Threads

by Ami Polonsky

  “What do you think—” Kai begins.

  “How did you get out of the cafeteria?” I interrupt.

  She gives us a sly smile. “It must be contagious, what Li has,” she says. “Once Mr. Sun left the cafeteria, Mrs. Ma certainly didn’t want to deal with another sick prisoner by herself.”

  I am overcome with remorse. All the nights Jing and I had slept side by side on the sewing room floor, all the whispered snippets of conversation we had exchanged when nobody could hear, all the times she had passed me the seam ripper before I even had to ask for it…While Kai, Li, and I had been planning our escape this past week, Jing had obviously been planning hers, too. I should have included her from the beginning.

  “Once Mr. Sun finds Mr. Zhang, we’ll have very little time,” she says, urging me back to the present. “There aren’t many places Mr. Zhang could be, and there aren’t many bathrooms we could be in, so turn around,” she says to me, ignoring Kai’s harsh glare.

  “Jing?” I ask.

  “We need to be smart about this,” she goes on. “Who do you think Mr. Zhang will tell the police to look for? Two girls and two raggedy-looking boys. So, turn around, Yuming.”

  I’m frozen.

  “All right, then,” she says, nodding. “Me first.” My pulse races. She points the scissors toward her delicate face and cuts off a large handful of long hair.

  I take a deep breath as she tosses the dark strands into the filthy hole in the ground. “Some help in back?” she asks. I nod and take the scissors, grateful for her presence and brimming with shame for excluding her. I try to clear my mind. Think rationally, Wai Gong would say.

  I attempt to focus on her black hair as I cut it quickly, but my mind wanders to Wai Po and the wooden stool she would pull in front of our mirror whenever my bangs began to tickle my eyelashes. She’d stand over me, the wrinkles on her face soft and deep, steady her shaking hands, and trim my bangs in a neat line. Then I’d sweep the black cuttings out the doorway. They’d blow over the fields. Now you’re everywhere, Wai Po told me once, coming up behind me as I watched the tufts disappear over the rice crop.

  I cut the back of Jing’s hair in a straight line, from the bottom of one ear to the other. Kai kicks stray hairs into the deep hole in the floor as I work. When Jing turns around, I look down.

  “Jing—” I start.

  “It’s okay,” she says.

  “But I should have—”

  “Who is next?” she interrupts. “We need to hurry.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” I tell her suddenly without thinking, handing her the scissors. I don’t know what makes me say it, but she smiles, as if accepting my apology.

  “Quick, turn around,” she demands, so I do.

  When she’s done with the two boys and me, we scrunch together and peer into the smudged mirror tacked to the back of the door. Our white T-shirts, produced in the front of the factory, are identical; our haircuts—identical. My heart thumps. We need to move quickly.

  “Now,” Jing says, “how will we get over?”

  “Jing is the tallest,” Kai, who has been quiet since her arrival, says. “She should go last.”

  I look at him. “How will she get over with nobody to help her?”

  “She’ll have to jump,” he replies curtly.

  I glance around. There’s not a thing in the bathroom to stand on. It’s just the four of us, the human waste deep down in the hole, now covered with our hair, and the flies. I catch a glimpse of my face again in the dirty mirror. I don’t even recognize myself—the once-happy girl, number one in her class, from Yemo Village.

  The mirror.

  I pull it away from the door. It snaps off easily, with nothing but dry, yellowed glue coating its back. Jing and Li move to the side as Kai and I lean it against the wall. It’s higher than our knees, but thin. “Do you think you can do it?” I ask Jing.

  She studies the mirror and doesn’t reply.

  “I can do it,” Kai finally says, sighing.

  “He’s an expert climber,” Li chimes in. Somehow I don’t doubt it, and I wonder where these two boys came from.

  “All right, then,” I say to Kai and Jing. “Me first, because I’m the shortest of the three of us. I’ll need the biggest push to get over. Then Li. I can help him over from the other side. Then Jing, and then Kai.” It feels as if we’ve been in the bathroom forever. Mr. Sun could easily have located Mr. Zhang by now. At any time he could arrive outside the thin door. “We need to hurry.”

  Li looks to his brother, who nods in approval of my plan, and I jump for the opening as Kai and Jing push me up by the backside. In a second, I’m grasping the splintery wood at the top of the wall and feeling air on my face, blowing the scent of the toilet away. The side yard is empty aside from a few lonely bushes scattered atop the packed dirt. Off in the distance, to one direction, is the forest that leads to the rolling foothills of the mountains. In the other direction, beyond the front of the factory, a hill slopes downward into a bright-green valley. At the bottom of the valley is a village. I look back to the forest. Seeing the tightly packed trees, probably less than half a kilometer away, sends an explosion of excitement, energy, and fear through me. I throw my right leg over the wall, duck under the tin roof, and let myself over to the other side.

  It takes a bit longer to get Li in position, because he’s so small. As I listen to Kai and Jing struggle, I check over my shoulder constantly. How long until Mr. Zhang comes after us? Finally, I see through the slats that Kai has Li on his shoulders. Soon, Li’s small hands appear overhead. He scrambles over, and I catch his light body.

  With a quiet rustling, Jing effortlessly lowers herself onto our side, her knapsack flopping against her back. Now for Kai. We probably left the cafeteria more than fifteen minutes ago. How long it will take him to get over on his own? For a second, the fear overcomes me and I even contemplate running for the woods—the nearest place to hide—but I can’t, especially after already excluding Jing. “Hurry, Kai!” I whisper.

  Through the slats, I see Kai’s feet trying to balance on the top of the thin, fragile mirror. In the distance, I hear men’s voices. My heart begins to knock against the inside of my chest. I think the voices are coming from inside the factory, but with the sound of my ragged breath and the thumping pulse in my ears, I can’t be certain. I twirl around again to make sure there is nobody outside coming for us. With panic on their faces, Jing and Li do the same.

  “Someone is coming!” Jing whispers. “The voices are coming from inside!”

  “Go without me,” Kai demands. “There are at least two people coming down the hall right now!”

  “No,” Li replies before I can even take a breath. I look to the woods and back down at him. There are tears in his eyes and his hands are balled into fists.

  “Li.” Kai’s voice is firm as he struggles to balance on the top of the mirror. “Run now. Hide nearby. I’ll meet up with you. I promise.”

  I reach for Li’s hand, but he yanks it away from me. “No,” he repeats. I look again to the woods that are so close, and then back to Jing. She glances nervously toward the front of the factory. Through the slats in the wall, Kai’s feet struggle to find balance on a piece of glass that’s surely about to break below him. I picture myself in our mirror back home again, my hair damp and even, Wai Po behind me, smiling over my shoulder.

  The voices come again from inside, through the thin bathroom door. They’re louder now, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. “Come, Kai, hurry!” I whisper.

  “Run! I’ll find you!”

  “No!” Li’s voice again—small, but hard. “I’m staying here.”

  “Take him!” Kai insists.

  “Jump, Kai!” Jing pleads. We both know Li won’t go anywhere without his brother. I see one foot on the top of the mirror, the other on the ground, and the leap. The mirror shatters into a pile of glass as Kai’s hands appear above our heads. His feet shuffle against the wall, and he grunts with effort.


  Mr. Zhang’s voice comes to us from the hallway on the other side of the flimsy wooden door. It’s angry and quick. “Has anyone checked this one?”

  “I’m not sure, sir,” another voice answers from farther away.

  Kai’s leg appears overhead and Jing and I reach for it. A trickle of blood seeps from under his trousers; a shard must have cut him. He lands with a quiet moan and grabs Li’s hand. “Run!” he whispers to the three of us, pointing to the woods, but we are already running.

  “Who is in here? Who. Is. In. Here?” Mr. Zhang’s voice demands through the door, through the foul-smelling enclosure, through the rotting wooden slats, through the open summer air, along airwaves that vibrate through smog and mountain wind—wind that picks up dust from the yard and carries it into the valley below, wind that whistles past my ears as Jing, Kai, Li, and I sprint away from the pale-pink factory.

  Jing peers over her shoulder as we barrel toward the woods. “Nobody behind us yet!” she pants, and then the only sounds are our pounding feet and quick breathing. We’re halfway there, halfway to safety.

  My legs move automatically. They feel loose, as though connected to my body only by threads. I remember physical education classes at school—the fifty-meter dash, the one- hundred-meter run, awards for the fastest runners—and I could laugh now at how juvenile it all seems. I want to look behind us, but I cannot will my head to turn. I keep my gaze fixed on the woods at the bottom of the mountains that loom, brown, jagged, and tree covered, before us.

  Somehow, Li keeps up with us, his tiny legs pumping almost effortlessly.

  “The bathroom door was locked, but only with a small hook,” Kai says, panting, as our quick footsteps stir up a cloud of dust that I wish could magically transport me home, to my old life—to Wai Po and Wai Gong. To Bolin. “Anyone who wants to bust through that door will be able to do so in no time.”

  I review the timeline as we dodge bushes and shrubs. Mr. Zhang would have called out a few times, demanding to know who was in the bathroom. When nobody answered, he would have tried the door and found it locked. He would have called out again, threateningly, and then burst through. He would have seen the broken mirror. He would have figured it out; he would have figured everything out.

  We are almost to the woods. Fifty meters to go. The humid air presses down like it’s trying to drown me, but I will not let it. Wai Gong, I think, I am doing it.

  Mr. Zhang would have raced down the hallway and turned right at the end, the guard close behind him. He would have pushed the two men stationed at the front door to the side.

  I run on legs unused to exercise, breathing in dust and smog.

  The two men would have stumbled, surprised, and asked what was happening. Mr. Zhang and the guard would have exploded through the doors into the thick, smoggy air, twirling around, hunting for us like animals.

  The packed dirt is turning to grass beneath my feet. I am breathing quickly through my nose, my jaw clenched.

  Mr. Zhang and his guard would have two choices: to run toward the road to the village or to run toward the mountains. Perhaps one would have gone one way, and one the other.

  A tree branch slaps my cheek and I shut my eyes instinctively.

  Everything depends on this—on their decision—on their guess as to where we went.

  High grasses at the edge of the woods whip my thighs.

  What would they decide?

  We dive into the grass.

  The quiet sounds of nature are thick around us, like a blanket. The chirping of crickets combines with the sounds of our breathing. A leaf sticks to my nose as I inhale, flutters against flattened grass as I exhale. Jing’s face is next to mine, her trimmed bangs clumpy with sweat, and I lock my eyes on her. I am sorry, I want to tell her. I am overcome with fear; I am overcome with guilt.

  “Forgive me,” I say and she nods quickly, as if she understands, as if she understands everything: why I excluded her, where I came from, and where I need to go, even though I know that she cannot know all of that.

  “We need to move,” she whispers, her hands already positioned by her side to push herself up. “Mr. Zhang could easily assume that we ran here. Unless they think that we headed to the village, they’ll be in the woods in no time.”

  I nod and lift my head slightly. The grass around us is probably two feet tall, but Jing is right—we are not safe yet. Several meters ahead, the trees thicken and rise as the foothills slope up toward the mountains.

  I am millions of worlds away from home.

  Hidden, I hope, by the grass, we crawl like soldiers toward the tree line. I allow myself to peer cautiously back toward the factory. The side yard is empty—either because Mr. Zhang and his men assumed we went the other way, or because they’re already in the grasses or the woods, waiting for us to appear so they can drag us back and punish us like Bo was punished. Or worse.

  We reach the area where the woods thicken and stand cautiously. I have never been in a forest like this, and I wonder what kind of dangers might lurk in it. When we see no sign of any pursuers, we bolt again, leaping over dead branches and darting between ancient trees. At last, we are no longer able to make out the factory behind us. Ahead of us, the ground is rocky, and mountain bluffs loom.

  We pick our way toward a wall of rock with an indentation like a shallow cave. Without speaking, we inch our way into it, feetfirst and on our bellies, until the overhang covers our bodies. Only our heads protrude.

  “There could be snakes in here,” I whisper.

  “Could be…” Jing says, panting, resting her cheek on the thin knapsack.

  “I’d take snakes over Mr. Zhang any day,” Kai says, his face glinting with sweat.

  “Yeah,” Li agrees. “I like snakes, anyway.” He yawns. “You were born in the year of the snake, Kai-Kai. Can we sleep now?”

  “Yes, we’ll sleep now,” Kai says. “When the sun starts to set, we’ll head for the village.”

  Clara

  UPSTAIRS IN MY room, I open the family laptop and study the map of Hebei Province for the millionth time. I look from Beijing, in the center of the province, to the thick, jagged mountains to the north. My red suitcase is already packed and waiting in the middle of my room, even though we aren’t leaving until the day after tomorrow. Downstairs, Dad just got off the phone with his brother in Spain and now he’s on the phone with Grandma. I imagine her sitting in her kitchen in Minneapolis, picking nervously at her nail polish. Are you sure this is a good idea, Al? she’s probably asking. Are you sure you and Elise can afford it? With all those hospital bills? I want to shake Lola in excitement. We’re really doing this! I scream to her in my mind before looking back to the screen.

  Yuming wrote that she was a few hours outside of Beijing, in Hebei Province, but who knows where, exactly? I mean, Hebei Province is probably the same size as Illinois. I ignore this thought because it makes me feel kind of sick, and I open up a Beijing city map. I trace the outline of the massive city with my eyes—the miles and miles of land—before closing the Internet window. I wonder what Yuming is doing now. Almost two months have passed since she wrote the note.

  The summer that I was going into first grade, we went to Minneapolis for a month. I barely remember anything about the trip, but I do remember that Lola had a huge argument with Mom and Dad before we left. I was standing in her doorway, confused, watching her scream and stomp her feet. Her blue suitcase was on her bed, crammed full with all her stuffed animals.

  Where are we going to put your clothes? Mom had asked, baffled, as she stood next to Lola’s bed. I could tell she was trying not to smile, and I ran to Lola’s side.

  Don’t laugh! I had demanded.

  Dad came in, a stack of folded laundry in his arms. What’s going on in here? He looked Lola, her suitcase, and me over, and then raised his eyebrows at Mom.

  Now you’re laughing at me, too! Lola had screamed, her hands on her hips, tears flying out of her eyes. It’s not funny!

  I remember studying
her, confused. How was she going to bring any clothes? And why would she want all of her stuffed animals to come with us? We were just going to Grandma Betty’s. I dug through her suitcases. There were animals in there that I didn’t even know she had. They must have been buried under her bed for years.

  I turned to Mom and Dad and put my hands on my hips, just like Lola. This is Lola’s suitcase, I said. She can pack whatever she wants.

  The room was silent, except for the sounds of Lola sniffling.

  Honey, Mom had finally said, crouching in front of Lola, her face serious, are you worried about what’s going to happen to your animals when you’re gone?

  I cannot leave anyone behind, Lola had declared. Not one animal. How do you think it would feel to be completely left behind? Tears were streaming down her face.

  Mom had nodded and wiped her own eyes, and Dad had gone to the phone that used to be on the table in the hallway. It was tan with black buttons. I wonder where it went—I haven’t thought of that phone in forever.

  He called Valerie, who lived across the street and sometimes babysat for us. After he talked to her for a few minutes, we piled all of Lola’s stuffed animals, except for one small green alligator, into our plastic wagon and pulled it across the street. Valerie told Lola that she’d look after them, free of charge, until we got home, and she never smiled, not even a little bit.

  Valerie lives in New York now. I haven’t seen her since the funeral.

  I look at the date on my phone, as if staring at it will make July sixth come sooner. I open the weather app and check the forecast for Beijing. It’s hot and humid with rain likely in the evenings—the same as the last time we were there. Hang tight, Yuming, I say in my head. I’m on my way.

  By Wednesday, I’m starting to feel like I might be going completely crazy. Every time I look at the clock, I add fourteen hours to the time and try to imagine what Yuming might be doing. Is she working? Eating? I wonder where she sleeps. I remember the mountains that we could see from our hotel window in Beijing, and I picture Yuming sitting at a sewing machine, looking out a window at those very same mountains.