Blue Gold (12 page)

Laiping should have been angry, but when she looked at Min, lifeless and bone-weary, all she could feel was sorry for her. Where had her bold Older Cousin gone?

“I thought you liked it here,” she said. “You made it sound like so much fun.”

“It was fun at first,” she replied, pressing the nightdress into the sink to force out the water. “But it seems like as soon as you make a friend, they quit and you never see them again. They withheld my pay when I went home at the New Year, just in case I had any ideas about not coming back. They still haven't paid me that money.”

Laiping noticed Min grimace in pain when she squeezed her hands around the nightdress to wring it out. Her grasp was too weak to have much effect—the nightdress was still a sodden lump. She remembered that Min's hands had trembled in the café last week, too.

“Are you all right?” asked Laiping.

Min looked away, trying to hide her face from Laiping.

“Min? What's wrong?”

Laiping watched in alarm as her normally tough cousin burst into tears.

“I feel awful! I'm so tired all the time. My hands shake, and my eyes get blurry.”

“It's the flu,” said Laiping, holding her hand to Min's forehead. But her forehead was cool.

“I guess so,” replied Min, drying her eyes with the back of her hands. “Everybody on my line has been getting sick.”

“You should stay in bed.”

“I can't. I'm working overtime tomorrow. The bosses keep telling us that if we don't show up for work, they'll replace us with robots.”

Laiping shook her head. “And Grandma always said you were the smart one!”

Min let out a laugh, chasing the last of her tears away. “Do you remember how she used to nag us? ‘Study! You must study hard in order to become rich!'” she said, in a perfect imitation of their grandmother.

“She never told
me
to study,” protested Laiping. “I wasn't university material!”

“You were always the pretty one! This will have to do,” declared Min, giving her nightdress a final twist in the sink.

While Min carried the damp bundle to her bunk to hang it to dry, Laiping went to the window. She was facing south, toward downtown Shenzhen, but it was a muggy day and the horizon was obscured by a brown haze. Laiping had to go on faith that Shenzhen's skyscrapers were out there. She remembered how as a little girl she had dreamed of the big city, imagining herself as a famous actress, or a fashion model. She'd made it as far as the big city, but those dreams seem further away today than they had when she was little.

“Maybe we'll find rich Shenzhen boys with their own apartments to marry,” she said, only half joking. “Then we could stay in the city and let them look after us.”

Suddenly she was thinking of Kai. Was he from Shenzhen, or was he a migrant worker like her and Min? She knew nothing about him.

“You think every girl here hasn't had the same thought?” Min remarked, climbing the ladder and hanging the nightdress on a hook so that, when she closed the curtain, no one would see it. “Just our luck that this is the one place in all of China where girls outnumber boys.”

“Just our luck,” agreed Laiping, turning back from the window in time to see Min climbing down from her bunk. Every step seemed to cause her pain. “Min, you can't keep working if you're sick,” she told her.

“What choice do I have?” she sighed. “I can't go back to the village. I'm different now. It's too boring there—there's nothing to do. Nobody there can understand how I've changed.”

Min and Laiping listened to the nightdress dripping onto the mattress.

“Looks like I'll be sleeping in a soggy bed,” remarked Min, making a face.

“You know what Grandma would tell you,” said Laiping.

Min forced a smile. “She would say I must learn to eat the bitter first, then the sweet.”

“Actually,” replied Laiping, “I was thinking, ‘You can't conceal fire by wrapping it in paper.' If you're sick, the company should give you time off, or you'll just get sicker. And while they're at it, they should give Fen and me our money.”

Thinking about her empty bank account made Laiping angry all over again. She had made a plan to work hard for the company, in the belief that the company would in turn be good to her. But now she felt cheated.

“There's something else that Grandma used to say,” Min pointed out, growing serious. “‘The bird that sticks its head out is the first to get shot.' I'm not going to stick my head out, and you shouldn't either.”

Laiping thought again of Kai, who wasn't afraid to stick his head out.
There are things you need to know
—she was beginning to understand what he had meant by that. If the company wasn't going to treat her fairly, then Laiping needed a new plan. From now on, she decided, she would try to be smart, like Kai.

“You deserve better than this,” she told Min. “We all do.”

HOLDING TIGHT
to her family's rations of oil and beans, Sylvie entered the medical clinic to find Neema, one of the nurses, seated at the admitting table reading a novel. There were no patients waiting, and Neema was one to take full advantage of a lull.

“Is Doctor Marie here?” asked Sylvie.

“She finishes at three on Saturdays,” Neema replied, barely acknowledging her. Sylvie knew that Neema didn't like her, probably because Neema was Tanzanian and thought that a young Congolese like Sylvie had no business being so friendly with one of the doctors. “Come back on Monday.”

“I can't wait until Monday!”

Neema tilted up her ample chin so that she was looking down her nose at Sylvie. “Well, you're going to have to wait.”

But Sylvie knew where to find Marie. She left the clinic and set out for the compound reserved for foreign workers. Sylvie was reluctant to disturb her there, but she had to see her. Marie was her only hope for escaping the marriage trap that Kayembe had set for her, apparently with Olivier's help. She followed a track that led from behind the clinic into Zone 1 of the camp, keeping her head down to avoid the stares of the men she passed. Women preparing food over cook fires threw hostile looks her way, knowing she didn't belong in this part of Nyarugusu. The smell of cooking reminded Sylvie of the sack of maize she'd had to leave behind.

The foreign workers' compound was surrounded by a high fence of thorn branches. Ordinarily, refugees weren't allowed to go inside, unless they were delivering food or other supplies. A UN soldier was posted at the gate, an Asian man with the flag of some country Sylvie didn't recognize stitched on his uniform. Sylvie swallowed her fear, trying to be brave as she approached him.

“I need to speak to someone inside,” Sylvie told him.

“No refugees,” he replied in halting French.

“But I work at the clinic,” she explained. “I need to see one of the doctors.”

The soldier didn't seem to understand. “Go!” he commanded, shaking his rifle at her.

“Is there a problem?”

Sylvie turned to see the American aid worker, returning to the compound. He must have finished his shift at the distribution center.

“I need to see Doctor Marie,” Sylvie told him. The American looked wary. Perhaps he'd had enough of complaining Congolese for today. “Please,” Sylvie pleaded. “My name is Sylvie. She knows me. I work for her at the clinic.”

He thought it over for a moment, then said to the guard, “She's okay.”

Beyond the gate, Sylvie saw green canvas tents instead of mud huts. It looked…temporary, as though the foreign workers might pack up their tents and leave Nyarugusu at any moment. Several white people, men and women, sat in camp chairs, sipping beers in the late afternoon sun. Among them was Doctor Van de Velde, the head doctor. When he saw Sylvie enter with the aid worker, he got up from his chair and came over.

“She's not supposed to be in here,” he scolded the American. “What do you think you're doing, Martin?”

“She says she works at the clinic,” Martin replied with a shrug.

Doctor Van de Velde looked at Sylvie, recognition dawning. “Only regular staff is allowed inside the compound,” he said.

“She only wants to talk to Marie,” said Martin—
suddenly her ally—earning a glare from the much older doctor.

“Please,” said Sylvie. “I just need to speak with her for a moment, then I will be gone.”

Doctor Van de Velde frowned while he thought it over. Then, reluctantly, he turned and shouted, “Marie!”

Marie emerged from one of the tents. She looked younger than she did in the hospital. Sylvie was surprised to see her wearing shorts and a skimpy top—a Congolese woman would never have dressed like that.

“Sylvie! What's wrong?” she asked, crossing to her.

“I need to talk to you,” whispered Sylvie urgently.

Marie picked up on Sylvie's plea for privacy. “Come inside the tent.”

“Don't make a habit of this!” warned Doctor Van de Velde as the two of them headed away.

“I'm sorry I got you in trouble,” Sylvie whispered to her.

“Don't mind him,” replied Marie. “What's he going to do? Fire me?”

Inside the tent, there were two cots and a plastic storage bin with drawers. On top of the bin there was a framed photograph of a nicely dressed African-looking family—an older man and woman and two girls who looked like Marie.

“My parents and sisters,” explained Marie.

Sylvie stared at the photo. Marie's family looked nice—happy, like Marie.

“What's wrong, Sylvie?” asked Marie. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“When can I go to Canada?” she blurted. “I need to go soon!”

“Why?” Marie asked in confusion. “What's going on?”

“Please, how long will it take?”

“I don't know exactly, but these things take time.”

“I don't have time!”

Marie held up her hands to slow Sylvie down. “Not long ago you were mad at me for pressuring you to go,” she said. “What's happened?”

Sylvie began to tremble. “Olivier told Kayembe I'll marry him. My brother has given me away.”

Surprise played across Marie's face, then anger. “I'll speak with your brother—”

“No! It's too dangerous. Olivier has become one of Kayembe's men.”

“How? What's he doing for him?”

“He won't say,” said Sylvie, the words tumbling out now. “But Olivier knows how to drive a truck now, and Kayembe told me he's bringing coltan out of North Kivu. Maybe Olivier is working for him as a driver.”

“Kayembe is breaking the law by bringing coltan over the border,” said Marie when Sylvie stopped to catch her breath. “I'll report him to the Tanzanian authorities and they'll expel him. If he's not here, he can't force you to marry him.”

“No! If you stand in his way, he will make you suffer.” As Sylvie spoke, she realized her warning to Marie applied to herself as well.
If I say no, he will make me suffer. Not only me, but the whole family, too.

Marie shook her head in disgust. “He thinks he runs the place!”

“He
does
run it,” replied Sylvie.

Marie stared at Sylvie, the complications sinking in. “C'mon,” she said at last, heading out of the tent. “There's someone we need to talk to.”

Sylvie kept up with Marie's brisk pace as they crossed an open area to a rounded metal hut. Inside, Marie sat down at laptop computer, like the one Sylvie's father used to have back in their village, only newer.

“Have you ever Skyped before?” she asked.

“What?” replied Sylvie.

“You'll see.”

Marie's fingers were dancing over the keyboard. There was a ringing sound, and after a few moments a young white man appeared on the computer screen. He was thin-faced, with reddish hair. On a shelf behind him there were many books.

Marie smiled. “Alain! Thank heavens you're there!”

“Is everything okay,
cherie
?” the young man asked. “You're calling early.”

From his eager concern, Sylvie wondered if the man was Marie's boyfriend.

“Don't worry. I'm fine,” she reassured him. “I have someone here who would like to talk with you.” Marie got up and indicated that Sylvie should sit in her place. “This is my friend Alain, in Montreal,” she told her. “He already knows a lot about you.” Suddenly timid, Sylvie hesitated. “Go on!” said Marie with an encouraging smile.

Sylvie sat and looked into the screen. She could see her own image in a small square in the corner. Alain's face lit up when he recognized her.

“Sylvie!” he said, his voice slightly delayed and the video of his face jumpy. “I was just talking about you with some friends of mine.”

Sylvie didn't know what to say in reply. Marie leaned down so that they were both visible in the little square box.

“Alain, tell Sylvie what's happening.”