by Jennie Liu
Text copyright © 2018 by Jennie Liu
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Liu, Jennie, 1971– author.
Title: Girls on the line / by Jennie Liu.
Description: Minneapolis : Carolrhoda Lab, [2018] | Summary: Told in two voices, Luli and Yun, raised in an orphanage to age sixteen, work together in a factory until Yun, pregnant, disappears and Luli must confront the dangers of the outside world to find her. Includes facts about China’s One-Child Policy and its effects.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017031554| ISBN 9781512459388 (lb) | ISBN 9781541523760 (eb pdf)
Subjects: | CYAC: Missing persons—Fiction. | Factories—Fiction. | Pregnancy—Fiction. | Orphans—Fiction. | China—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.L5846 Gir 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017031554
Manufactured in the United States of America
1-43025-27694-6/15/2018
9781541530706 ePub
9781541530713 mobi
9781541530720 ePub
Gujiao, China, 2009
Chapter 1
Luli
The end-of-shift bell at Gujiao Technologies Limited rings out over the factory complex, the noise so shrill and piercing that I have to press my fingers against my ears. I stand on the outside of the retracting metal gate, waiting for Yun, while the guard strikes a match and lights a cigarette.
He has a thin moustache like a smear of dirt above his lip, and he leans against the gate near the sentry box blowing the smoke toward me. His eyes crawl over me, so I look away at everything else—the expanse of pavement between the white-tiled buildings, the people streaming in and out, the smokestacks spewing exhaust. The smog over Gujiao hides the late-day sun, and I wonder if the billowing vapor from the factory is what gives the hot air its chemical taste.
“Take one.” The guard thrusts the pack of cigarettes toward me.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye and shake my head. My stomach feels full of moths, and his friendliness only makes me more uneasy.
He shrugs, taps out another cigarette, and lights it from the one burning down. “She won’t get here for at least ten minutes. Building 8 is two blocks away. It’s the biggest workroom. She’ll be ten minutes just getting out of the factory.”
I bite my lip. The buildings are all identical, massive white-tiled structures standing neatly in line on either side of the long paved plaza, which itself is as wide as any avenue in the city. I scan the faces of the people flooding out of the buildings, searching for Yun. My eyes dart from one girl to another, and I realize that most of the workers are young, like Yun and me.
But not like me. These girls wear narrow jeans and tight-fitting tops, their hair falling sharply at angles or hanging long in ponytails, which bounce as they walk. Purses hang from their arms, and cell phones are clamped against their ears.
Yun has a cell phone now. She put the number in her letter and wrote that I could call her when I got here. She mentioned it so casually, as if I was the kind of person who could grab a phone and make a call. As if she’s already forgotten what it’s like to go out of the orphanage.
“She might have to do an overtime shift.” The guard throws down his cigarette, pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, and begins staring at its screen. “Busy time for making the foreigners’ things.”
I anxiously squint at the faces on the other side of the gate. Yun did mention overtime in her letters, saying that it gives her extra money to buy snacks and clothes. And cell phones.
How long will I have to wait? I wonder how long an overtime shift lasts but don’t want to ask the guard.
Several minutes pass. The crowd in the courtyard begins to thin as people move into other buildings. The guard lets a few workers out through the gate. They walk in groups of two or three with arms linked or huddled together, chatting and laughing, talking on their phones, some stopping to sit on the cement benches that line the avenue. The guard soon becomes busy opening and closing the gate as several more clusters of friends leave the complex. I move out of their way and turn to watch them going down the street.
A long time seems to have passed since the bell rang. My chest feels tight. If Yun doesn’t show up, I don’t know what I will do.
I think of the streets I walked to get here from the orphanage. They were choked with honking cars, six or seven alongside each other, and bicycles weaving among them. Smells of exhaust fought with scents of burning coal, fry oil, and urine. Huge glass-fronted department stores and office buildings towered over the streets and spanned entire blocks. People—many of them wearing masks against the pollution—went in every direction and jammed the sidewalks as they rushed to wherever they were going. I dodged them and tried to stay out of the way as I clutched Yun’s letter with its scanty directions. It took me five hours to find my way across town.
I know I can’t go back to the Institute, not as a ward, because I turned sixteen today and officially aged out. And the new worker started last week in the position they offered me. I wonder again, for the hundredth time, if I should have taken that job. I hoped for it for so long, even though I hated the Institute. It would have been at least a bed and work, rather than being thrust out alone.
But then Yun wrote offering to help me find work at the factory, and I nearly fell over with shock and relief. I’d been fascinated by her short letters about her new life, reading them over and over again, though I’d never thought of that kind of life for myself. Yet as soon as she said she would try to help me, I began to see myself working, making my own money, doing things with friends.
Now, still waiting at the gate, I’m terrified that I’ve made the wrong choice. The heat feels oppressive. The crowd begins to thin, and I still don’t see her.
Someone starts waving. A girl in tight-fitting black pants and a shirt with yellow stripes is coming toward me. A wide, open-mouthed smile covers her face. She comes closer, and I see the black pockmarks on the right side of her face, the four unlucky marks the size of a pencil eraser that prevented her from being registered for adoption.
It’s Yun. I swallow the lump in my throat, and I can breathe again.
“Open up!” Yun yells at the guard.
He pushes back the gate, and Yun grabs my arm and pulls me through into the complex.
“You made it!” Yun links her arm through mine and leads me along the avenue. “All done with that place!”
She’s bubbling with energy, and all I can do is give a nervous smile. At the Institute, all the children were infected by the grim atmosphere. The caretakers often called Yun moody and picked on her even though she was a good worker. With the new clothes and shaggy
haircut, she seems a different person. I feel shy with her.
She doesn’t seem to notice and chatters on. “Did you have a hard time finding your way? I knew part of the way because I’ve gone around here lots of times, but I haven’t been by the southern part of the city since I left the Institute.” Her nose wrinkles up. “Oh! That place! How are the old caretakers?”
I try to think of something interesting to tell her, but nothing comes to mind. “The same.”
Her expression flattens and she lets go my arm, looking suddenly like the Yun from the orphanage. Her eyes roam around the plaza, flicking from person to person as we thread through to wherever we’re going.
I hurry after her, trying to stay close even though my feet hurt. My mind gropes for something to talk about that doesn’t have to do with the Institute. “No overtime today? The guard said everyone was doing overtime.”
“They told us we had to, but I said I was sick. First I held my stomach and bent over like I was having awful pains from my period. But the foreman didn’t look like he was going to take the excuse, so I started coughing until he told me to go home.” Yun covers her mouth and giggles, the new girl showing herself again. “Eat yet?” she asks.
I shake my head. I haven’t eaten since the bowl of watery millet and vegetables I had before I left the Institute.
“Let’s go have a snack. Did they give you any money?”
“No.”
“Of course not. Doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for you. Let’s go to my room and see if anyone can come with us.”
I nod, though she’s already pulling me along by the elbow through the factory complex. I’m happy to be led around.
We go by several buildings before entering Dorm Number 6. Inside, a dim corridor leads to the stairs at the other end. It looks much like the Institute with the long, dreary halls—except I hear music, laughter, and talking. When I peer into rooms with the doors propped open, I see brightly colored messes of clothes, stuffed animals, posters, and girls making themselves up or chatting on mobiles.
“You can share my bunk until you get a place,” Yun says. “It’s against the rules, but no one will find out. It’s too late in the day to do anything about getting you a position right away. I’ll talk to my foreman tomorrow—although maybe he isn’t happy with me since I was sick today.” She laughs. “Doesn’t matter. It’s easy to find work.”
That’s not what the caretakers told us. No one wants to hire orphans. Abandoned, never adopted, that’s a curse no one wants around them. Here’s Yun, though—showing that they were wrong.
Yun’s room is on the fourth floor. The door is half closed, and she flings it open. Over her shoulder I can see four metal bunks on either side of the room, towels and clothing hanging from the posts, and lockers between them. A few of the beds have gauzy cloths strung up around them like curtains. A large window at the end of the room faces another building. Two girls huddled over a phone sit on a lower bunk with a rumpled yellow comforter.
“Anyone want to get something to eat?” Yun calls out.
Another girl lies reading on an upper bunk. She props up on an elbow, still holding the book. “Dining hall?”
Yun pulls a face and sticks out her tongue. “Yech! Why eat that junk? Not good enough for the dogs on the street. Let’s go to the noodle shop or get hotpot.”
“Dining hall is cheap,” the other girl says. “I can’t go spending all my wages eating out when the food is almost free here. I have to send money home.” She flops back onto her pillow and goes back to reading.
Yun nudges me with her elbow. “The good thing about being an orphan. No one relying on you, asking you to send money home for medicine, for little brother’s tuition, for adding a room onto the house.” She turns to the other girls. “How about you, Hong and Zhenzhen? Want to come?”
Of the two girls sitting on the bunk, one has long hair and the other’s is cut shoulder-length and shagged like Yun’s. They both pull their faces away from the phone. “Okay.”
They both get up and grab their purses, pulling out combs and lipstick.
Closing the door behind us, Yun points to the lower bunk behind it. “That one’s mine. Put your stuff under there.” She goes to her locker, takes off the lanyard that holds her work badge, and begins fixing herself up.
I stash the plastic bag that holds my few things under the bunk and sink down onto it. My legs are achy from the long walk. I’m exhausted, but at the same time I feel twitchy and excited.
The other girls are ready now and finally take notice of me. The one with long hair says, “What’s your name?”
“Luli,” I answer, then fall silent. I’m not used to talking to new people and don’t know what more to say.
Yun says over her shoulder, “She’s going to share my bunk until she gets a place.”
The two girls glance at each other, then back at Yun, who’s bent over and brushing her hair from the underside.
The reading girl props up onto her elbow again, then swings her legs over the side of the bunk. “If you’re caught, you’ll get fired. Or at least fined.”
I look at Yun. I don’t want her to get in trouble.
“We’re not going to get caught.” Yun talks from under her hair. “They never come around here. As long as no one reports us. I’m going to get her a place tomorrow.” Still bending over, she tilts her head and starts brushing from the side. “She’s from the orphanage. She doesn’t have anyplace to go.”
All the girls turn to me. Like with the guard, I can feel their eyes examining me, taking in the straight-chopped hair from the Institute, the thin shirt and pants that were given to me from donations. They’re too big, and I’ve tied a rope around the waist.
“Do you have any other clothes?” Yun straightens up and flips her hair back.
“The shorts from the orphanage.” The same ones all the orphans wear, the ones I’ve been wearing for years.
Yun wrinkles her nose and grimaces. “Doesn’t matter. When you get your first pay you’ll go shopping.” She stuffs her hairbrush into a small purple knapsack and slings it over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Outside the factory gates Yun walks between Hong and Zhenzhen, discussing their bosses. They’re in different departments. I try to follow the talk, but I’m tired. Tired from walking all day, the stress of trying to find this place, everything so different. Yun so different.
And I’m so hungry. Above all the smells of the city, the smells of food come to me, make my stomach tighten up like a fist. I’m excited about getting something to eat. Something other than millet soup with vegetables. I’m sure Yun is not going to take us to eat millet soup.
We pass through a couple of streets full of storefronts and littered with food stalls before coming to one lined with small restaurants. Yun ducks into one that’s across the street from a dusty, unpaved lot with pool tables outside. Young men in their undershirts are leaning over the tables taking shots or smoking as they wait their turn.
In the restaurant, half a dozen tables are squeezed together with plastic stools under them. A TV on a high shelf in one corner is blaring Justice Bao, a serial the workers at the orphanage used to watch. Only two tables are occupied, one where three customers are hunched over bowls, and the other where a man and a woman strip greens and stare up at the show.
We move to a table near the window. The woman gets up from the vegetables, comes over with a rag to swipe the table, and asks us what we want.
Yun orders: “Pork, long noodles, greens.”
The woman nods and shouts at the man. He gets up slowly, eyes glued to the TV as he backs into the kitchen.
Of course, I’ve never eaten in a restaurant before, but Yun certainly has many times. She ordered so easily. As I watch her gossiping with her friends, her eyes flicking out the windows to the men across the street, I’m filled again with the feeling that she has changed so much. She and her friends sit chatting, and I can only watch them with nothing to say.
Yun interrup
ts Hong talking about her boyfriend to snap me out of my thoughts. “You look like you did the first day you came to the orphanage!”
I feel a flush come over the back of my neck. Out of place, yes.
Her voice softens. “Don’t worry. You left that place. When you get a position, you’ll be making money. You can eat anything you want! Buy clothes. Be your own person. No more taking care of babies, mopping floors, washing dishes.”
I nod and try to smile, though my face feels stiff. Hong and Zhenzhen look back and forth between Yun and me. They don’t know anything about what Yun was saying. They’ve probably never been in an orphanage.
“You can have a boyfriend.” Zhenzhen elbows Hong, and all three girls bring their hands up to their mouths and giggle.
They keep it up until the woman comes over and plunks down bowls and a glass full of chopsticks. The cook follows with three steaming plates that he sets between us.
Such good smells rise up that my mouth begins to water. The noodles are broad and browned with soy. Hong draws them up in the air with her chopsticks and grabs my bowl to fill. The fatty meat is cut into little shreds, and the vegetable plate is full of greens glistening with oil. The girls pluck the meat and vegetables from the plates and scoop the noodles into their mouths from their bowls. The way Granddad and I used to eat before I went into the Institute. We didn’t have food this rich, but I remember we ate like this, a few simple dishes set on the table. Not like at the Institute, lining up for a plop of soup every day.
The girls prattle on while they eat, but I only pay attention to my food until the high, nasal singing of a pop song comes out of nowhere. All three girls begin groping in their bags.
Yun shouts, “It’s mine!” She pulls out her phone and begins talking very loudly while the rest of us openly listen. “Hey! Why so late? I thought you were going to meet me here. Where are you?” She listens for a moment, then stands up to look out the window across the street at the pool players. “I see you now.” Listening again. “I have been looking for you, but I thought you said you would come to the restaurant. Doesn’t matter. I’m coming now.”