by Ian Hamilton
Uncle continued to study the numbers in the file until Fong arrived and took a chair opposite him. Then he looked up and said, “I know we’re selling everything we’re producing, but I’m concerned that if we let Ming go full-out with the second plant we’ll flood our markets. The last thing we need is falling prices or growing inventories.”
“Do you want me to tell Ming to scale back his production plans?”
“Only if you think we won’t sell the output.”
Fong pressed his lips together, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged. Then, to Uncle’s delight, he said, “We’ll sell whatever Ming can produce. The markets in Kowloon, Hong Kong Central, Sha Tin, Fanling, and Tai Po are booming. Some of those guys have opened up secondary markets and are reshipping our clothes to places like Manila, Bangkok, and Jakarta. Some of them are even talking about sending shirts to the U.S. I don’t see any end to it unless we start to get competition from other SEZs.”
Uncle knew Fong wasn’t pleased about his decision to invite other gangs to invest in the SEZs. He wasn’t quite so sure how his Straw Sandal felt about Xu staking out a position — even with Fanling’s help and affiliation — in Xiamen. But however Fong felt, Uncle wasn’t about to offer any justification. “I’m not worried about Zhuhai and Xiamen because our brothers aren’t going to invest in clothes manufacturing. Xu believes there’s a lot of money to be made in leather — specifically in designer bags — and Tse has found a watch manufacturer with the right machinery to duplicate high-end brands like Rolex.”
“What about other gangs, the less friendly gangs? You don’t think they’ll try to grab a piece of our action?”
“They won’t be able to do that without establishing relationships. We’re the first ones in, and as long as we keep our new friends close, we can make it difficult for anyone else to get a foothold.”
Fong sighed. “Uncle, I have to tell you that what’s going on in Shenzhen is kind of crazy. Even in the past few months I’ve seen a difference. Money is rushing in now. There are more restaurants and hotels being built than I can count. Ming has started going to a massage parlour every night after work, and he has a choice of parlours — and of massages. It wasn’t like that a year ago, and massage parlours are the kind of business that brothers from other gangs understand.”
“Are you telling me they’re involved already?”
“No,” Fong said quickly. “I think it’s strictly locals running things, but once the word gets out it won’t take long for our brothers to find their way across the border.”
“And run smack into the PLA if they try to muscle in on local businesses. None of us wants that to happen.”
“Is the PLA more efficient than the Hong Kong police?”
“I think ‘more brutal’ is a better description,” Uncle said, closing the folder and rising from his chair. “We should get going now.”
They left the office and caught a taxi to the station. Uncle was surprised by the traffic outside, and again by the number of people jostling on the platform. “It’s busy here. Is something special going on?” he aked Fong.
“No. In the past few months, as construction has picked up in Shenzhen, so has the number of people heading there,” said Fong. “This is normal now.”
The train arrived a few minutes later and the crowd surged forward. Uncle hung back; it wasn’t his nature to be part of any mob. He and Fong waited until the platform was almost clear, then walked towards the last car, where they knew seats would most likely still be available. They found two together.
“Have you given any more thought to expanding our interests in Shenzhen?” Fong asked as the train left the station.
Uncle smiled. The immediate success of the reinvigorated Ming Garment Factory Number One had been noticed by many other local businessmen, some of them friends of Ming, and they had inundated Fong with proposals to expand their own businesses that he had duly forwarded to Uncle. Thus far, Uncle hadn’t acted on any of them. “I’ve never stopped thinking about expanding our interests, but you know how cautious I am,” he said. “Once Ming’s second factory is running smoothly and we know roughly what our income flow will be, we can turn our attention to adding new business. The worst thing we could do is be rash. Going forward, slow and certain has to be our operating mode in Shenzhen. I’ve told Tse and Xu the same thing about Zhuhai and Xiamen. We all need to keep a low profile, and we can’t do that if we’re running around aimlessly.”
“What about Xu?” Fong asked, his tone hinting at tension. Although they were friends, Fong and Xu were both competitive by nature. Fong had never voiced any jealousy about the potential rise to prominence for Xu afforded by the Xiamen project. Their Fanling positions as Straw Sandal and White Paper Fan were equal within the executive structure, but it was obvious that if Xu made Xiamen a success and established his own organization there, he had a chance to become a Mountain Master.
“What about Xu?” Uncle answered.
Fong shook his head. “Sorry, I might be overstepping with a question like that.”
“Nonsense. Speak your mind.”
“Well, I’ve been wondering if you intend to leave him in Xiamen or if he’ll be coming back to Fanling after he sets up there.”
“His dream is to go back to Shanghai.”
“I know, but Xiamen isn’t Shanghai.”
“But it is in China, and a year ago the idea of our being able to operate anywhere in China was unthinkable. If we can make Shenzhen, Xiamen, and Zhuhai work, who knows where we’ll be a year from now. “
“I understand that, boss, but that doesn’t really answer my question about Xu.”
Uncle turned his head and looked out the window. “I think you can assume that if he is successful in Xiamen, he won’t be coming back to Fanling for anything other than to collect his wife and son and say goodbye to us,” he said, and paused. “He’ll have my blessing and continued support if that’s the case, but we’ve a very long way to go — maybe years — before a decision like that has to be made.”
Fong fell silent, and Uncle knew he was calculating what it all might mean for him. He would have liked to tell him, but the truth was that Uncle had no idea what the future held for any of them. What he did have was hopes and expectations, and those becoming a reality was daunting to contemplate. So many things had to break their way, and his experience was that it was irresponsible — and often dangerous — to assume they would.
“Xu is a good man,” Fong said finally. “He deserves whatever he gets.”
Uncle nodded and thought about saying something, but an announcement over the loudspeaker that they were nearing Shenzhen interrupted him.
When the train came to a halt, neither Uncle nor Fong left their seat. Through the window they could see the horde that had descended on the train now pushing and shoving their way onto the platform and racing towards the immigration booths.
“I can’t get over how many people there are,” Uncle said.
“It shouldn’t take too long. I know it looks chaotic, but they’re efficient here,” Fong said. “We should get in line now.”
Ten minutes later the line hadn’t shortened by much, and even Fong was starting to fret. “There’ll be another train arriving in about twenty minutes, and if these lines haven’t improved, it will get crazy here.”
“Is something going on?” Uncle asked for the second time that morning.
“The immigration officers do seem to be taking a lot of time.”
Ahead of them one of the lines had thinned, and Uncle was able to look past it and into the station’s interior. “Over there on the left, on the other side of the booths, is that a cage I see?” he asked Fong.
“Yeah, it is,” Fong said, his surprise evident.
To Uncle’s eye the cage wasn’t much different from one he’d seen at a circus that had visited Fanling the year before. That one had been big enough to accommodate eig
ht lions sitting on stools and their tamer. There were no stools or lions in the cage at the station, only a large number of men sitting on the floor or standing and looking through the bars. Around the structure, several PLA soldiers stood with guns held across their chests.
Uncle felt a chill. “Why are those men in that cage? Why are they being guarded?” he asked Fong.
“I don’t know. Maybe they were trying to sneak across the border into Hong Kong,” Fong said. “Or maybe their papers weren’t in order.”
Almost subconsciously, Uncle’s right hand reached for the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket, where he touched his home-visit booklet.
The line shuffled forward and Uncle saw several people in front of him whispering to each other. They looked concerned, and that only increased his feeling of disquiet. He thought about turning back and catching the next train to Fanling, and then just as quickly dismissed the idea. Ming and the others were expecting him. There was no real reason — other than paranoia — not to stay in line.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Fong asked a man wearing an expensive suit in the line next to him.
“Not really, though it was like this yesterday as well. All they did then was check my papers and wave me through. Maybe they’re just getting more bureaucratic.”
They were separated from the immigration booths by only a handful of people when Uncle heard a commotion behind him. He turned and saw that the next train had arrived and a swarm of people was running towards them. “What a mess this is,” he said to Fong.
Fong stepped behind Uncle as if trying to shield him from the onrushing mob. “We’ll be through in a few minutes,” he said.
Finally Uncle was at the front of line, and a minute later he was waved forward by a middle-aged customs and immigration officer. As he approached the booth, the officer held out his hand without looking up. Uncle gave him the booklet.
The officer opened it. He took more time with that, reading it more intently than Uncle thought was merited. Then he raised his head and looked squarely at Uncle. “It says here that you were born in Hubei province.”
“I was.”
“So you are Chinese?”
“I am a citizen of Hong Kong now, as you can tell from the permit.”
The officer nodded, turned away, and said something to another officer who was standing behind the booth. A few seconds later that officer stood beside Uncle. “You need to come with me,” he said.
“Why?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” the man said. “Just come with me and don’t make a fuss, or I’ll be forced to involve one of the soldiers.”
“What’s going on?” Fong said from the adjacent booth.
“None of your business,” the officer said, and then pointed at Fong. “Are his papers in order?” he asked the officer looking at Fong’s visa.
“No problem here” was the reply.
“Let’s keep it that way,” the officer said to Fong, his hand now gripping Uncle’s elbow.
“Am I going to be detained?” Uncle asked.
“You are.”
“Why?”
“Just start moving towards that cage.”
Uncle hesitated, felt the grip on his elbow tighten, and knew he wasn’t in a position to argue. “Call Peng,” he said to Fong. “Tell him to fix this, whatever this is.”
“This is bullshit,” Fong said angrily. “And there isn’t a payphone inside the station. I’ll have to go outside.”
“Just do it from wherever you can.”
“Let’s go,” the officer said.
“Your colleague still has my permit,” said Uncle.
“You’ll get it back later.”
Again Uncle knew it was useless to protest. The officer tugged at his arm and Uncle followed him towards the cage. As they neared it, one of the soldiers in front of the door turned and inserted a key into a padlock. The door opened and Uncle was pushed through.
“When are we getting out of here?” someone in the cage shouted at the officer.
“There are trucks on the way to collect you. It shouldn’t be long before they arrive.”
“We were told that an hour ago. I’ve been in here for close to three hours and I’m going to piss myself if I don’t get out of here soon,” the same voice said.
“Suit yourself,” the officer said.
There were only men in the cage. Uncle counted sixteen, excluding himself. It was a diverse group, but as he looked at them he saw they had one thing in common — they were all afraid.
( 11 )
Uncle leaned against the bars and watched Fong hurry out of the station with a worried look on his face. When he had disappeared through the exit doors, Uncle turned to the man next to him. “Do you have any idea what this is about?”
The clothes of most of the men in the cage — jeans, peasant pyjamas, T-shirts, sweaters — looked the worse for wear. Uncle imagined that the majority of them worked with their hands for a living. The man he spoke to was wearing jeans, but they weren’t ripped or soiled, and he had on a neatly pressed blue shirt.
“They told me my papers aren’t in order,” the man said.
“How so?”
“They didn’t tell me the details.”
“Where are you from?”
“A town about fifty kilometres north of here. There’s no work there, at least none that pays enough for a man to be able to look after his family. I was told there’s lots of work in Shenzhen. That’s why I came. Most of these other men will tell you the same kind of story,” he said. He stared at Uncle’s black suit and crisp white shirt. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look like you belong in here with us.”
“I don’t think I belong in here either, but that has nothing to do with your company,” Uncle said.
“Why are they holding you?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say,” Uncle said, and then paused. “The soldier told the guy who needs to pee that some trucks are on the way. What’s that about?”
“Whatever the reason, it can’t be good.”
“Well, they can’t leave us in this cage forever.”
“Maybe not, but at least in here we’re safe.”
“What are you implying?” Uncle asked.
“I don’t know about you, but where I’m from they don’t bother with trials when you break the law. A bullet in the back of the head is quicker and cheaper,” the man said. “Some of the other guys are scared that they’re going to truck us to a field somewhere and get rid of us that way.”
“I didn’t break any law.”
“Neither did I — at least none that I know about.”
“I’m from Hong Kong and have a home-visit permit.”
“Hong Kong? Why would you leave it?”
“I’m doing some business in Shenzhen.”
“That’s what we all want to do, and look where it’s got us,” the man said.
Uncle started to respond but stopped when he saw a group of soldiers approaching, led by a young officer. The soldiers were all armed and looked menacing. The officer halted at the cage door and motioned for one of the guards to unlock it. When the padlock was removed, he stared into the cage, his eyes focused above their heads.
“My name is Captain Tung,” he said loudly. “We’re going to be taking you from here to trucks that will take you to a processing centre. When we open the door, I want you to come out in single file and follow the soldiers. Keep your hands by your sides. Don’t rush, push, or try to run off. We will shoot anyone who tries to escape. Is that clear?” He waited perhaps five seconds and then said to the guard, “Open the gate.”
Uncle was working to stay calm. Common sense told him that his cage partner’s comment about getting shot was a wild exaggeration, but it still created a flush of irrational fear. The captain’s mention
of a processing centre, and then his threat to shoot anyone who didn’t cooperate, generated concerns that couldn’t be so easily dismissed. Uncle decided he had to speak to Captain Tung, but not in the midst of this crowd and confusion. So he waited in the cage until everyone else had left and formed a line in the station, with armed guards ahead, on either side, and behind them.
“Why aren’t you joining the others?” Tung asked.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” Uncle said.
“Of course you do. And so does everyone else.”
“No, seriously. One phone call should clear this up.”
“You can explain it all to the people at the processing centre.”
“I’m a businessman from Hong Kong. Mr. Peng, the director of the Development Corporation, can vouch for me.”
“Then he can vouch for you when you’re at the processing centre,” Tung said. “My orders are to pick up this group and transport you there. That’s it, nothing more, and that’s all I intend to do. Someone else can decide what to do with you when I get you there.”
“This is silly — ”
“Enough!” Tung interrupted. “Get in line with the others.”
Uncle stepped out of the cage. A soldier stepped behind him and shoved him in the back until he was next to the man in front of him. Uncle looked towards the station entrance, anxious to see Fong or Peng or anyone he knew, but he was quite alone.
The line began to move in fits and starts through the station in the opposite direction from the main doors. Arriving and departing train passengers came to a halt and stared at them as they passed. He might be out of the cage, but that didn’t stop Uncle from feeling like an animal.
When they reached a door with the customs and immigration officials only stencilled on the lintel, Captain Tung went to the front of the line. “You will walk through here in an orderly manner and then exit on the other side of the office into a laneway,” he said. “There is a truck parked there. Climb into the back and take a seat. If there is no disruption, we will be at the processing centre in less than an hour.”
The men shuffled through the office, no one speaking but their apprehension apparent all the same. An open door awaited them at the other side, and through it Uncle could see an olive-green military truck with a green canvas roof. Two soldiers flanked the exit and two more stood near the rear of the truck. As the men left the office they were guided by gun barrels until they climbed into the truck. Uncle was the last civilian to clamber up. The truck had a steel floor, canvas walls, and wooden benches along each side. Two soldiers sat facing each other on the benches closest to the driver. Two more climbed into the truck after Uncle and took positions nearest the tailgate. The gate closed.
