They emerged from the tunnel onto May First Boulevard, to their surprise, and five minutes later were in May First Square, walking on a layer of rotting, disgustingly slippery garlic. Gao Yang felt miserable about his new shoes.
Throngs of peasants lined the square. The frost on their faces, dusted with grime, didn’t look as if it would ever melt. Tears streamed down the cheeks of the few who were looking up into the sun, nearly blinded by its rays. One of them looked like an ape man, the kind he’d seen in a Schoolbook-narrow, jutting forehead, wide mouth, long, apelike arms. Anyway, this strange creature leaped out of the crowd, raised one of his long arms, opened his mouth wide, and bellowed, “Hua-lala, hua-lala, one hand on a nice big tit, add soy sauce and vinegar…” Gao Yang had no idea what he meant, but he heard his gaunt police escort mutter angrily, “A loony, a real loony!”
After passing through the square, they turned into a narrow lane, where a boy in a nylon jacket had a pigtailed girl pinned up against a hollow in the wall and was nibbling at her face. She was trying her best to push him away. Mud-spattered geese strutted back and forth behind them. The procession passed so close behind the boy that the girl wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him to her so the column could squeeze by.
They emerged from the lane, and there in front of them, amazingly, was May First Boulevard-again. Across the street a multistoried building was going up behind a rumbling cement mixer tended by a boy and a girl no more than eleven or twelve years old. He was shoveling sand and pouring lime and cement into the funnel, while she squirted water into the funnel with a black plastic hose that shook so violently from the high pressure that she could barely hold it. The mixing oar scraped loudly against the funnel. Then the pale-yellow derrick slowly lifted a prefab concrete slab with airholes. Four men in hard hats sat on it playing poker, shocking observers by their nonchalance.
After another tum around the square, the prison wall was in front of him once again. The electrified wire crackled and gave off blue sparks. The piece of red cloth still hung from it. “Team Leader Xing,” one of the policemen shouted, “shouldn’t we be heading back to rest?”
A tall, heavyset fellow with a dark face glanced at his wristwatch, then looked up at the sky. “Half an hour,” he shouted back.
The prison gate opened with a clang, and the police herded the prisoners inside the yard. Rather than put them back into their cells, they had them sit in a circle on the lush green grass, where they were told to stretch their legs out in front of them, hands on their knees. The police walked off lazily, their place taken by an armed guard who kept watch over the prisoners. Some of the policemen went to the toilet, others did stretching exercises on a horizontal bar.
After ten minutes or so, Fourth Aunt’s escorts emerged with red lacquer trays holding soft drinks in opened bottles with drinking straws. There were two lands. “The colors are different, but they taste exactly the same,” they announced. “One bottle apiece.” One of them bent down in front of Gao Yang. “Which do you want?”
He looked uncertainly at the bottles on her tray. Some were the color of blood; others appeared to be filled with ink.
“Hurry up, choose one. And no changing your mind later.”
“I’ll take a red one,” he said firmly.
She handed him a bottle filled with the red liquid, which he accepted with both hands, then held, not daring to start right away.
After all the drinks were distributed, Gao Yang noticed that everyone but Gao Ma had chosen red.
“Go on, drink,” one of the policewomen said.
But the prisoners just looked at each other, not daring to take a drink.
“You can’t repair a wall with dog shit!” the policewoman complained angrily. “Drink up, I said. On three: one, two, three, drink!”
Gao Yang took a timid sip; a liquid tasting like garlic slid tickling down his throat.
When the soft drinks were finished, the police regrouped, taking up their positions alongside the prisoners to form three ranks. After proceeding out the prison gate, they turned north, crossed the street, and climbed the steps of a large building with a spacious hall. It was packed with spectators, and you could have heard a pin drop. Solemn airs.
A booming voice broke the silence: “Bring up the prisoners associated with the Paradise County garlic incident!”
Two policemen removed Gao Yang’s handcuffs, pulled his shoulders back and forced his head down, then dragged and carried him to the defendants’ dock.
2.
The first thing Gao Yang saw when he looked past the railing was a large, shiny replica of the national seal. He was pinned uncomfortably between his two escorts, one fat, one skinny. A cultured-looking uniformed official with sagging jowls sat beneath the seal; seven or eight additional uniformed men were fanned out beside him, all looking like characters in a movie.
The man in the middle, who was older than the others, cleared his throat and spoke into a microphone wrapped in red: “The first session of the Paradise County garlic incident proceedings will come to order!” He stood up-the guards on either side of him remained seated-and began reading names from a list. When his name was read out, Gao Yang didn’t know what to do. “Say ‘Present,’ “ his skinny escort said, nudging him.
“All defendants are present,” the officer announced. “Now the charges. On the twenty-eighth of May, defendants Gao Ma, Gao Yang, the woman Fang née Wu, Zheng Changnian…” he droned on, “… smashed, looted, and demolished the county government offices, beating and injuring a number of civil servants in the process. The People’s Tribunal of Paradise County, agreeing to hear the case in accordance with Article 105, Section 1, Book 3 of the Criminal Code, has decreed a public trial before a panel of judges.”
Gao Yang heard the spectators behind him buzz excitedly. Order in the court!” the officer demanded, banging the table with his fist. He then took a sip of tea and said, “Three judges make up the panel, headed by me, Kang Botao, presiding judge of the Paradise County People’s Tribunal. My associates are Yu Ya, member of the Standing Committee of the People’s Consultative Congress of Paradise County, and Jiang Xiwang, director of the General Office of the Paradise County Branch of the People’s Congress. Miss Song Xiufen serves as clerk. The prosecutor is Liu Feng, Deputy Chief Procurator of the Paradise County People’s Procuratorate.”
The presiding judge sat down, as if thoroughly exhausted, took another sip of tea, and said hoarsely, “In accordance with Article 113, Subsection 1, Section 2 of the Criminal Code, the defendants have the right to challenge any member of the panel of judges, the court clerk, or the prosecutor. They also have the right to argue on their own behalf.”
Gao Yang understood the presiding judge’s words but little of his meaning. He was so nervous his heart raced one moment and seemed to stop the next. His bladder felt as if it were about to burst, even though he knew it was empty. When he squirmed to ease the pressure, his police escorts told him to sit still.
“Do I hear any challenges? Hm?” the presiding judge asked listlessly. “No? Fine. The prosecutor will read the formal charges.”
The prosecutor rose. He had a pinched, tinny voice, and Gao Yang could tell by the accent that he wasn’t local. With his eyes glued to the prosecutor’s flapping lips and tightly knit brow, he gradually forgot about having to pee. Unsure of what the man was saying, he sensed vaguely that the events being chronicled had little to do with him.
The presiding judge laid down his tea. “The court will now entertain pleas. Defendant Gao Ma, did you or did you not shout reactionary slogans, inciting the masses to smash and loot the county offices on the morning of May twenty-eighth?”