished he could quiedy leave and go home, but he was boxed in by wagons and farmers. He was nearly in tears.

“Tell him to come out and talk to us!”

“Right! Bring out the county administrator! Bring out the county administrator!”

“Garlic farmers,” Deputy Director Pang shouted, “I’m warning you-turn around and go home, right now, or we’ll call the police and let them teach you some manners!”

“Fellow townsmen,” the horse-faced young man raised his voice, “don’t fall for their scare tactics! We’re not breaking any law. Who says it’s illegal for the people to ask to see the county administrator? He’s an elected public servant, and we’re within our rights to see him.”

“Who the fuck elected him? I couldn’t tell you if his face was black or white! How did he get elected?”

“Zhong Weimin, get out here! Zhong Weimin, get out here!”

“Now you’ve gone too far!” Deputy Director Pang thundered.

“Down with corrupt officials! Down with bureaucrats!” Gao Yang saw Gao Ma climb onto the oxcart and shake his fist.

Gao Ma picked up a bundle of garlic and flung it into the compound. “We don’t want this stuff. Put it on the old masters’ dinner tables!”

“Right, we don’t want it. It’s worthless, anyhow! Get rid of it! Throw it into the county compound to feed the old masters!”