I glanced towards Manager He’s bureau. For the last half hour, the chief executive, had been laying into him. I was scared it might be something to do with me and Rule 46, the one forbidding improper relations. The bureau door slammed and the chief executive strode down the line, tripping over some plastic packaging. His armful of papers fanned across the factory floor.
“Which imbecile left these here? Can’t you see it’s a safety hazard?” He dusted himself down. “Star of Forwood? Pah! Just remember, it’s me who pays your wages and feeds your families back home. Now get back to work and you, pick these up.” He pointed to me.
Manager He stepped out of his bureau, his hair ruffled and his shirt marbled with sweat. “You heard! Get back to work.”
I hurried to pick up the chief executive’s papers, which were identical portraits of a young woman in a sequinned dress and pink shoes. The word STAR was printed in red characters at the top of each sheet. Old Artist’s portrait! I tried to catch Manager He’s eye, but he disappeared into his bureau, red-faced, like a boy who’d received a good whipping. I handed the chief executive his papers and returned to my desk.
A self-satisfied smile curled at the corner of Xiaofan’s mouth. She was onto us.
At lunchtime, Ren showed up late and slumped down next to me, her face increasingly sallow since her recent overtime in bonding. Her eyes were strained as if she’d been staring at the sun, but there was no daylight in the work rooms.
She rubbed her bad leg under the table. “Three hours’ sleep. It’s not enough, Sky Eyes.”
Ren pushed the food around her bowl. There was not much improvement to Manager He’s new menus. The pig’s blood soup contained a few more rubbery strands of noodle and a tiny portion of chicken’s feet was given to every third worker in the queue. A far cry from KFC.
“What is it that you do in bonding?” I asked. We were all trained in one process, which we performed endlessly. It was rare for anyone to venture further than their own line, let alone section.
“I stand in a cold room, gawping down a microscope and bonding minuscule dies onto a frame. My hands get so numb I can’t hold the tweezers to separate out the electronic dies. My line leader badgers me constantly because the dies are expensive and we’re told not to waste a single one.” She pushed away her tray. “I can’t eat this shit.” The blackened rice was stuck together in a clod and the knife beans had been steamed until translucent and were now falling apart.
“Maybe things will improve?” I said. “It’s pay day again soon. Fei Fei’s hoping for a rise.”
Ren snorted. “Fei Fei, the cleaner? Don’t be daft; she only started a month before us. The girl’s soft as butter, and she loiters around gossiping too much. There’s no way they’ll increase her pay.”
“She told me she’d worked here a year.”
“People say anything to gain respect. But here’s the truth: one day you’ll wake up and wish you were dead in a place like this. They call it Forwood, but this factory isn’t moving forwards or getting better. We’re going nowhere. What have we got to show for our lives spent on the line? We stay because we can’t lose face and go home empty handed.”
At that moment, Fei Fei rushed over and slapped one of Old Artist’s posters down in front of us.
“Look Mai Ling, look – you’re like a movie star! And to think, I was there when you bought the make-up. Your portrait’s everywhere. You’re famous.”
The poster showed me wearing a sequinned dress and pink shoes, standing in front of a shiny 4x4. The slogan read: The Star of Forwood. Workers, you too can light the way to a better future.
“Propagandist shit,” said Ren, “What will they come up with next? If they think that’s going to make me work any harder …”
Fei Fei pulled on my sleeve. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest. I’ve been helping to put them up.”
“Come too, Ren,” I urged.
We were supposed to tidy our tray away. Ren left hers on the table and followed us out of the canteen.
Fei Fei turned left, knocking into a group of workers swooning over a postcard of Andy Lau, the movie star. We followed her down an unfamiliar corridor to a large, unexpectedly sunny part of the factory. I blinked at the sudden wash of natural light. She said it was Forwood’s official visitor entrance – she knew a lot for someone who started the month before me. The reception desk was empty, music echoed dreamily from a radio in the glass atrium. All around, on the walls, shone a hundred pairs of pink satin shoes, a hundred gleaming 4x4s and my smile on a hundred posters.
“Now everyone can see how gorgeous we are beneath our boring old overalls. You’ve made us more than just dagongmei, 2204. We’re working women with prospects.”
Old Artist had made me taller than in real life and more Western-looking; I didn’t remember posing: hands on my hips, my chest puffed out in pride.
“You’ve done a good job,” said Fei Fei.
“How did you get their attention?” Ren asked.
“I did exactly what you told me to do, Ren. I used my hands. The harder you work, the more rewards you get.”
I wished Ren would hobble back to work and leave me and Fei Fei to talk about my new shoes and make-up.
“Ha! Don’t you think I work hard? Core of the factory they call us. So why do the girls in bonding only get 50 yuan more than the rest? I feel my eyesight getting weaker staring down that microscope. Last night, in the dorm, I walked straight into our bunk. And you talk about rewards? The only reward I’ve got from any factory is this,” she pointed to her damaged right leg and then reached up and tore my picture from the wall. “This is what I think to your stupid poster.” She ripped it to pieces.
“Hubei mei, what’s got into you?” Fei Fei scolded. “You know the city’s better than home: bowing to a mother-in-law, scraping to a husband.”
Ren shook her head. She was sweating and pale. “I’m not sure I can take much more … I’m so tired … every day the same …”
Fei Fei helped her onto a chair. “Maybe I should get the nurse?” she said.
“No,” shouted Ren. “I don’t want any more of her bloody pills.”
“I’ll go,” I said.
She flung off my hand. “I don’t want any help.”
“Ren, you’ve not been sleeping well, you’re exhausted. All those nightmares, sometimes I don’t know whether to wake you up.”
“You’ve got the wrong impression, Sky Eyes,” she whispered.
“But I hear you, calling Du’s name in the night.”
“I want you to forget that name. Don’t say it around here again.”
I nodded like the old obedient Mai Mai.
“Promise me, you won’t change, Sky Eyes. Factory life, it can turn you into something you’re not. Bosses get under your skin after a while … It happens so slowly. You won’t even notice. First the posters, then one day you’ll wake up and you won’t know who’s in the mirror.”
She was right. I was already changing so fast. But the person I was becoming at Forwood, the one trying to make a living for herself, was a better person than I could ever be under Li Quifang’s heel.
“Just promise me, you won’t forget the girl you were, your family, your blood.”
Fei Fei picked up the scraps of my poster and went to put them in the bin.
“Is that what happened to Du?” I whispered.
Ren wiped her eyes with her sleeve, pulling down an invisible shield to her past. I realised then, for the first time, that to survive in the factory, that was how it was for all of us. The past could not exist anywhere but in our own private thoughts, to share it would be to admit weakness. And a weak body, a vulnerable one, was not a working body. Not a dagongmei.
I handed her one of Manager He’s candies, hidden in my overalls, and she sucked on it without argument.
“I’m sorry I ripped your poster,” she said, eventually.
“It’s only a stupid portrait,” I lied.
Overtime finished early, around e
ight, and I seized my chance to show off my new purchases. Fatty was washing in the sanitary room when I breezed in with my new make-up bag. She dried her face and watched transfixed as I lined up my beauty products on the sink next to hers.
I had re-played the beautician’s instructions a hundred times on the line that day and it was a thrill to act it out for Fatty. “First, use a primer to prepare the skin,” I said, dabbing it over my cheeks. “Next rub on the moisturiser, being careful not to drag the delicate skin around the eyes. Then smooth out any blemishes using concealer – a speck on both cheeks is all that’s needed, don’t make it too thick or you’ll look like a peasant who’s trying too hard. Next add whitener, for a refined look, and finally a highlighter to get rid of the dark circles.”
I stepped back and smiled at Fatty. “Well? What do you think? Not bad for a girl from Hunan.”
“You look stunning, Hunan mei. All grown up!”
“Thanks. I need to practise more with the highlighter though, I can still see the bags under my eyes.”
“But I don’t understand, how can you afford all this stuff after one month? Did you not send any money to your family?”
“Of course,” I lied. “All this, I bought with my reward money, Fatty. I got a bonus for working hard during my probation.” I added another blob of highlighter below each eye.
“I never got anything for my probation.”
I shrugged, “Maybe the rules are changing? Maybe Manager He is trying to inspire his workers and make them feel happy.”
Fatty picked up a lipstick and flipped it over between her thumb and forefinger. “This colour is striking. Try it on,” she held it out to me.
I pressed my lips together and carefully followed their contours until a crimson pout appeared.
“Can I try it?” Fatty asked.
“Oh, erm.”
“I won’t spoil it, I’ll be careful.”
“Probably best if you don’t, Hunan mei – otherwise they’ll all want to borrow it,” I shoved the lipstick quickly inside my make-up bag ready for my next visit to Manager He. “I’m sure if you pick up speed on the line, Fatty, you’ll be rewarded too. I’ve set myself a target of one board every forty five seconds. Why don’t we have a competition? You’ll probably beat me hands down.”
Fatty’s face fell, she seemed not to care about the boards. “I only wanted to try the lipstick, there was no need to be mean. I stole an extra piece of melon from the canteen and was going to share it with you tonight.”
Just then a couple of workers from the dorm next to ours entered, giggling and pointing in my direction.
“You’re the Star of Forwood aren’t you?” said one, whose bun was scraped so tightly above her head she resembled a gourd. “We saw your posters outside the canteen and we think you look unbelievable.”
“Oh … thank you.”
“We wanted to see you in real life,” said her friend, hurrying to my side, her eyes fixed on my newly made-up face. She leaned in close and I smelt the cooking oil in her hair. A canteen worker. “Is that whitener you’ve used?” she asked.
I tried not to recoil as she ran her plastered fingertip along my jawline. “Yes, I bought it in town on Sunday.”
“It makes your skin looks so fresh.”
“No spots at all,” remarked the worker with greasy hair and skin to match.
“I earned the make-up through hard work. You can do the same.”
“What colour is that lipstick?” said the girl with the bun.
“Cherry.”
“I want some! I think it would suit me.”
I smiled, unsure.
“What would Kwo say if he saw us looking like this, Hakka mei?”
“He would forget to boil the rice, Hakka mei!” laughed her friend.
“You too can light the way to a better future!” Fatty said sarcastically.
“That’s right,” I interjected. “Your work in the canteen is very important. It is not simply rice and dumplings you make every day, it is a satisfied workforce. With a full belly we can work many hours and still have energy for overtime.”
“Mai Ling,” said Fatty, tugging on my sleeve, “I’m going to play cards. Come on, don’t waste time talking to these Hakka mei, come with me.”
“No, please stay,” said the greasy kitchen worker, poking around inside my make-up bag. “We want to see what else you have in here.”
“Show us how to put eyeshadow on properly. I’m sick of my eyes looking so dreary.”
“And tell me how I can get rid of these spots.”
“She wants to impress the engineers.”
“No I don’t!” she elbowed her friend. “I already have a boyfriend, waiting for me at home.”
Fatty skulked off. I stayed to demonstrate my eyeshadows and talk more about what it took to become a ‘star’. They promised to try harder at cooking the food properly so that it didn’t taste like pig swill.
With my fame spreading, Damei’s personnel uniform was no longer a convincing disguise for my night visits to Manager He, but I continued to wear it out of spite.
That night, I found him hunched over his desk asleep. I entered without invitation and began sifting through his papers, as we’d agreed. The ones on his desk were all letters, addressed to Herr Schnelleck. There were about thirty, of varying length, written in English. My poster was stapled to one of them. I spent an idle moment tracing my outline, before slipping the poster into a new file at the front of the cabinet.
“Shipment!” he cried and sat up abruptly.
I coughed gently. “Excuse me, Manager, I’ve come to get ahead with the filing.”
He looked particularly handsome, a certain spongy softness to his features after sleep. “Yes, yes … the filing … I must have dozed off. I don’t know what came over me. There are invoices that need processing and an important schedule to work out for tomorrow.”
For the next hour we worked solidly. My presence seemed to be a comfort. I listened to him read aloud phrases translated from his latest letter to Schnelleck. I admired his intellect and education and held his pens like a proper assistant. Sometimes, I made green tea and cleared papers from the floor, quietly arranging the files in the cabinet to regain order. The work wasn’t at all taxing compared to being on the line. It gave me the opportunity to study him in more detail; to let my eyes linger on the back of his neck. I imagined the shape and texture of his back beneath his dressing gown; solid as wet clay against my cheek.
“You’ve not said what you think of the portrait,” he said eventually. “Don’t you approve? I’m keen to know its effect? Are they jealous? The time analysts have reported a minor increase.”
The bureau felt suddenly hotter.
“They’re all talking about me – that’s for sure. I’d say the posters have been a success.”
“But what are they saying?” he asked. “It’s not enough that they should be gossiping. I need action, or my work here is finished. I’m finished.”
“They asked what I did to deserve rewards, so I told them I worked hard.”
“And did they buy it?”
Ren flashed into my mind, but I pushed her out again. “Of course; they’ll believe anything if they think it’s going to make them richer or more beautiful.”
He gave a knowing laugh. “How true,” he said and took a bottle of liquor from his drawer, swigging from the neck without offering me a sip.
“2204, something has been bothering me and until now I haven’t had chance to raise it with you. The fact is … I’ve been trying to remember your name.”
“My name?” A name was contraband in a place like Forwood. To Damei, I was ‘slug’, to Ren ‘Sky Eyes’. To most, I was simply another Hunan mei. “My real name is Mai Ling.”
His knee jittered. Perhaps the liquor had made him forget the normal order of things. He reached out suddenly and laced his fingers around mine. He brought me to my feet. I smelt the liquor on his breath.
“Mai Ling, I need you to
promise never to tell anyone.”
I nodded.
He leaned forwards, the features of his face blurred and I closed my eyes, believing he was about to kiss me. A heavy weight pressed against my face. The weight of his forehead.
“Good,” he pressed tighter, “because no-one must ever know. Do you understand?”
I felt like a firecracker in a tin box. He would have gone further if I hadn’t resisted. His tongue slipped inside my mouth. I squeezed myself from underneath him and scrambled through the darkness of the circuitry room. I kept my head bowed, fearful of the electronic eye hidden in the pipework. I lunged for the sanitary room door and went straight to the mirror. My cheeks and neck were flushed; my cherry lipstick was smeared and clownish. The creature standing in front of me was unfamiliar. I closed my eyes for a moment to see if the girl Mai Mai was there, behind the painted face. When I opened them, there stood a different young woman. There was also blood. Damei’s uniform was freckled with my blood.
I stuffed my knickers thick with toilet paper and tried to wash the stain from Damei’s skirt. Niether water, soap or scrubbing helped. I returned to the dorm, draped the uniform over the foot of Damei’s bed and tiptoed to my bunk.
Tin box
I woke feeling someone’s breath in my ear. Believing it to be Manager He, I turned to welcome him with a smile, but a hand whacked me across the head.
“That’s for making all that noise when I was trying to sleep. Don’t you know I’m on early starts this week?” said Damei.
I whimpered.
“Next time you feel like a night wander, make sure it’s a long walk over that balcony, alright Slug?”
Damei pulled back my blanket and grabbed me by the nightshirt, ready to strike me again. Quickly, I told her Kwo’s new menu had given me the shits and pleaded with her to stop. Then the breakfast alarm rang out, Damei dressed hurriedly and swept out of the dorm without food. She didn’t notice the crimpled bloodstain on her uniform.
The Secret Mother Page 11
