by Ami Polonsky
Next to me, Li stirs. I look down at his tiny body, wrapped in the thin, stained sheet, and I have an urge to wet my finger with spit and rub his cheeks clean. The paths of his tears—probably from days ago—are still visible on his filthy skin. I want to sing him one of Wai Po’s songs.
He sighs deeply before slowly blinking his eyes open and taking in his surroundings. Then he bolts upright, reminding me of when I’d first arrived; how every morning I’d think before opening my eyes that maybe this was the day—the day I’d wake up in my old bed, with Wai Po and Wai Gong snoring soundly across the room. But even as I’d wished it, I’d known the truth. The cement floor pressing into my shoulder blades always told me the truth.
“Where’s Kai?” Li asks immediately, rubbing his eyes.
I get up and fold his thin sheet. “In the sewing room,” I whisper. His eyes fill with tears that threaten to make new rivers on his cheeks, and for a second, I look away. I lay the sheet on the mattress and reach for his hand. “I’ll take you.”
“Where’s Mama?” he asks, standing up, disoriented.
“I don’t know,” I say softly.
He looks up at me, still bleary-eyed from sleep. “I need the toilet.”
I nod and the woman on the mattress next to us points to the stairway across the hall. I’m not sure where we are in the factory, but I believe the stairs lead to the hallway behind the cafeteria.
At the bottom of the staircase, I open the bathroom door for Li and hold my breath as the foul odor rushes out. The walls of the tiny room are thin slats of wood that almost reach the ceiling, leaving a gap at the top so at least some fresh air can waft into the horrible-smelling enclosure. I peer through the cracks between the slats to see the barren side yard.
“I’ll be right here,” I tell Li, backing out. I feel exhausted despite having slept on the mattress. I turn on the faucet over the basin in the hallway and splash my face with icy water, thinking of the water pump behind our house. I wonder, again, if any of the neighbors are caring for our rice fields; the harvest is probably ready to be reaped now.
The bathroom door opens and Li steps into the hallway, where he rinses his hands. “Where’s my brother?” he asks again.
“Come.” I shake off the thoughts and memories and hold out my wet hand for his. “I’ll take you.”
I lead Li away from the cafeteria, down the windowless hallway, as Mr. Zhang told us we must do in the morning. We turn right at the end of the hall. Up ahead is the front entrance to the factory. Two men stand rigidly by the door. When they spot us, one of them walks briskly in our direction and guides us to the back of the factory, past the rows and rows of sewing women who don’t look up, to the inconspicuous doorway that leads to the stairs down to our basement room.
I see Jing in the back, already hunched at her machine under a solitary row of lightbulbs. The rest of the lights are off, and the other children appear to be sleeping. I scour the floor, looking for Kai. Li is doing the same, and I suddenly feel panic. We’re not staying here, I remember him saying. Would he have left his brother behind? I lead Li to our row, where, finally, he points to a figure on the floor in the far corner, just behind Jing. My heartbeat steadies.
Behind us come six quick taps at the door. I listen to it swing open but don’t turn around. “Don’t just sit there!” Mr. Zhang spits at the night guard. I hear the chair creak as the guard stands up and two clicks as Mr. Zhang locks the door. “Help me with the lights.”
I smile at Jing before glancing over my shoulder to watch the guard and Mr. Zhang climb on benches to begin pulling the strings that hang from the overhead bulbs. Children rouse from sleep. A few get up and stand in line for the bathroom in the corner.
The adults have their backs to us. Li crouches and ruffles Kai’s hair, and Kai sits up. I keep my eyes fixed on the two brothers as I pretend to focus on picking up fabric scraps from the floor under Jing. We will leave soon, Kai mouths silently to Li, and Li nods.
I look again to Mr. Zhang. He’s busy yelling at two tiny girls as they wait in line for the toilet. The night guard walks atop the table two rows in front of us, pulling the lightbulbs on, one by one. I turn back to the boys.
“How will you get out?” I ask Kai quietly.
He stares at me, unblinking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally whispers.
I close my eyes. I see the black squares on the xiangqi boards at the park; I see the river separating the two sides of the boards; I see Wai Gong nodding at me and I open my eyes. “I know a way.”
For a minute, Kai just squints at me, as if trying to make up his mind. I hear the night guard rustling on the tabletop behind us. Mr. Zhang is still screaming in the background. Tell me, Kai finally mouths.
I almost smile. I think one last time of the note—the note that, it appears, was a wasted risk—and I bend down to pick up a fabric scrap at Kai’s feet.
“Okay,” I whisper softly. “But if I do, I’m coming, too.”
Clara
AT HOME, MOM and Dad go into their bedroom to talk, and I lie in Lola’s bed, the black hole swirling all around me. I try to fall asleep, because sometimes that makes the nothingness go away, but I can’t.
I creep down the hall and press my ear to their closed door. “It’s just that, ever since the funeral, I haven’t been able to stop thinking that we made a mistake,” Mom is saying in a low voice.
“I have no idea,” Dad responds quietly. “I mean, it just didn’t seem like she could handle being in there. I felt like, if she was saying she needed to be outside—”
“There’s no question she’s struggling,” Mom interrupts. I hear her sniffling.
I feel like such a baby. I don’t want to hear any more, and I tiptoe back to Lola’s room and quietly shut her door.
Eventually, they go downstairs. I need to get this over with. If they’re going to say no, it would be better to know now so I can come up with a new plan before that flight leaves on Wednesday. Because one way or another, I’m getting on that airplane.
In the kitchen, Mom and Dad are sitting at the table, flipping through some papers from a file folder. “Clara,” Dad says, smiling at me gently, as if he’s worried I’m going to break or something, “come sit on the couch with us.”
He leads me over to the couch in the living room. Mom and I sit down, and I look at my knees. I can see the outline of Yuming’s note and picture in my shorts pocket.
Dad glances quickly at Mom, and then walks over to the shelf where Lola’s ashes are. My heart pounds as he picks up the carved wooden urn. “Clara,” he starts, “when your sister was cremated…”
I don’t want to see it—I don’t want to see a container holding my sister’s burnt body, and I turn my head away. But no matter where I look—out the window, at the floor, at the bookshelves—the image of a giant oven floats in front of me. I picture Lola being shoved inside. I’m still alive! she’s screaming. The black hole slithers into the living room. It wraps itself around my throat and I tug at the neck of my T-shirt. I breathe in—one, two, three—and out—one, two, three.
Mom puts her arm around me. “Clara, sweetie, are you okay? You’re all sweaty! Oh my God, lie back.”
I should have been the one to die. Lola would have been strong enough to handle it. I put my head on Mom’s lap.
She runs her fingers through my damp hair. The white ceiling looks sparkly and I wonder if I’m going crazy. “Al, I don’t think—”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, putting the urn back onto the shelf.
“You don’t think what?” I ask weakly. “You don’t think we can go to China?”
“No, it’s not that at all,” Dad says. “Just the opposite, actually.”
I sit up. Blood rushes from my head back into my body.
“Here’s the thing, Clara: Mom and I, well, we always thought that someday we’d all—the three of us—would make a trip back to China to…” He looks at the urn, then at Mom. “We always thought we’d make a t
rip back to China. We never really talked about when, exactly, but Mom and I are thinking that maybe we should go sooner than later.”
He joins us on the couch. My heart is still beating way too fast, but the black hole isn’t choking me anymore. “For your sake,” Dad goes on. “For you. Maybe it will help you process Lola’s death.”
I close my eyes. I don’t say anything.
“You did a good job researching flights,” Mom adds. “You found an amazingly inexpensive one—especially for the summer. But it’s to Beijing. We figured that when we went to China again, we would go to Shanghai—to visit Lola’s park and the orphanage.”
The ghost of my sister runs into the room, shaking her head—Nooo! she mouths to me. Beijing! Yuming is outside of Beijing!
“The flights to Shanghai are way more expensive, for some reason—” Mom continues, and I jump up.
“So let’s fly to Beijing! We could do the same trip as last time. We could take the train to Shanghai after we see the Great Wall and Dan Temple, just like last time!”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Dad says slowly.
Lola is watching us, waiting, her face flushed.
Mom takes the laptop off the coffee table and opens it. It’s already on the airline’s website. “The flight to Beijing leaves in four days,” Mom says skeptically, almost like she’s talking to herself.
“The passports and visas are current, so we wouldn’t have to go to the consulate,” Dad reminds her.
“But there’s work….” Mom goes on. “How on earth would we—”
“Well, let’s make some calls,” Dad interrupts. All of a sudden, he sounds like a little kid, and I look from his eager face to Mom’s. She’s biting her lower lip. “You call Caryn,” Dad urges. “I’ll call Russ. He’d said that he wanted to sub as much as he could this summer.”
Mom nods. “Can we afford this?” she asks Dad. “I mean, I know the answer. Of course we can’t….” It looks like she’s trying not to smile now.
“Definitely not,” Dad says, but he’s smiling, too.
“Okay,” Mom finally says, kissing my cheek. “Okay. We’ll make the calls.” She points her finger at me. “Don’t get too excited yet.”
The rest of the day crawls by. I jump every time the phone rings. By dinnertime Caryn has agreed to cover for Mom at work, and when I wake up the next morning, Dad is standing over me, grinning like a little boy. “Russ said yes!”
“Are you serious?” I ask, bolting upright in bed.
He hugs me. “Mom is calling the doctor to see if we need any immunizations.”
“I can’t believe it!”
Dad looks me in the eye. “Mom and I think this is important,” he says, not blinking. “We think this is something that you need.”
You have no idea, I want to scream, but I don’t—I don’t say anything. I try not to smile.
“Okay, then,” Dad says. “China, here we come!”
Yuming, here I come!
Yuming
MY MIND RACES in the dreary sewing room as Li and I stand over Kai. I recall the shimmering image of my former self that visited me in the barracks this morning, and I know with certainty that I can no longer wait around for somebody to rescue me. It’s time for me to rescue myself. I smile as I think of this; Wai Gong would be proud.
Behind us, Mr. Zhang has finished screaming at the two girls in line. They stand side by side, as if frozen. “Go to the toilet and then get to work!” he shouts crazily at nobody in particular before heading back to the door, unlocking it, and slipping out. Four thin boys—whose backs I have been staring at for months—make their way to their seats in the row ahead of us just as the night guard hops off their table and heads for his chair, checking his watch. Any minute now, the next guard will take his place.
“Fine,” Kai whispers angrily. “What’s your great idea, then?” His voice is harsh and bitter. Slowly, deliberately, he bends down to fold the large scrap of fabric he was lying on so the guard doesn’t see him talking. The chugging of sewing machines grows louder around us.
“Get to your machines!” the guard yells across the room. “What’s taking so long in the back corner?”
My heart jumps. I look from Kai to Li, then over Jing’s head to the guard. Jing. I feel a pang of guilt for not including her, but surely the more people involved, the riskier the plan becomes. The door swings open behind the night guard again and the day guard enters. The night guard turns his back for a moment. Swiftly, I whisper my idea to Kai.
At lunch later that week, Kai, Li, and I gulp down our food even more quickly than usual. After days of waiting, Mrs. Ma, the least-cruel-seeming cook, and Mr. Sun, the guard with the voice that is the least sharp, are finally on duty at the same time. I watch Kai take a deep breath before giving Li a quick shove. Li slides off the bench, curls his tiny body into a ball, and begins to wail and moan. It’s so realistic that for a moment I worry that he is, coincidentally, having actual stomach pains.
Li rocks back and forth, shrieks once, and is quiet. I jump out of my seat and kneel beside him on the floor as Jing and a few of the others stand to watch us. I stroke his hair. “Li? Are you all right?”
Mrs. Ma walks toward us. Li winks up at Kai and me before he wails again, turns onto his hands and knees, and rests his cheek on the filthy ground.
“My brother!” Kai leaps to his feet when Mrs. Ma arrives at our side. “He is ill!”
“What’s happening?” she asks. Mr. Sun joins us.
“My brother is ill!” Kai says again. I watch in shock as tears jump from his eyes, and I look away, down at Li’s dirty hair.
“I’m going to be sick,” Li moans.
“Not in here, you’re not,” Mr. Sun responds quickly.
“I can’t help it!” Li curls into a ball again. “My stomach.”
“So get to the courtyard,” he snaps, pushing at Li with his foot.
“I need the bathroom,” Li whispers.
“Come, Li,” I say, pulling him gently. “Come on.”
Li stands, wobbly, still hunched at the waist. “I can’t walk. I need my brother.”
Kai takes his other arm.
“The three of you are not permitted to leave the cafeteria,” Mr. Sun says, as if he’s reciting a rule from a sheet of paper.
I look across to Kai, panicked. Now what? This wasn’t part of our plan. Li expertly falls to the ground, moaning again. “I can’t stand. I’m going to be sick. I need the toilet.”
I shrug and force myself not to smile at his acting skill. “We’ll each have to take an arm,” I say. Li begins to cough. “Unless one of you will help him?” I look from Mrs. Ma to Mr. Sun. Li gags.
“Just go,” Mrs. Ma says quickly, Mr. Sun nodding in agreement. I look down so she won’t see my dishonest eyes. Kai and I take hold of Li, and we hobble together toward the door at the back of the cafeteria. If our plan succeeds, I’ll never see this room again. I quicken my pace.
I open the door with my free hand and, my heart thudding with nervousness and excitement, we push our way through. I don’t look back. When Kai pulls the door shut behind us, the three of us glance at one another for a moment. No adults in sight. Already I feel free. Do not be foolish, Yuming, Wai Gong would say, though. Do not be careless.
I peer into the dim, empty hallway with the stairway to the barracks on the second floor. Across from the stairs is the bathroom.
“Hurry,” Kai demands, and we run toward the bathroom—the one I took Li to less than a week ago. It feels like that was a different lifetime. For a minute, just a minute, I think of Bo’s knotted pink scar and wonder what the consequence would be if Mr. Zhang were to discover us bolting down the hall, Li not ill after all. But I force myself to stop. Concentrate, Yuming, Wai Po and Wai Gong would tell me whenever they could see that my mind was wandering from my studies. Concentrate.
I motion to the bathroom. When we arrive at the doorway, it is open, as if waiting for us. Suddenly, I think I hear footsteps behind us. I spin aro
und, but the hallway is empty, the door to the cafeteria still shut. Kai grabs my hand, pulls Li and me into the bathroom, and silently closes the door.
The foul smell envelops us. I breathe through my mouth, but the odor is so thick that it weaves its way into my nose anyway. The room is tiny. Outside light shines in through the gaps between the slats and the opening near the roof. The three of us crowd by the door to avoid the filthy rectangular hole in the cracked clay floor.
Flies buzz, dive in and out of the opening in the ground, and swarm around our faces. A wave of nausea rises in me, but Kai and Li seem unfazed.
“So, what’s the next part of your plan?” Kai whispers, suddenly sarcastic, as he eyes the opening above that is too high to reach.
My response is prevented by a quick, quiet knocking at the door.
I freeze.
Kai, Li and I look to one another. Li clears his throat. “Occupied!” he calls out innocently, and I breathe a sigh of relief for this tiny con artist who, at probably seven years old, may possess more wisdom than I do.
There’s another knock, more urgent this time.
“I said I’m busy!”
Kai nods at Li approvingly.
“Hurry!” a familiar voice whispers from outside the door. “Mr. Sun just left the cafeteria to find Mr. Zhang and tell him one of the new boys is ill.”
I glance from Kai to Li again, reach for the door handle, and swing it open. Jing slides inside.
She scrunches her nose at the smell and shudders. “I’m coming with you.”
I stare at her face—at her expression of quiet determination. She must have heard us planning, days ago, in the sewing room. I watch, speechless, as she pulls a pair of the sharpest sewing scissors out of a thin knapsack that’s hidden beneath her too-large white T-shirt. My stomach twists. Jing has always been kind and quick to offer sewing help, and now—now she stands crowded against us with a scissors in her hand.