Free The Garlic Ballads by Mo Yan Page B

can’t get a wife on my own, I have to use my kid sister as a bargaining chip….” He swung his gimp leg back and forth as he spoke, making the wattle under his foot snap and crackle. “I’m worthless….” He suddenly squatted down and began thumping himself on the head with his fists. He was soon crying like a little boy; his pain and despair softened Jinju’s heart and turned her wails into sobs.
    “Go live your life. I don’t need a wife. I’ll remain a bachelor until my dying day….”
    Mother walked up to him. “Get up, both of you,” she said. “What will the neighbors think if they see you fighting like cats and dogs?”
    “Get up!” Father echoed her sternly.
    The obedient Elder Brother made the wattle snap and crackle as he stood up. “Father, Mother,” he said between sobs, “whatever you say.”
    Jinju stayed awhile longer before climbing to her feet.
    By then, Second Brother had gone inside and turned the radio up full blast. An opera singer was shrieking—
wah-wah
.
    Elder Brother moved a stool up behind Jinju and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Sit down, Sister. ‘Strong winds always cease, and families soon return to peace/ You can’t rely on outsiders, but your brothers will always be there for you.”
    Too weak to stand, she gave in to the gentle pressure of his hands and sat down. So did Father and Mother, he to recommence smoking his pipe, she to ponder a way to bring Jinju around. Meanwhile, Elder Brother went into the house to mix some noodle paste for her injured head. But she pushed him away when he tried to daub it on her.
    “Be a good girl,” he said, “and let me put some of this on.”
    “Why are you treating her like that?” Father asked. “She has no sense of shame!”
    “Look who’s talking,” Jinju snapped back.
    “Watch that mouth of yours,” Mother threatened.
    Elder Brother fetched his stool and sat with the others.
    A meteor whistled as it sliced through the Milky Way.
    “Jinju, remember when you were two, how I took you and your brother fishing in the river? I sat you down on the bank when we got there so he and I could put out the nets, and when I turned around, you were gone. I almost died. But Second Brother yelled, There she is!’ And when I looked, you were thrashing in the river. So I cast my net and caught you first try. Remember what Second Brother said? This time you caught a great big fish!’ My leg was fine then. The bone didn’t go soft till the next year. …” He stopped and sighed, then continued with a self-deprecating laugh: “Nearly twenty years ago that was, and now you’re a grown woman.”
    More sighs.
    Jinju listened to the crisp hoofbeats of the chestnut colt as it ran past the gate and down the edge of the threshing floor, and to the squawking of parakeets in Gao Zhileng’s yard. She neither wept nor laughed.
    Father stood up after knocking his pipe against the sole of his shoe and coughed up some phlegm. “It’s bedtime,” he said as he walked inside, then emerged with a large brass lock for the gate.
Snap
. He locked it.

2.

    The Fang compound was humming the following evening. The two sons had carried an octagonal table outside and borrowed four benches from the elementary school. Mother was inside cooking, her wok sizzling. Jinju stayed indoors—-hers was the small room off her brothers’ bedroom—listening to the racket outside. She hadn’t left her room all day, and Elder Brother, who stayed home instead of tending the fields, came in to make small talk every few minutes, it seemed. But she threw the covers over her head and didn’t reward him with a single word in reply.
    Father and Mother were speaking in hushed tones in the outer room. “They’re all wilted and yellow,” she said, “and wrapping them in plastic doesn’t help.”
    Jinju smelled garlic.
    “You didn’t seal them tightly enough,” Father said. “They won’t get dry or turn yellow if you keep the air out.”
    “I don’t know how