Mountain Girl River Girl (14 page)

Chapter
Eighteen

In the dim light, Pan-pan helped Shui-lian pack her pitiful belongings and quietly added a couple of new washcloths and an undershirt to the bundle. She insisted on going with Shui-lian to her new dorm, two buildings away. Earlier, Pan-pan had cried with fury when Shui-lian told of her encounter with Demon Six the day before. Stamping her feet in anger—an action Shui-lian had never seen from her friend—Pan-pan cursed the Demons loudly. She even had gone to Elder Sister Meng, begging her to intercede, to keep Shui-lian in the sewing shop. Sending her to the cutting shop was like dropping a lamb into a tiger’s den, she argued. No, Elder Sister Meng had said, it was more like killing a chicken to scare the monkeys. But there was nothing she could do.

On the way to her new dorm, Shui-lian, trying her hardest not to cry, reassured her friend, who kept wiping her eyes on the shoulder of her T-shirt.

“Don’t cry, Pan-pan. We’re still in the same compound, so we can still see each other. And don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine.”

T
HE END OF JUNE
brought another stifling heat wave rolling across the plain. At midday even the cicadas stopped their high-pitched calls. It wasn’t long after Shui-lian began her new job in the cutting room that she felt a persistent tingling and aching in her throat. One night before she went to bed she vomited repeatedly, and hours later her coughing was so violent it woke everyone in the dorm. She was running a fever. But when dawn came, Shui-lian struggled to get up and go to work. She couldn’t afford a sick day. Only one week remained before the end of her three-month probation. And then she would get full pay, plus the twenty percent of her wages that the company held back during the probation period. After deductions for room and board, there wasn’t much to show for eleven weeks of hard labour. Nor did she want to spend money on pills or medicine. One more week left, she kept reminding herself as she walked unsteadily along the footpath. She would crawl to the shop if she had to.

In the days that followed, Shui-lian’s cough got worse. Each hacking fit seemed to scour her guts and shake her tiny frame. Stable hands were an essential requirement for operating the punching cutter, under which she pushed stacks of leather or fabric to be precisely sheared by the bright, heavy blades according to the pattern—sharp turns and rigid tips and curves. Time and again, fits of coughing forced her to turn away from the machine, often bending over double and gasping for air. Even when she finally dragged herself back to the dorm at the end of her shift and was able to lie down, the back and chest pains gave her no rest.

One night during her toilet break she spotted blood in her saliva when she coughed and spat into the sink. Even though she knew very little about the significance of spitting blood, it worried her. There were only five days to go before her probation ended. She decided to say nothing, fearing that the Demons would use any excuse to punish her more. Since the transfer she hadn’t seen much of them—they stayed away from the cutting shop, probably because most of the workers there were males.

She lifted the corner of her T-shirt to wipe her mouth dry before she stepped out of the washroom. The heat that had been simmering the brick walls of the compound during the day lingered. Shui-lian paused briefly on the path. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, savouring a moment of stillness before returning to the dust, fumes, and shattering noise. The position of the quarter moon in the sky told her it must be near midnight. The workers’ living quarters were cast in dark shadow. Crickets filled the silence with their chirping. On the other side of the wall, in the rice paddies, frogs croaked in one unbroken chorus. Their monotonous drone reminded her of the night she had been raped nearly three months ago.

Back in the workshop, the air seemed even more suffocating and rancid from sweaty and unwashed bodies, flying powder, and other chemical compounds. Nausea overcame Shui-lian. After pausing for another coughing spell, she struggled to get to her table. Two stacks of white linings were waiting to be sliced, the pattern clearly marked on the top sheet in black dotted lines. Shui-lian leaned against the edge of the punching cutter table, composing herself before she flipped on the switch. She bent her head down, leaning to one side so she could have a better view of the pattern. Just as she began to feed the material under the hovering blade, another coughing fit wracked her body. Thick phlegm rose to her throat, gagging her. She clapped her right hand over her mouth, but it was too late. A streak of bloody spit smeared the top sheet of the linings, obliterating some of the black tracings. Shui-lian panicked. With one hand at her mouth, she frantically wiped at the bloodstain. The punching cutter slammed down. Then came the searing pain, like an electric shock that shook her whole body. It was the last thing she remembered before she passed out.

S
HUI-LIAN WOKE
to the stifling midday heat, and within minutes she felt that she would skin herself alive if it would ease the maddening itching all over her body. For over a week now an ugly red rash had covered her from shoulder blades to waist. She stirred and tried to turn onto her side but failed. Her entire body seemed immobile, as if nailed to the bed. She opened her eyes and saw the blurred outline of a white object suspended above her chest. Squinting to focus, she realized it was her left arm, attached to the bunk above her by a strip of cloth. She pulled, trying to set it free, then screamed in pain.

“What’s happened to me?” she cried out, but her shouts came out a murmur. She lifted her head and saw that the bunks across the aisle were empty. Where is everyone? she wondered. They should all be sleeping. Confused, she turned her head to the wall. Her eyes came to rest on the tin of heat rash powder next to the pillow. She was in Pan-pan’s bed.

At that moment, the door opened. Pan-pan backed into the dorm, holding a washbasin. She turned around and smiled, put the basin filled with water on the floor, and sat down on the edge of the bunk.

“Why am I in your bed?” Shui-lian asked feebly. “What’s wrong with my hand? I can’t move it.”

“You don’t remember? You had an accident, Shui-lian. I brought you here so you’d have a better rest. It’s quieter and cooler, since everyone else is away working. Talking about cooler, I have some clean, cold water here. Let me give you a sponge bath. You’ll feel better.”

“No, not yet. Tell me what’s happened.” Before she could continue, Shui-lian was seized by a fierce bout of coughing. The pain that rose into her face made Pan-pan burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry, Shui-lian,” Pan-pan broke down. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have listened to Lao Zhou. If I hadn’t urged you to take the job, this would never have happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Shui-lian demanded, drying her mouth with the back of her hand. Suddenly she remembered the blood in her saliva and the stain on the shoe lining. She would have to pay a heavier fine this time. “Don’t worry, Pan-pan. I’m all right.”

“No, you’re not!” Pan-pan wailed. “Part of your thumb is gone.”

“My thumb?” Shui-lian whispered. “What about my thumb? What do you mean it’s gone?”

“You sheared it off last night on the cutting machine!” Pan-pan lowered her head and covered her face with her hands.

Shui-lian stared at the bare bunk above her. She made no reply, nor did she hear Pan-pan’s sobs.

Chapter
Nineteen

Two days later, when Pan-pan hurried along the path to the dorm on her toilet break, she was stopped by Demon Six. “Ah-Wu wants you in his office. Right now,” he commanded.

“Can it wait?” Pan-pan pleaded. “I have to see if Shui-lian needs anything.”

“No, it can’t!” he shouted, eyes glaring. “How dare you tell Ah-Wu to wait! Especially over that trashy Guizhou drab! I thought you were the smart one.”

What does Ah-Wu want? Pan-pan wondered.

The day before, Pan-pan had rushed to see Demon Three after she finished work. Hot and sweaty, hungry and thirsty, she knocked cautiously on his door. She had with her the severed piece of Shui-lian’s thumb, wrapped in a scrap of shoe lining. A worker in the shop had found it and cleaned it the best way he could. He also told Pan-pan that for some time now many hospitals in China had succeeded in attaching severed limbs and fingers, if it was done in time. Pan-pan wanted one of the factory vehicles to take Shui-lian to the hospital in Bozhou to see a real doctor, rather than the woman who split her working hours between the canteen and the clinic. All that woman had done was change the blood-soaked dressing, count out pills, and punch a needle into Shui-lian’s behind when the pain became too excruciating.

“She was injured on her shift, Director, and she’s in awful pain. Please help her,” Pan-pan had begged.

The director had sent her away, saying that he had to report to Ah-Wu.

Now, as Pan-pan followed Demon Six, her heart pounded in her throat. She tried to figure out the significance of Ah-Wu breaking his routine by showing his face in the factory when the sky was lit by the sun, not the moon or stars. Her legs weakened when she saw the windows of Ah-Wu’s office, and she found herself awash with fear as the door was opened.

Ah-Wu was sitting with his sandalled feet up on a large desk. His eyes were hidden behind wraparound sunglasses. When Pan-pan sidled in and stood by the door, which was closed behind her, he wiggled his first finger, motioning her closer, until Pan-pan could see her face in his mirror-like lenses.

The office was cool and damp, a sharp contrast to the sparkling heat outside. Beside her, a motor hummed softly, a magic machine everyone had been talking about that produced cool air and heavenly comfort. The director stood behind Ah-Wu, his hands behind his back, his eyes avoiding contact with Pan-pan. Demon Six resumed his rigid position on Ah-Wu’s left, his arms folded on his chest.

“Well, well, well.” Ah-Wu broke the silence, swinging his legs down. He stood, leaning forward against the edge of the desk, the dark lenses aimed directly at Pan-pan. “A mathematician from …” He paused, turning his head toward the director.

“From Guizhou, Ah-Wu. The mountain people.”

“Right. The mountains, which means caves, stones, and rocks—and, surprisingly, a woman who can count.” He canted his head back and burst out laughing. “I hope you haven’t rushed out and spent the dollar I gave you. It’s your lucky star, and you’ll need it
today.”

He yelled the last word, slapping his hand on the desk. Startled, Pan-pan took a step backwards.

“This is a factory, you country bumpkin, not a rest house. Workers getting injured is as normal as eating three meals a day,” Ah-Wu ranted. “It’s her own fault—her clumsiness and stupidity that cut off her thumb. But you really are something, aren’t you? How dare you come here and tell us what to do? You know where the hospital is! No one is stopping you!” By now he was yelling so hard, white foam oozed from the corners of his mouth.

“But Ah-Wu,” Pan-pan mustered in a trembling voice. “The hospital is too far. And she’s lost so much blood. She’s very weak. Besides, she can’t afford the treatment, unless the factory can help her out, and—”

“—and nothing. Period.” Ah-Wu cut her off, removing his dark shades and revealing bulging eyes that were puffy and criss-crossed with thin red lines. “Listen really carefully, cave woman. I am running a factory, not a charity. I’ll say it one last time. The accident is all her fault. We’re not paying one penny toward her medical bill.”

He stopped, put his glasses back on, and chuckled. Behind him, the director scratched his head, baffled by the sudden change of mood. Even Demon Six looked bewildered, his face twitching as though he couldn’t decide whether to join the laughter or keep a straight face.

“Too bad China no longer has the universal medical care the government used to brag about to the rest of the world,” Ah-Wu continued, “but Canada, a country of capitalism, has it. No wonder that bloody country is called ‘Everyone Takes.’” He laughed when he caught the dumbfounded look of the director.

Pan-pan raised her eyes. She knew what Ah-Wu was implying. When she was little she had heard both at home and in school the stories of Doctor Bethune, a Canadian who helped the Chinese revolution. She also knew Canada in Chinese was
Jia-na-da,
composed of three Chinese characters. With the last word moved to be the first—
da-jia-na—
it meant, “everyone takes.”

Pan-pan refused to give up. “But—” she began.

“No buts,” Ah-Wu snapped. He walked around the desk toward Pan-pan, who leapt backwards.

Clenching her fists to stop them from trembling, she turned to leave.

“Not so fast,” Ah-Wu called out, picking up a folder from the desk. “I trust this matter is solved,” he said, lowering his voice dramatically. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t utter one more word or blab about the incident to anyone, in particular outside the compound. There are people out there and around the world who love to criticize factories like ours. The truth is, no one tied you up and dragged you here, did they? Not to mention,” he paused, flipping open the folder and pulling out a sheet of paper, “that it turns out you’re the ones who have been telling us lies.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is this: Is it true you and Chen Shui-lian are cousins as it states here? And is it true that you’re both from Guizhou Province?”

“All right, we’re not cousins. But what does it matter? What’s the difference whether Shui-lian is from Guizhou or not? She works as hard as any other worker, and—”

“The difference is that she’s an illegal,” Ah-Wu cut Pan-pan off, a vein bulging on the side of his skinny neck as his anger built up once again. “This Zhou person who filled in this form used someone else’s name and national identification number to register your so-called cousin. Now you tell me, smart mouth, how in hell this Shui-lian woman could be injured in this factory if she’s never worked here!”

“You, you …” Pan-pan was so stunned by his sly logic that she failed to form a sentence. Tongue-tied, she wished she was like the people she had seen on TV, able to stay calm when confronted with crises. She wished she could do as they did: speak eloquently, use big words to argue and reason with thugs like Ah-Wu, tell him that she, as well as every other worker in the factory, knew that most of the equipment was unsafe, outdated, even obsolete, not brand new as it said on the government papers to fool the officials. She also wanted to tell him that the owner was greedy and her factory failed to provide even the basic training for the workers, that Shui-lian’s transfer to the cutting shop was an act of vengeance, and the cause of her sickness and the accidents.

“Get out of here!” Ah-Wu yelled, flapping his hand as though chasing away a bug. “Go and tell your so-called cousin to pack up her bedroll. I want her out of the compound before dark or I’ll throw her out myself.”

When she opened the door to leave, Pan-pan heard Demon Six snarl at her from behind. “Get back to work. Your toilet break is over.”

P
AN-PAN DRIED HER EYES
and took a deep breath before she entered the workshop. She sat down quietly in front of her machine and turned on the switch with a shaking hand. How had they found out about Shui-lian? Pan-pan sensed that Ah-Wu as well as the director had known for some time. The fact that they had said or done nothing about it meant they couldn’t have cared less whether she and Shui-lian were cousins or where Shui-lian was from as long as a young and healthy woman was hired. Ah-Wu himself had said on more than one occasion that it didn’t matter to him who worked in his factory so long as the person was “in good health and not too stupid.” Once he had even commented that nowadays in mainland China it was much easier to find a worker than a purebred dog. But now that Shui-lian was no longer useful to the factory and to the owner, her false identity was brought up and used against her. Pan-pan thought about all the misery and injustice Shui-lian had gone through to fulfill her dreams. Even though Pan-pan was the one who had gone to see the director, she was allowed to stay. The reason was as clear as it was simple: Pan-pan was still useful and would continue to make a profit for Ah-Wu and Elder Miss Gong. Two days short of the end of her three-month probation, Pan-pan had not just become a skilful sewing machine operator, she had outperformed many of her co-workers who had been in the factory much longer, with hardly any returns for defective work. Ah-Wu and the director knew that, too.

Thinking of her friend, Pan-pan moved her foot off the pedal and turned off her machine, leaving a half-stitched shoe-upper flattened under the presser foot. She reached down to pick up her food tin and water bowl, then stood up, brushing the dust off the front of her shirt. Looking at no one and remaining silent, she let her timecard drop to the floor and walked straight toward the entrance. Angry shouts rose from one of the Demons, ordering her back to work. Pan-pan heard him but kept walking, past the columns of noisy machines, in between the black bins. A woman on her left paused at her sewing, watching Pan-pan approach and then pass by her. More machines slowed down, a few stopped, more eyes rose to gaze at her. She felt them on her back as she continued out the door and out of their sight.