The Garlic Ballads (37 page)

“That dog whelp at the weights and measures office took my scale.”

“No cursing allowed,” the policeman demanded.

“He said my scale wasn’t accurate, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he crushed the thing under his heel. Then he fined me ten yuan. All I could think was, the price of garlic dropped from sixty fen a pound to twenty, and finally all the way down to three. The agreements we signed with other counties to purchase our garlic were canceled, and when buyers came, they were turned back by the supply and marketing co-op. All to make things hard on garlic farmers. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got, and that’s when I jumped up on the wagon and started shouting slogans. The first was ‘Down with corrupt officials!’ and the other was ‘Down with bureaucrats!’ Find me guilty of whatever you want. It’s up to you. I’m all alone, so it doesn’t matter one way or the other. Cut off my head or put a bullet in it, even bury me alive if you want. It’s all the same to me. I hate you dog-bastard officials! All you know how to do is trample the people! I hate you!”

“Time for a smoke break, Grandpa Three,” Gao Ma said.

Old Man Wang edged the pail up alongside the well with his foot and squatted down.

The moon was so bright and clear the whole world seemed lighted up.

“Got your garhc crop fertilized, Grandpa Three?”

“Not this time. To hell with it,” Old Man Wang said blundy. “I don’t trust those money grubbers at the supply and marketing co-op. How do I know what they put in their fertilizer?”

“You re being too cautious. They can’t adulterate chemical fertilizers.”

“Like they say, there’s never been an honest merchant. You don’t think they get rich by being legitimate, do you?” Old Man Wang said spitefully. “It’s an imperial edict.”

“Just because it’s an imperial edict doesn’t mean it has to be that way forever, does it?”

“Forever and ever,” Old Man Wang said. “The frogs at Zhang Family Bay still don’t croak.”

“Was that an imperial edict, too? Which Emperor?”

“Let me pick up where I left off last time.”

Gao Ma drew his shoulders in. He felt a chill.

When the teacher slipped out of the classroom, Zhang Nine-five went up to the teacher’s desk, sat down, and took charge of the class, ordering all the little mischief makers to form two teams and fight it out. When that was done, he dispensed honors and punishments, just like an emperor. After several days of this, the teacher happened to observe Nine-five’s little game from his vantage point outside the door. He coughed to announce his presence before entering the room, where the students had quickly returned to their seats and were noisily reciting their lessons. Quickly bringing the class to order, the teacher asked, “Have you prepared your lesson, Nine-five?” Zhang Nine-five rose to his feet, leafed through his book, and replied, “Yes. I have.” “You little bastard,” the teacher muttered under his breath, “you call that preparing? … All right,” he said aloud, “let’s hear it.” Snapping his book shut, Zhang Nine-five looked up.
Blah blah blah
—he recited the entire lesson, every single word of it. The teacher nodded and said, “Take your seat, Nine-five.” But from that day on he treated Zhang Nine-five differendo spending far more time instructing him than he did any of the other students. And Zhang Nine-five took to his lessons like a cow takes to grass. In less than six months, the teacher had poured all his meager knowledge into his student’s head. It was time to move on, and on the eve of his departure he left a note for Zhang Nine-five: “Nine-five, Nine-five, with the heavenly constellations as my witness, you will have a meteoric rise in your career. I hope you don’t forget your old teacher.” Well, the next person on the scene was a teacher of vast learning who was also a remarkable judge of talent; he immediately waived Zhang Nine-five’s tuition. This act set in motion a series of frequent heart-to-heart talks between teacher and student, whose relationship could not have been closer. After one late-night talk, the teacher crawled into bed under the mosquito netting, leaving Nine-five to sleep on his desk. It was a summer night, the land mosquitoes dearly love. Again and again they stung the teacher through the netting. But Nine-five slept through the onslaught, his breathing calm and even. The bewildered teacher sat up and asked loudly, “Aren’t the mosquitoes biting you, Nine-five?” Nine-five replied, “There are no mosquitoes.” “No mosquitoes?” His teacher was amazed. “Aren’t you hot?” “Not at all,” Zhang Nine-five replied. “Let’s change places, Nine-five,” the teacher said. “You sleep under the netting and I’ll take the desk. What do you say?” “All right,” Nine-five agreed. And that’s what they did. When the teacher stretched out on top of the desk, cool breezes swept over him. Not a mosquito anywhere. He could not explain the mystery, though not for lack of trying. But then his thoughts were interrupted by a voice in the air: “Damned idiots! The Emperor’s gone, so stop wasting your time fanning the air above this poor pedant!” As the sound of the voice faded way, the swarm of mosquitoes regrouped overhead, united in their buzzing. The stifling heat returned with a vengeance, and the teacher jumped to his feet, a silent prayer on his lips: Save me, gods and spirits, and forgive me!

“That’s a sad excuse for a story,” Gao Ma complained. “A pack of lies to protect the interests of the feudal class. They assume for themselves the role of genius and superman to keep the masses under their thumbs.”

“You can recite your lessons or you can accept the truth. The frogs in Zhang Family Bay still don t croak. What do you say to that?”

Grandpa Three picked up where he had left off.

The teacher had known that Zhang Nine-five was not going to grow up to be a flash-in-the-pan scholar, but the true Son of Heaven. Just think, the Son of Heaven! He with the golden mouth and teeth of jade! The teacher rejoiced inwardly. Just think, you, the Emperor’s mentor, a great man in his own right! From that point on, not only did the teacher waive Zhang Nine-fives tuition, he even assumed personal responsibility for mother and sons living expenses, down to the last copper. Needless to say, Nine-five and his mother were immensely grateful. Now, the teacher had a sixteen-year-old daughter at home, a girl of unsurpassed beauty and great literary potential. Struck with an inspiration, he sought out Nine-five’s mother. “Elder Sister-in-Law, may I be so bold as to discuss Nine-five’s marital situation with you? I have a humble daughter at home, and would like to propose that she look after your esteemed son.” A startled Madame Zhang née Liu replied, “Dear Teacher, how can we, a lowly widow and fatherless child, aspire to kinship with you?” “Elder Sister-in-Law, you honor me. I shall bring my daughter over tomorrow, and we can hold the ceremony then.” Mother Zhang shed tears of gratitude, then went home and told Nine-five, who had already seen his teacher’s spectacularly beautiful daughter. He couldn’t agree fast enough. The very next day they were wed—a gifted scholar and a talented beauty. The romantic prospects were endless. I’ll leave it to you to imagine what went on that night, but from then on, Zhang Nine-five threw himself into his studies. Then one day he took his bride to burn incense at the City God Temple, where he spotted a writing brush and paper on the altar. Itching to put them to use, he picked up the brush and wrote: “City God, City God, hie thee to Luoyang. Leave this very night, return on the morrow.” Then, laying down the brush, he left the temple and returned home with his wife. That night his teacher dreamed he saw the City God carrying a bottle of Maotai spirits. (Come on, now, where would he get a bottle of Maotai? I’m just using that as an example for the story!) He also carried a meaty pig’s head. “Esteemed Minister,” he said, “I beg you to plead the case of this insignificant City God with the Emperor. Get him to retract the imperial edict commanding me to go to Luoyang tonight and return tomorrow night. Tell me, sir, how can I manage a trip of a thousand miles in a single day?” The teacher was jolted awake by this startling development. Ah, it was only a dream. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. But, after lighting the lamp, he walked into the next room, where he saw a bottle of Maotai spirits on the stove alongside a debristled pig’s head. He pinched his thigh and bit his finger. Both smarted. So he reached out to feel the pig’s head and shake the bottle of spirits. Both real. Figuring he was still dreaming, he woke his wife and told her to see if the spirits and pig’s head were real. “Husband,” she said, “since you knew we had barely enough rice to get us through tomorrow, what possessed you to buy these luxuries?” Unable to contain his delight, he told her everything, forgetting that the mysteries of heaven must not be divulged.