Foresight

by Ian Hamilton

  “Both are addictions.”

  “Uncle, pardon me, but what has brought this on? It isn’t like you to talk like this.”

  Uncle shrugged. “I can’t help having negative thoughts every time I review the ledger. If our gang can’t survive economically, I don’t want Fong to end up completely broke.”

  “We’ll survive,” Xu said.

  “Not if we stand still. We need to be proactive,” Uncle said, and then smiled. “I have to say I like the profit margin we’re making on those shirts.”

  Xu nodded but remained quiet.

  Uncle looked into the main office. “Here comes Fong. That was quick,” he said.

  “The factory owner says he’ll meet with us whenever we want,” Fong said from the doorway. “I told him we want to come this afternoon, and he’s fine with that.”

  “That didn’t take long.”

  “We’re a valued customer,” Fong said. “In fact, we’re his only source of foreign currency.”

  “And you mentioned that we’re interested in doing more business with him?”

  “I did. He was very happy to hear it.”

  “Good. Now, where and when are we meeting?”

  “He suggests we take the train to the Luohu railway station in Shenzhen. He’ll meet us there with his car. I’m to phone him just before we get on the train in Fanling.”

  “We could drive ourselves,” Uncle said.

  “The border crossing is small, understaffed, and usually jammed with trucks. It’s a pain in the ass getting through,” Fong said. “The train is easier. We can go through Hong Kong Immigration, get a five-day Chinese visa, and clear Chinese Customs, Immigration and Health in about half an hour at the station. Do you have your Hong Kong ID card and passport with you? You should have both of them.”

  “I can get them quickly enough.”

  “I have mine with me,” Xu said.

  “Then I’m ready whenever you two are,” Fong said.

  A few minutes later, after locking the previous day’s accounts in a desk drawer, Uncle joined Xu and Fong in the office.

  “I told everyone we’ll be gone and out of touch for the rest of the day,” Xu said.

  “Then let’s get moving,” said Uncle.

  The three men left the office together. “Taxi?” Fong said.

  “We’ll walk to the station. It’s too beautiful a day to waste,” Uncle said.

  Despite the fact that he had been living in Fanling for about twenty years, Uncle had never fully acclimatized to the weather. The winters, which ran from November to March, were cold and damp, with temperatures ranging between ten and fifteen degrees Celsius. Uncle’s apartment, like just about every other home in Fanling, didn’t have central heating, and when the cold penetrated the walls, it got into his bones. The summer months, from June to September, were even harder for him to tolerate. Temperatures ran in the high twenties and might have been bearable if it weren’t for the humidity and the rain that came with it. April, May, and October were months with moderate heat and low humidity, and Uncle hated to waste that kind of weather.

  “How many times have you been across the border on this business?” Uncle asked Fong as they made their way to the train station.

  “Three. The first time I drove, which is why I know about the mess at the border. And when I finally got across, things didn’t get much better. They don’t believe in street signs and I got lost. The other two times I took the train and let the owner do the driving.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Ming.”

  “How did he get into the business of producing knock-offs?”

  “I never asked him.”

  They reached the station after a ten-minute walk and Uncle waited on the platform while Xu bought their tickets and Fong called Ming.

  Xu was frowning when he rejoined Uncle.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The ticket seller grilled me about what we were going to be doing in Shenzhen and insisted I show him my ID,” Xu said. “I know we’re still in Hong Kong, but it reminded me of why I left China.”

  “The train company probably gets grief if they let someone on who doesn’t have the proper identification.”

  Uncle saw the train arriving from Hong Kong before he heard it. As it pulled into the station, Fong came running towards them. “We’re all set with Ming,” he said. “He’ll meet us at the station in Shenzhen.”

  They climbed onto the train. Uncle took a window seat facing China. Xu sat next to him. Fong sat across from them, and the instant his bum hit the seat, he closed his eyes and pushed his head back. “Wake me when we get there,” he said.

  “I’m surprisingly nervous,” Xu said to Uncle.

  “Me too. This is what it must feel like when you’re about to see a woman ten years after she broke your heart and left it in little pieces,” Uncle said.

  “Did a woman ever do that to you?” Xu asked.

  “My heart was broken many years ago, and it has never mended. But she didn’t do it to me,” Uncle said, and then turned away.

  It was a forty-five-minute ride to Shenzhen, and as they neared their destination, Uncle found himself staring intently out of the window. Had it really been twenty years since he’d been there? How much had it changed? He remembered walking into the town square for the first time with his friends from Changzhai. It was twilight and, in almost an instant, the empty square was filled with people, many in swimsuits and carrying homemade flotation devices of every conceivable construction. They were headed for Mirs Bay, which was filled with sharks and PLA patrol vessels, or the foul waters of Shenzhen Bay, or the land crossing near Wutong Mountain, with its huge barbed-wire fences and army patrols ready to shoot and kill. He had read that as many as 500,000 people managed to escape over a three-year period, and that many more had died in the attempt. Uncle had been one of the lucky ones.

  A voice spoke over the intercom: they were approaching Shenzhen station. “Passengers will first have to clear Hong Kong Immigration. If you do not have a visa or permit to visit Shenzhen, you will have to procure one at the station before going through the People’s Republic of China Customs, Immigration, and Health Departments. Please make sure you have your documentation with you. If you do not, we strongly suggest you stay on the train.”

  Fong sat up. “The train isn’t crowded today, so it won’t be too bad,” he said. “Most of these people will run like mad to get in line when the train stops. Let them go. It saves only a few minutes and it isn’t worth getting shoved and pushed.”

  The train slowed to a stop. Uncle saw that Fong was right; people jumped onto the platform and sprinted towards a line of immigration booths. They climbed down and followed the pack at a leisurely pace.

  The Hong Kong Immigration Service was its usual efficient self, and in less than ten minutes the three men had passed through and were approaching a group of PRC immigration officers.

  Uncle handed his permit to an officer who opened it and then began looking back and forth between the booklet and Uncle. For a few irrational seconds Uncle wondered if his departure from China had somehow been recorded and he was a wanted man. Finally, and with a show of reluctance, the agent stamped his booklet and passed it back to him.

  Ten minutes later, the three men walked out of the station and into a time warp. There wasn’t a building in sight taller than three storeys, or one that wasn’t dotted with crumbling stucco or covered in creeping vines. The street was paved but coated in dust, and Uncle saw that several side streets were dirt roads. There was no sign of a bus and there were no taxis. Aside from one car sitting at the station entrance, bicycles were the only form of transportation in view.

  “There’s Ming,” Fong said, pointing to a grey-haired man of medium height and build standing in front of an aged blue Toyota with a crumpled right fender.

 
; Uncle didn’t respond right away. His attention was focused on the street and the town square. He had been in this exact spot. “I was here twenty years ago. I remember it. And nothing has changed — not one goddamn thing,” he said.

  “Does it get any better than this?” Xu asked.

  “Not really,” Fong said. “And don’t expect anything great when you see the factory. It’s solidly built, but beyond that it isn’t much to look at.”

  “We’re not here because of the factory,” Uncle said.

  “Or the town,” Xu added.

  “Look over there,” Fong said, pointing past the square to lines of cranes visible on the horizon. “That’s where they’ve really started building, and they’re building fast. In a few years not much of the old town will be left standing.”

  Uncle stared at the cranes, his lips moving ever so slightly as he counted. “There are more than thirty of them.”

  Fong touched Uncle lightly on the arm. “Boss, Ming is starting to look worried. I think we should go meet him.”

  “Of course. Sorry,” Uncle said.

  Ming smiled as they walked towards him, and Uncle saw that he was missing several front teeth. He was wearing a blue Mao jacket, trousers, and straw sandals. Uncle guessed he was about fifty, although he could have been ten years older or younger.

  Fong introduced Uncle and Xu to Ming.

  “Welcome to Shenzhen. Welcome to the new China,” Ming said.

  “It looks a lot like the old China,” Uncle said.

  “You won’t recognize this square a year from now. They’re going to tear down most of these buildings and replace them with high-rises. Even the train station is going to be rebuilt,” said Ming.

  “You sound very optimistic. Business must be good,” said Uncle.

  Ming motioned to his car. “Why don’t we drive to the factory. We can talk about business on the way.”

  They piled into the Toyota, Uncle sitting up front with Ming. They drove across the square and started down a road that was littered with potholes. “How far is the factory?” Uncle asked.

  “About thirty minutes,” Ming said. “There are plans to build a highway from our area to the city. When that’s finished, we’ll be twenty minutes away.”

  They drove past a part of Shenzhen that Uncle had never seen. It was a combination of older low-rise commercial buildings separated by small rows of houses and some empty lots. After fifteen minutes, buildings of any type became scarce, and a few minutes later they found themselves in open country, surrounded by fields. Off in the distance Uncle could see clusters of farm structures. “What are they growing?” he asked.

  “Most of these are vegetable farms growing things like pea tips, mustard greens, bok choy, celery,” Ming said.

  “Those buildings look like they’re for more than vegetables.”

  “More than half are for pigs. The others are either dairy or chicken farms.”

  “How did you come to build a garment factory out here?”

  “My older brother owned a hatchery. He never married, and when he died, he left it to me. I was working in a garment factory in Guangzhou, and that was the only trade I knew. But when I inherited the hatchery, I had to do something with it. I tried to sell it but there weren’t any takers,” Ming said. “When I explained my problem to my boss in Guangzhou, he asked me how solid the hatchery buildings were. I told him they were well-built, with stone walls. He told me to get rid of the chickens and convert them into a garment factory. He said he had some old equipment he could sell to me cheap on long-term credit. I took him up on it.”

  “That was when?”

  “About ten years ago.”

  “How many buildings did you convert?”

  “I could only afford to do one.”

  “But it has been a success?” Uncle asked.

  “Only recently. Before the SEZ was created it was a struggle to make ends meet.”

  “SEZ?” Xu asked.

  “Special economic zone,” Ming said.

  “How has that changed things for you?” Uncle asked.

  “In every way imaginable.”

  “Explain what that means, please,” said Uncle.

  “Well, it used to be I was given an annual quota of material — set by the prefecture — and was told what I could make. If I had my machinery running at full capacity, I’d go through the quota in six months or less, so I had to operate at a reduced level.”

  “Why not just shut down for six months?” Xu asked.

  “My workers wanted full-time employment, so I would have lost them. That isn’t a bad thing if you don’t need skilled labour, but I do, and I’d spent a lot of time training these people. I wanted to hang on to them.”

  “What kind of clothes did they have you making?”

  “Basic clothes for workers,” Ming said. “The government bought them all from me, which was a good thing, but they also set the price, which wasn’t so good.”

  “How has the SEZ changed that?”

  “I can get all the material I want as long as I can pay for it. I still have to fill the orders I get from the government, but after that I can make what I want. And I can sell it to anyone I want at a price I set.”

  “They don’t mind that you’re selling to Hong Kong?”

  “They love it when we sell to Hong Kong. They want foreign money to flow into the SEZ. That’s one of the reasons it was created.”

  “What are the others?” Uncle asked.

  Ming shrugged. “I went to a local meeting, and the bigshots of the SEZ explained it’s part of a ‘geopolitical experiment’ that Premier Deng has ordered. I don’t really understand what they meant. All I care about is being able to run my factory at full capacity and make some money,” he said.

  “Are you at full capacity now?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have enough money to buy the raw materials I need to achieve that,” Ming said. He turned to look at Uncle as if to underline his message.

  “Having enough money to run and grow a business is a challenge,” Uncle said. “It’s nice to hear that it’s becoming a reality in China.”

  “Not in most of China, but certainly in the SEZs.”

  “There’s the factory,” Fong said from the back seat, pointing to the left.

  Uncle looked out the window and saw two identical undistinguished buildings set back about a hundred metres from the road. Their walls seemed to be about fifty metres long and ten metres high and were made of stone and rock on top of cinder-block bases. A row of small windows ran along the top of each wall, but they were so small he doubted they’d let in much light. Metal double front doors were the only visible entrances. Uncle thought they looked more like prisons than factory buildings. “Which one is the garment factory?” he asked.

  “The one to the left. I know it doesn’t look like much, but it meets my needs,” Ming said as he turned onto a dirt track.

  “It looks deserted,” Uncle said, noticing an absence of bicycles or any other means of transportation.

  “We aren’t operating today. If I’d known yesterday that you were coming, I would have called in some workers. It’s very difficult to assemble a work crew at such short notice.”

  “Don’t worry about that. It would have been instructive to see the plant in operation, but I’m more interested in talking to you than looking at machinery.”

  “Do you want to go inside?”

  “Sure. We’re here, and it would be wasteful not to.”

  Ming parked the car near the door and then led them to the entrance. He unlocked the door and stood back so they could enter first.

  Uncle took a dozen steps inside and stopped to take in the factory. The interior was as plain as the exterior, with a concrete floor, grey-painted walls, and several strings of nak
ed light bulbs running overhead. On his right, against the wall, were stacks of various fabrics and spools of brightly coloured thread. On the far left he saw stacks of boxes piled on top of each other. In between were two rows of machinery that Uncle assumed were production lines. The equipment looked old but well maintained.

  “You don’t have a warehouse?” Uncle asked.

  “I’ve never needed one, and I can use the other building if it comes to that.”

  “So everything is under one roof?”

  “It is.”

  Uncle nodded and stepped closer to the machinery. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Ming, but Fong tells me the quality of your product isn’t exactly first-rate.”

  “I do the best I can with the equipment I have and the materials I can afford,” Ming said with a shrug. “Better equipment and fabrics will produce a better product and allow me to expand my production.”

  “And you can’t afford better equipment?”

  “That’s correct,” Ming said.

  Uncle turned. “Do you mind if we go outside?”

  “Not at all.”

  They left the factory and walked into what had once been a farmyard. “How much land do you have here?” he asked the trailing Ming.

  “Close to five hectares.”

  “Are there are any restrictions on what you can do with it?”

  “I have a permit to operate a garment factory. The original was from Guangdong province, but it was replaced by one from the Special Zone Development Corporation,” Ming said. “But I’m not sure if that answers your question.”

  “What I’m getting at is whether or not you would need approval to turn that second building into another factory.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who would know?”

  “When I applied for my permit, I dealt with a man named Peng at the Development Corporation. He was also the one who explained the SEZ at that local meeting.”

  “It might be a good idea to talk to him to find out.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I answer that question, do you mind answering a few more of mine?”

  “Of course not. I figure you’re here for a reason.”