Mountain Girl River Girl (6 page)

Chapter
Eight

Shui-lian

As if the assaulted women at the inn had not suffered enough, the Public Security Bureau had charged every one of them with prostitution. Hysterical crying and panicked explanations echoed throughout the canteen amid the police sergeant’s booming but useless orders to be quiet.

“We’re not prostitutes!” Jin-lin pleaded over and over to one of the policemen, her voice trembling. “How could you even say such a thing?”

“We’re on our way to work in Shanghai,” Shui-lian told the stern-faced sergeant. “We were attacked in the middle of the night. If you don’t believe me, go ask Da-Ge. He will tell you we’re not lying.”

A hoot of laughter burst out among the policemen. “Shanghai?” snarled one. “It’s a blessing you don’t look as stupid as you sound. You’re in Anhui Province now, a long way north of Shanghai, and women like you are not welcome here.”

“I don’t believe you,” Shui-lian shot back. “People’s Policemen shouldn’t tell lies. We’ve been recruited for factory work. In Shanghai,” she repeated.

“Listen,” a different cop put in. “You’ve been lied to, not by us, but by your so-called Da-Ge. And he’s nowhere to be found.” Shaking his head, he went on, his voice softer. “And there are no jobs waiting for you in Shanghai either. Trust me. Or half the population of this province would have left long ago.”

Tears streamed down Shui-lian’s face, and she let them run freely as she recalled the past five days. She knew there was no sympathy for a rape victim no matter how savagely she had been assaulted. Only rejection. Now they were openly condemned by the police.

Around her the desperate young women cried, leaning on one another’s shoulders. Shui-lian turned to face the wall, dropped to her knees, and, wrapping her arms around herself, pressed her chin to her chest as if to prevent her dignity from slipping away. Surrounded by the dreadful wailing, she dried her eyes with her shirt sleeve, vowing that from now on she would shed no more tears in front of strangers.

L
ATER THAT DAY
a middle-aged woman walked into the inn’s canteen, where one remaining policeman had been keeping Shui-lian and the others under guard. The woman introduced herself as Comrade Guo, from the local branch of the Women’s Federation of China, and the first thing she said was that the police had dropped the prostitution charge. She had a kindly face and gentle voice, but Shui-lian held back her trust. They should be thankful to the police force, Guo explained, otherwise by now they would all be scattered around over the region in individual households.

“This Da-Ge of yours had no intention of taking you to factories in Shanghai,” she went on. “His plan all along was to force you into marriage.”

“Marriage?” Jin-lin broke in, her voice shaking, her mouth hanging open. “Are you saying we would be married off to total strangers?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And the grooms are more than just strangers. Most are in poor health or physically disabled, some even mentally ill. Men the local young women want to have nothing to do with.”

“That pig!” Shui-lian cursed loudly, her eyes boring into Guo’s.

Comrade Guo shook her head and continued. “I’ve no doubt that Da-Ge belongs to one of the gangs that abduct young women like you in poorer regions of the country, or in your case, trick them with stories of better lives and attractive job offers. He then sells them as wives to families in economically better areas that are hundreds, even thousands, of kilometres away from their homes. These new wives are trapped, their fate sealed, for they have no money, no way to get back home. If they escape they’re hunted down and beaten and locked up. Businesses like his flourish because nowadays young women are in short supply in most parts of the country, especially in the countryside.”

“How can that be?” Shui-lian asked. She didn’t add that her own mother and brother had so eagerly tried to palm her off on an ugly boatman.

“Because the government decided to redistribute farmland to individual households and at the same time eased travel restrictions, allowing farmers to move from the countryside to cities to look for jobs,” Guo replied. “As a result, lots of young women travel to the cities to avoid farm work, taking jobs as maids and nannies, even street sweepers and cleaners—practically any kind of work that the city folks look down upon. A few lucky ones find husbands there and become urban dwellers. Those who end up returning home have become pickier about their prospective husbands. On top of that, for over twenty years the birth rate of baby girls in the rural regions has been declining. Now there’s a shortage of eligible wives. It’s a crisis. That’s what brought Da-Ge and gangsters like him into their dirty business.”

“Are you saying we’ve been sold without our knowing it?” another young woman asked.

“Yes. Very likely the families have already paid him, and he and his helpers have run off with their money. They probably bought the clothes you’re wearing.”

“But why us?” Shui-lian murmured.

“Because you’re poor, of course, and easily exploited. But I’m sure things will get better where you came from. Remember, when the river rises, so do the boats,” Comrade Guo said quietly, quoting an expression Shui-lian had learned in school. “Girls, go back home. There is nothing for you here, believe me. If you can’t afford the journey, the federation will buy tickets for you.”

J
IN-LIN AND SHUI-LIAN
talked throughout the night, sorrow mixed with regret and despair. By the time the sky turned milky grey, their tears had run dry.

“This is all my fault,” Jin-lin sobbed.

“Don’t talk like that,” said Shui-lian. “You didn’t tie me up and drag me along with you. I’m responsible for myself!” Lowering her head, staring at her bare feet, Shui-lian thought for a minute before looking up again. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going back home,” Jin-lin replied. “I’ve had enough of this. I miss my family.”

“But what about your father? He’ll keep pestering you.”

A scornful smile crossed Jin-lin’s face. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle him now. No one is ever going to hurt me that way again.” She pressed her lips together. “How about you? You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

“No, I don’t want to go home,” Shui-lian answered firmly. “I won’t let that scum Da-Ge, or those raping bastards, ruin my plans. And I won’t let my mother and brother force me to get married. That’s no better than being raped, is it?”

Fighting off sympathy for the disappointment written on Jin-lin’s face, Shui-lian explained that she had made up her mind even before Comrade Guo had finished talking. “Going back home would be like a fish swimming back to her little pond after seeing the big ocean. I still want to go to Shanghai,” she concluded.

Hours later, outside the entrance to the inn, Shui-lian said goodbye to the other young women, who, like Jin-lin, had all decided to go home. Then the two friends stood together for a few awkward moments.

“I promise I’ll look for your family’s boat and go to see your mother as soon as I get back to Sichuan,” Jin-lin said repeatedly, wiping her tears.

“Tell her not to worry. I’ll be all right,” Shui-lian replied, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She took Jin-lin in her arms and hugged her as hard as she could. Then she turned and started walking, her eyes straight ahead, leaving her childhood friend behind.

At a crossroads Shui-lian approached an old man who was roasting sweet potatoes on a coal stove.

“Which way to Shanghai?” she asked.

“East,” the old man answered, pointing his blackened finger at the rising sun.

Chapter
Nine

Pan-pan

The sun was sinking in the western sky when the train slowed down to enter Bengbu Station, the last major stop in Anhui Province. Pan-pan shifted her swollen feet, wriggling her toes to get rid of the numbness, only to see the last strand of her shoelace let go with a snap. Over three days now, ever since she boarded the train in Guiyang, she had watched her frayed shoelaces break off one loop after another, as if they were programmed on a timer. She had insisted on buying a ticket for the “slow train” to Beijing because it was cheapest. Her father, who had come to Guiyang to see her off, had wanted her to take the express. But no one had told her that “slow” meant the train stopped at practically every house that stood along the railway track. A donkey cart could have covered the same distance just as quickly, she grumbled to herself. She had a seat all right, one-third of a wooden bench with a hard back beside the window, yet it was far from relaxing and restful.

Her father had cautioned her time and again that she should apply double vigilance when the train stopped at a station. “Don’t let your bag and bedroll out of your sight,” he called out one last time as the train pulled away from the platform.

Although her belongings were now stowed securely on the luggage rack over her head, Pan-pan raised her eyes at each stop and stared at them until the train began moving again. She wondered if, by the time she reached the capital, she would become cross-eyed. You can never be too careful, Ah-Po’s caution rang in her ears. She smiled inwardly each time she caught sight of her luggage. Never in her life had she had so many new things—clothes and shoes and socks, not to mention a brand-new quilt, a gift from Xin-Ma’s hope chest. When the villagers heard about Pan-pan’s journey, they had given her plenty of advice. Yet the only thing they had agreed on was that winter in the nation’s capital was frigid. “It’s a land of ice and snow, and knife-sharp winds,” they warned her. “Watch out for your ears and nose or they’ll freeze and fall off.”

In Tongren, Auntie Cai-fei had reluctantly taken Pan-pan shopping, jamming a large vinyl bag full with a new cotton-padded jacket, pants, and shoes, a set of towels, and half a dozen washcloths, as well as two tiny bottles of scented water. All the while, as they went from one store to another, she uttered a stream of words to try to persuade Pan-pan to stay with her.

“You can find a job here. Tongren is not as grand as the capital, but it’s not a village, either. You’re only fifteen. Your mother would never let you go to Beijing if she were still alive.”

Ah-Po’s going-away package had been different and unexpected. The night before Pan-pan left for Tongren, she gave Pan-pan a shoulder bag made of faded green canvas with a red star stitched on the flap, like the ones soldiers used to carry. She told Pan-pan it had been left behind by Sun Ming, the Beijing girl. Ah-Po had washed it and put it away with the piece of paper, and had forgotten about them both over the years.

“If you find her, I wonder if she’ll recognize her bag,” Ah-Po murmured as she laid it on the table, her wrinkled hand brushing the creased star. It was only after everyone else had gone to bed that Ah-Po presented Pan-pan with four hundred yuan folded neatly inside a handkerchief. It was the first time Pan-pan had seen so much money. She shook her head and pushed Ah-Po’s hands away.

“No, Ah-Po, I can’t,” she said over and over again. “The money is for your
hou-shi—
your funeral arrangement.”

“You silly girl, I’m still healthy and strong and can start saving again. Besides, if you find Sun Ming and a job in Beijing, you’ll take care of things for me after I am gone from this world. If it makes you feel better, consider it a loan,” she had said lightheartedly but with a forced smile. Later, she carefully sewed a pocket in Pan-pan’s undershirt to keep the money in and secured it with a safety pin. “Don’t spend it until you have to,” she admonished. The lump had pressed against Pan-pan’s chest ever since she left Guiyang.

And it turned out to be a long journey. Over the past few days Pan-pan had grown fed up with the click-clack of the steel wheels, the sway of the car, the constant nattering of strangers’ conversations, and, most of all, the irritating cigarette smoke. It was Sun Ming’s thirty-year-old address that kept her spirits up. She knew nothing about city living, but one look at Sun Ming’s address was enough to fill her with excitement and anticipation. It had three sets of numbers and a dozen words! In Pan-pan’s village there was no need for any kind of identification beyond the name of the recipient. Everyone knew where everyone else lived.

With one last lunge, the train came to a complete stop. Pan-pan let out a long sigh of relief. Only twelve hours more and her voyage would be over at last. She yawned, stretching her arms upward, her fingertips touching the cold wooden railing of the luggage rack.

“What’s that awful smell!” the elderly woman next to Pan-pan burst out. Sniffing hard and blowing through her nostrils, she searched in both directions.

Pan-pan moaned quietly as a hot flush climbed up her neck and onto her face. Clutching her arms against her rib cage she turned her head away from the accusing looks of her neighbour, only to be caught by the intense, fearful stare of her own eyes reflected in the window. How could you be so careless and forgetful? she cursed herself. It ought to be etched in her mind by now. Suddenly she felt hungry and tired, crushed by the homesickness she had tried so hard to suppress since leaving her village. Her happiness at the prospect of an end to her journey, which had warmed her just a moment ago, vanished like thin smoke, replaced by a surge of anxiety that when the train reached its final destination, she would be left in a strange city totally alone. And by then she would be even farther away from home and the mountains in Guizhou.

“Deal with it when the time comes.” Xin-Ma’s motto sounded in her ears and calmed her a bit. Pan-pan stuck her head out the window, immersing herself in a sea of singsong vendors’ voices. Some of the sellers ran alongside the train. Others stood next to carts piled high with cigarettes, drinks, fruit, and buns. Each tried to top the other, to attract buyers.

“Get your hot ‘dog-won’t-leave-them-alone’ meat buns,” an old man bellowed, pushing a three-wheel barrow. Wisps of steam rose from the tiers of a bamboo steamer.

“World-famous roasted Shandong peanuts,” shouted another, a long pole balanced on his shoulder, a basket dangling from each end.

“Come, try some Anhui dates. The best and the sweetest under heaven.”

Pan-pan swallowed hard as she watched the array of exotic foods paraded before her. The sounds and the aromas made her mouth water. For three days now she had eaten nothing but homemade flatbread, washed down with hot water provided on the train. Station after station, she had overcome the temptation to treat herself to the seemingly endless supplies of candies, nuts, cookies, sweet buns, and eggs boiled in tea and spices. Her money had to be put to better use, she kept reminding herself.

Another voice drifted by. “Delicious sunflower seeds roasted in five spices.”

Pan-pan craned her neck farther, searching the crowd on the platform. Roasted sunflower seeds were her favourite snack, crispy and salty. And they shouldn’t cost much since sunflowers were easy to grow—every household in the village planted them alongside the pathways, at the corners of buildings, and around ditches and ponds. The villagers roasted the seeds in woks with salt and then sprinkled them with sugar water, leaving a sweet and salty coating on the shells. But never had Pan-pan heard of sunflower seeds roasted in five spices. They must taste even more delicious.

“Do I have time to get off the train to buy something?” Pan-pan asked the young woman who sat across from her.

“Sure. The train will be here for another twenty minutes. You’ll have plenty of time.”

Pan-pan hesitated, then pointed at the luggage rack above her head. “Will you look after my bag and bedroll?”

“Oh, come on, you peasant! Lighten up, will you? Who would steal a bedroll nowadays?” a woman across the aisle grumbled. She had tried a few times to change seats with Pan-pan so that she could sit beside the window, but Pan-pan had refused.

Pan-pan ignored her comment, though she’d noticed that lately almost no one coming onboard had bedrolls with them. And the bags they carried were much fancier than hers. Some even had wheels at the bottom, and the owners pulled them along effortlessly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your things,” the young woman assured her with a smile.

Picking up her small shoulder bag, Pan-pan dashed along the aisle and jumped down onto the platform. She zigzagged through the crowd, chasing after the sunflower-seed seller.

“I’ll take one bag of your five-spices seeds, Uncle,” she said, catching her breath.

The shabbily dressed man gave her a packet and held out his hand. “One yuan.”

It was only then that Pan-pan remembered that all her money was in the pocket sewn into her shirt. She hesitated, looking at the triangular paper packet resting in her hand. Slowly she pushed her free hand up inside her jacket, her back arched into a bow as she reached for the money pouch. Turning aside to avoid the probing eyes of the seller, she opened the pouch and gingerly peeled off a five-yuan note, handing it to him.

Just then, something heavy struck her shoulder and a figure in a black coat flew by her, snatching the pouch from her hand. Pan-pan let out a loud cry. The paper parcel hit the ground and the roasted seeds scattered over the pavement.

“Thief! Help! Please help me!” Pan-pan shrieked as she sprinted after the fleeing woman. One of her laceless shoes flew off, then the other, but she kept running. Around the corner she skidded and fell headfirst on the ground. Scrambling to her feet, spitting blood, she dashed down the stairs and out onto the open tracks. The woman, her open jacket flapping as she ran, was too fast for Pan-pan. The rough gravel between the ties quickly tore her new socks to strips, jabbing her bare soles and bruising her ankles. But she continued the chase, crying and yelling for help as she ran. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw the thief turn and run behind a house on the road ahead, out of sight. Pursuing the woman, Pan-pan found herself at a busy intersection. She stopped, panting. Frantically, she looked to her left and her right, up the street and down the other way, hoping the thief would reappear. There was no one, only the traffic. The thief was gone. Pan-pan wailed in frustration. Suddenly, all the moving objects—the horse carts, tractors, cars, and trucks—seemed to be charging toward her. With a moan, she passed out, collapsing onto the sidewalk.