by Jennie Liu
She paused at the door to the main building and looked back at me. “Well, come back to visit us sometime. And if you don’t like your work in the factory, maybe we’ll have a position open up again.”
I went through the gates then, and when they clanked behind me, they sounded different than before. I turned to see the green block lettering painted on the building: Gujiao Children’s Social Welfare Institute 17. My legs were wobbly. I had been waiting so long for this day, but I hesitated, fearing the next step.
Now that I’m out, it seems strange that I’m thinking about the Institute. I suppose it’s the newness of all this, and Yun not being here with me—and how different she is, with her girlish manners and her stylish hair. The first time I saw Yun she had a shaven head. Her eyes seemed to take over her face because she had no eyebrows or lashes. She told me later that the caretakers shaved her head whenever she couldn’t stop plucking out her hair. She then picked out her eyebrows and lashes until they were gone too. Everything eventually grew back in, and since I’ve known her, she’s only occasionally yanked out small patches. When I asked her why she did it, she thought for several moments before she shrugged and said it made her feel better.
I try not to be disappointed that she went off with her boyfriend. I listen for footsteps outside the door, jump every time the handle turns and one of the roommates comes in. Hong said it might be hours before she comes back. I try to stay awake, but I’m so tired.
***
The insistent beep of an alarm wakes me the next morning. For a moment I think I’m at the Institute, but then I hear the groaning and complaining of girls around me. I sit up, searching the room, morning light streaming in the window. When my eyes adjust, I see that Yun hasn’t come back.
Zhenzhen offers to show me where the human resources department is. I nod gratefully and go with her to the bathroom at the end of the hall to get ready. It’s crowded with girls coming in and out of the stalls and washing at the long white-tiled sinks that line one wall and the center of the room. Wires are strung over the sinks, and faded colored underwear and bras are clipped to hangers dangling overhead. The smells of damp laundry and cleanser sting my nose. Zhenzhen and I find places next to each other at the sinks. We’re bent over them, splashing our faces with cold water, when I feel a rough tap on the shoulder. I look up. Yun is there, standing between Zhenzhen and me.
Zhenzhen grabs her arm. “Where were you last night? Why didn’t you answer your phone? We were worried. Thought we should tell someone!”
The smile falls off Yun’s face. “You didn’t, did you?”
Zhenzhen shakes her head and arches her brow. “We figured you were with your boyfriend.”
Yun’s smile comes back, and she squeezes her shoulders up but doesn’t say anything. Her face glows, and for a moment I have that odd feeling again, as if I don’t know this person.
Zhenzhen leans in. “What happened?”
Yun glances around the bathroom. The crowd is thinning, but a few girls standing around us have stopped what they’re doing and are plainly listening. She shakes off the question. “I have to change and get ready for work. Besides, I want to see if I can help Luli get a place.”
“I was going early to take her to the Human Resources Department. Better hurry.”
Yun nods. “Okay. Maybe it would be better if you introduced her, since I didn’t do overtime yesterday. Remind them that there’re some openings in my department. Take her to see Ming.” She turns to me. “You remember Ming from school.”
I do remember Ming. He was a couple years ahead of us and took notice of Yun shortly before he finished middle school. He used to trail her as we walked home. At first she was puzzled by it. She stopped on the sidewalk and shouted at him, “Why are you walking with us?” He shrugged and blushed, but just a few weeks later, they were kissing in the alley.
They were still together when Yun went out of the orphanage, but she didn’t mention him in her last letter. I guess they’ve broken up since she’s with Yong now.
Zhenzhen takes me to the canteen, and we wait outside, hoping to catch Ming on his way out. I ate so much last night that I can still feel the food in my stomach, but the smell of fry oil coming through the door as people go in and out makes my stomach rumble. I could eat again, but Zhenzhen makes no mention of it, and I don’t ask.
When she spots Ming, she calls him over. He looks much the same as when I last saw him two years ago—thin, wearing a collared shirt, only now his short hair is cut so that long bangs hang in his face. He’s grown taller, but he slumps with his head and shoulders forward as if he’s uncomfortable with his height. As he approaches, I feel his eyes taking me in, though he doesn’t seem to recognize me. I wonder if I’ve changed so much.
“This is Cao Luli,” Zhenzhen says. “She’s looking for a position. She’s a friend of Yun’s. Comes from that same orphanage. Yun thought you might be able to help her find something. Says there are openings in your department.”
Ming cocks his head when Zhenzhen mentions Yun, and he looks at me more closely, studying my face.
“Where’s Yun? Why didn’t she ask me herself?”
“She’s dragging behind this morning,” Zhenzhen answers. “You know she was sick yesterday—couldn’t do that overtime your department wanted.”
His mouth twists and he shakes his head. Then he turns to me. “I remember you from school.”
“Can you ask your dad, then?” Zhenzhen says. “I have to get on my line now.”
He nods.
Zhenzhen leaves for her building, and I follow Ming, the moths creeping back into my stomach.
Chapter 4
Luli
I’m surprised at how quickly I fall into the routine of my new life. At first the days are endless. My fingertips are raw from twisting the plastic-coated wires around the USB cords, then slipping them into tiny plastic bags. As I work down my supply boxes and watch my “finished” bin fill up with neat rows of the wound cords, a bubble of satisfaction grows in my chest. But before I come to the last layer, the rolling cart arrives at my work-station and more supplies are plopped in front of me. When I look over at Yun, I wonder how she has endured working here for more than a year. Her face is vacant, eyes dull, the same as when she was feeding the babies or mopping floors at the Institute.
I soon learn to stop monitoring how close I am to emptying or filling a bin. Eventually the sting leaves my fingertips, and the skin there becomes tough and callused. I learn to wash my mind of thoughts as if I’m nothing more than a pair of hands. My neck and back are harder to ignore. They ache from hunching over the worktable, and no matter how many times I straighten up or stretch, the stiffness and knots are always there.
Though only three months have passed, I feel like I’ve been working forever. Each night, all I want to do is to fall into bed as soon as I can. My roommates, at least the younger ones, often go out to shop, to eat, even to dance at clubs. I’ve gone with them or with Yun a couple of times, but I’ve always felt out of place and hesitant to spend my pay. Yun once asked me what I was saving for. I couldn’t think of an answer, except to say that I had never had any money. But later, I thought of how Granddad sold the goats one by one and still ran out of money for medicine.
I don’t see Yun much. I’ve been assigned to a different dormitory building, and at work we’re not allowed to talk. After work, she usually flies out of the factory and rushes off to see Yong, so I see her only during the busy lunch period as we’re corralled through the canteen line, shouting over the racket of a thousand conversations and the banging of trays.
The canteen is less chaotic in the mornings. The rows of white tables and blue plastic chairs are only half filled with tired workers. Lots of the younger ones have been out late into the night and choose to sleep in rather than dragging themselves to breakfast. This morning I stand in the food-serving line with Ming. He picks up a tray from a pile as high as my shoulder and clatters it onto the metal counter. I ran into him at
breakfast the first day I started work, and we’ve fallen into the habit of eating together. He’s nice to me, and of course I’m grateful that he helped me get this job.
Some of the girls have seen us and teased me about being his girlfriend. My face always gets hot whenever they bring it up, and I always tell them we aren’t together. Though part of me does wonder what that would be like.
Now, Ming tosses his head so his long bangs fling back. He points at a steaming pan of rice porridge, and the server scoops some into a bowl and hands it to him. As we step forward in the line, he says, “Yun’s boyfriend is a kidnapper.”
I’m not sure I heard right over the shouts of the cooks and servers. “Kidnapper?”
“Yes. You should tell her to stay away from him.” I can’t see his expression. His back is to me as he pushes his tray forward, pointing at the pans. The kitchen workers lump food onto each segment of his divided plastic tray.
“Why are you kidding like that?” I ask, feeling a prick of jealousy that he’s thinking about Yun.
“Not kidding.” He glances back at me, shakes his head. “He is a kidnapper. Or he helps one. They kidnap girls and women and sell them to men out in the countryside.” He could be telling me that Yun is going to work overtime for all the casualness in his voice. Or pretend casualness.
I frown, not believing him. “Yun said he was a bride collector.”
Ming makes a face. “All the women have left the countryside to work in the cities and big towns. The men pay for the girls, then marry them.”
“But Yong doesn’t kidnap them! Yun says he just picks up the brides. Drives them to their new home, like a car service.” There’s a tightening in my chest, a feeling of disquiet. I’m not sure if it’s for Yun or for myself. I try to get a look at Ming’s face to see if he really thinks this is true.
“I guess I thought that too when I first met him. But now I know. Some of the guys we both know explained it to me. Yong just uses that as his cover, because who can say, ‘Hello there, I kidnap people and sell them’?’”
I try to make sense of what Ming is telling me as we reach the end of the line and pay for our food. I shake my head. “Can’t be. They’ve been spending all their time together for months now. If he was going to kidnap Yun, he would have done it already.”
“Maybe he’s not planning to kidnap her. Maybe he really likes her. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t trafficked other girls.” He shrugs and heads to an empty table near the window.
I follow him and plunk down my tray with a touch of annoyance. I think of that day I saw Ming kissing Yun in the alley, rubbing his hands all over her. He was with Yun for a long time, the girls have told me. Right up until she met Yong. I wonder if he still wants her.
“Even if he’s not going to sell her,” Ming says, steadily scooping food into his mouth, “a guy like that is bad.”
A guy like that is bad, but I don’t say anything. Jealousy is keeping me quiet.
“I thought you didn’t care about her anymore,” I say.
“I don’t.” He glances up, indignation in his voice. “Not like that.” He shrugs again and sweeps his bangs aside. “But she’s your friend. You should worry about her, shouldn’t you?”
I swirl the thick rice porridge on my tray. Cold now. I’m not sure I believe what he says. And I don’t think Yun would listen to me anyway, because she’s crazy about Yong. But it’s true that she’s my friend.
***
At work, I glance toward the door, across the rows and rows of long tables with heads bowed over them. Rows of fluorescent lamps hang overhead, directly above the tables. One has a bad bulb, and every now and again, it flashes and disturbs the even white light of the room. The other workers don’t seem to notice. They’re all doing their tasks, already settled in their own thoughts.
I worry about Yun. She’s late. Already so late that I wonder if she’s going to make it or lose another day. In the few months I’ve worked here, she’s been late several times, sometimes just a few minutes, sometimes more. She’s suffered docks to her pay and awful lectures from Foreman Chen. I don’t know how many more times she can get away with it.
Suddenly she’s at the door, pulling on her work jacket. I steal a look at Foreman Chen, who is stalking the aisles with his arms crossed. He lowers his heavy black glasses to peer at someone’s work in the row in front of mine. Yun starts to clock in, but he spots her before she can swipe her badge.
“Stop right there!” Foreman Chen shouts across the work floor. His voice booms over the whir of the air-handling system. Workers’ heads startle up and their hands freeze for just a second before they go back to work, while their eyes flick between their cords and Foreman Chen and Yun.
“Don’t do it!” Foreman Chen raises an angry finger at her and storms over toward the time clock. His thick middle strains against the tuck of his shirt in his waistband as he moves. “Don’t swipe!”
Yun drops the badge, letting it dangle from the lanyard around her neck, and turns to face Foreman Chen. Her face is pale and sulky. I will her to look a little more sorry.
“You’re late again!” Foreman Chen stands before her with his hands on his hips, not bothering to lower his voice. “How many times does that make this quarter? This is not how a responsible worker behaves.”
The overhead light shines on his bare scalp where the long thin hair he has combed over has slipped away. He doesn’t seem to notice the strands brushing against his cheek. “And how much sick time have you taken in the last quarter? Once you took a full day. Another day you couldn’t stay for the overtime!”
Yun’s gaze has gone to the floor. I can’t tell if she’s ashamed or if she doesn’t care. Again, I will her to apologize, plead, cry. Anything to keep her job. But she only stands with her head bent. She mumbles something I can’t hear.
“Sick? Sick again?” Foreman Chen draws back his neck, then flings his hands out. “But you’re here. If you’re well enough now, why couldn’t you be here forty minutes ago?”
She looks up at him now. The unblemished side of her face is turned to the workroom, and I notice how thin she has become. She seems tired, but from this side, with her shagged hair behind her ear, anyone would think she’s a perfect beauty. All at once her expression changes, and I know she’s decided to try. I still can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can see that a rush of words spills from her mouth. She makes her eyes sad, and when she isn’t turning them toward Foreman Chen, she dips her head down like a beaten dog.
Yun is using her acting skills. I remember when she started practicing, a few years after I came to the orphanage. We were shuttling the two- and three-year-olds to the toilet chairs and their baths. The TV was on, playing a soap opera the caretakers liked to watch. The kids were propped in the wooden seats that kept them from crawling or walking around. They chewed on their fingers and stared at the television. I untied the bindings of one little girl who couldn’t sit up on her own and carried her to the bathroom at the back of the dayroom.
One of the caretakers scrubbed a little girl at the big sink, while Yun squatted to undress a boy who had a paralyzed arm. She twisted around awkwardly so she could watch the television through the doorway.
“Help me,” I said to Yun, holding up my girl. Yun shifted so her eyes could stay glued to the television, then yanked down the girl’s pants. I plopped her onto one of the potties and held her up while Yun tied her to the seat. She finished undressing her boy, passed him to the caretaker, and started drying off the girl who had just been bathed. I started wiping another girl sitting on a third pot when I noticed Yun, still staring at the television, making faces. She tilted her head and fluttered her eyelids, a fake smile on her face. Then she bobbled her head like she was laughing and opened her mouth, though no noise came out.
I had my girl undressed, switched her out with the boy who had just been washed, and crouched next to Yun to dry him. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing my emotions.” She didn’t take her eyes
off the screen as she dressed the child.
“What do you mean?”
“When that group toured the other day, I heard one of the interpreters tell the director that the foreigner was disturbed that the children seemed sad and unemotional.”
I glanced toward the children stuck in their seats. Most of them were just sitting, staring at nothing. Almost all of them had mental or physical problems. They hardly ever laughed or cried.
“The lively ones always get the most attention. They don’t stay here long. I’m practicing so I’ll get picked when I’m shown.”
That alarmed me. Yun was my only friend here. There were others, like Guo, but they didn’t talk much. “Have they put through your documentation?”
“No.” She hung her head and made a long face. She tried to act sad, but her eyes moved back and forth, not sad at all. I suppressed the urge to laugh.
Yun never did get shown. But whenever the television was on, she studied the faces of the actors and copied their movements.
Now, Foreman Chen crosses his arms, squinting at Yun as she talks. I can tell he’s pleased that she is making an appropriate plea in front of the other workers. He lets her talk until she wipes the corner of her eye with a knuckle.
“This is not acceptable.” Foreman Chen shakes his head slowly. He finally notices his out-of-place strands of hair and rakes them back. “We must have workers who are reliable. Even though you were an orphan, I gave you a chance. In fact, you might say I’ve given you many chances, all the times I overlooked your lateness. Most places wouldn’t take a risk on someone like you. Besides those who are superstitious about orphans, the more practical ones think if you don’t have a family, you don’t know how to take responsibility for others. Won’t be dependable.”
Yun drops her hand from the tears I can’t quite see. Her mouth turns small. The muscles of her jaw tighten.
“When I hired you, you promised me that you would work extra hard to make up for being an orphan. Plenty of people would like a place here. So many girls are willing to work hard, work when they’re sick, eager for the overtime so they can make extra money for their families. I hope you’ll think about that in your next position. You’ve run out of chances here. You’re fired.” He holds his hand out for her badge.