I was startled by the brashness of it all. The market town I had visited with my father had been colourful and bustling, the town I had visited with Mrs Chen had been sparkling and elegant. Here was something different again. The centre of this town throbbed with exuberance, in stark contrast to the grim reality of life in its factories and streets. Certainly, the workers from the factories, as soon as they reached the shopping area, became like dogs let off the leash.
‘Ice cream, ice cream, give me that lovely ice cream,’ chanted Dong Ying.
We piled into a shop selling ice creams in eight tempting flavours.
‘I don’t know which one to choose,’ I said, desperate to avoid the disappointment of picking the least tasty.
‘Choose more than one, then,’ a boy in front turned to say. ‘Who’s counting?’
The thought of such extravagance made me blush, as did the mere fact of being spoken to by him, but then I saw that everyone ahead of me was coming away with three or four scoops.
‘Spoil yourself,’ said Dong Ying. ‘You won’t get many chances.’
‘Not once the peak season begins,’ grimaced Song Shuru.
I clutched the money that had been left in my locker. Whoever had given it to me had intended me to spend it on myself. I would start saving as soon as I received my own wages at the end of the week.
‘Three scoops, please,’ I said when I reached the front of the queue. ‘Peach, vanilla and ginger.’
We walked slowly along the road, gazing at the clothes in the shops, licking at our ice creams, which would have tasted delicious after the food at the factory even if I hadn’t made the best choice. Dong Ying darted into one shop to try on a jumper. While we waited, we browsed through the racks of blouses, skirts and trousers. Li Mei pounced on a long-sleeved yellow blouse and held it up against me.
‘This was made for you, Lu Si-yan. When you earn your first wages you must come into town and buy it.’
The other girls nodded enthusiastic agreement.
I looked at myself in a mirror, astonished to see how I had changed again. I was very thin, but my eyes sparkled with excitement and my cheeks were pink from the cold wind. The yellow blouse suited me. How I wished I could buy it, but I had only just committed myself to saving as soon as I received my first wage packet. Then again, I thought, I couldn’t expect to borrow my friends’ clothes all the time. Having a valid reason to buy the blouse made me glow with pleasure momentarily, for I had never bought any clothes for myself before. And I told myself that the blouse was so cheap that it would eat up only a tiny amount of my wages.
We strolled in and out of shops all along the road. None of us had much money to spend, but we were happy to dream and to watch other people. The long hours and the monotony of their jobs made many of the factory workers reckless and extravagant when they found themselves suddenly free to do as they liked. The shopkeepers, reliant upon these once-weekly shopping sprees to feed their families, cajoled and encouraged us through their doors in the hopes of making a sale. The result was a carnival atmosphere, exuberant and infectious.
Li Mei linked her arm through mine.
‘Come on, young lady,’ she grinned. ‘Let’s go and sing.’
She pulled me towards a karaoke bar, urged on by Dong Ying and Song Shuru.
‘I can’t sing,’ I protested, laughing.
‘Of course you can,’ coaxed Li Mei. ‘We’ll sing together.’
‘But you’re too good.’
‘Singing is freedom and happiness. Today you are free and happy. Sing, Lu Si-yan.’
The darkened bar was crowded with people, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. Coloured spotlights lit a small platform where a young man was crooning and gyrating to an over-loud backing track. I put my fingers in my ears. I had never seen or heard anything like it.
‘Nothing could be worse than that,’ shouted Shen Enqing. ‘For goodness sake put him out of his misery, Li Mei.’
‘As soon as he’s finished then, Lu Si-yan,’ yelled Li Mei.
She went over to the man in charge of the karaoke machine and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and, after a few seconds, slowly faded out the previous music. The young man leapt from the platform to mocking applause, while Li Mei pulled me up in his place. The strains of a new tune gradually became audible and I realised that it was one of my father’s favourites.
‘I’ve heard you humming it,’ grinned Li Mei. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’
I couldn’t believe I was standing up there in front of dozens of people I didn’t know. I wanted to run away and hide. My heart thumped wildly, I felt sick. But when Li Mei began to sing, I found myself joining in, at first shyly, then, as the music took over, with more and more assurance. Dong Ying, Song Shuru and Shen Enqing danced exotically in front of us. People tapped their feet, rapped on the bar, clapped their hands. Attracted by the commotion, passers-by crammed into the entrance of the bar and joined in as well. The music reached a crescendo, Li Mei turned to me, and we shouted out the last notes smiling broadly at each other. It was exhilarating, and I loved it.
When the music came to an end, the crowd clapped wildly, shouting for more. Li Mei called over to the karaoke man. The opening strains of another of my father’s favourites filtered through to me above the clamour. Li Mei laughed at the expression of amazement on my face, then we began again. I poured myself into the song, recalling precious fragments from my past, cherishing my friends who were my present. And then the music changed again, to Li Mei’s song. Shen Enqing stepped on to the platform to sing the harmony, and I moved aside.
As I rejoined Dong Ying and Song Shuru, I felt a hand tap me gently on the shoulder. I turned to find myself face to face with the boy from the ice-cream parlour.
‘You sing so beautifully,’ he said.
I blushed and looked away.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, taking me gently by the chin and turning my head back towards him. ‘Come for a walk with me.’
‘She’s also very young,’ intervened Dong Ying, ‘and the only walking she’ll be doing is with us.’
A sudden burst of wild applause greeted the final note of Li Mei’s song. She beckoned to me to rejoin her on the platform to enjoy the praise. Dong Ying pushed me forwards, but the boy held me back.
‘You don’t have to do as they say,’ he shouted above the noise.
‘They’re my friends,’ I countered, tearing myself from his grasp. ‘I choose to do what they say.’
‘More fool you then,’ he sneered, and disappeared through the crowd.
The owner was so delighted with the number of people we had attracted to his bar that he thrust some coins into Li Mei’s hands and asked us to come again. We tumbled back out into the street, flushed with our success.
‘You’re a real star, Lu Si-yan,’ said Shen Enqing. ‘Where did you learn to sing like that?’
‘I used to sing with my father, all the way to market and back on his rickshaw.’
‘I bet he would have been proud of you just now,’ smiled Song Shuru.
‘I bet he would have been worried that his little swallow is growing up and attracting unwanted attention,’ said Dong Ying warningly.
I followed her gaze and saw that the same boy was across the road, lounging against a shop window, watching my every move. Li Mei and Dong Ying linked their arms through mine.
‘Doesn’t give up, that one, does he?’ said Dong Ying, as they marched me away, Song Shuru and Shen Enqing following close behind.
‘Forget him,’ said Li Mei. ‘He can’t do anything while Lu Si-yan has her bodyguards with her. Let’s go and get our photo taken with the money we just earned.’
We piled into a photo parlour, made goofy smiles at the camera, stopped for chicken and noodles at a small cafe, then spent two hours in a mahjong parlour. Shen Enqing was happy just to watch, but each time it came to ‘the twittering of the sparrows’, the five of us collapsed into fits of giggles until we were threa
tened with expulsion if we didn’t behave.
It was dark by the time we left, and I was yawning my head off. The girls insisted that I have one last look at ‘my blouse’ to keep me going through the week, we collected our photograph, which the girls gave me to put above my bed, and then we began the long walk back to our dormitory. It was bitterly cold now, the wind whipping through our scanty clothes, but we sang all the way home, and other returning groups joined in with us.
‘I’ve had a wonderful day – thank you,’ I said happily, as we walked across the factory grounds. ‘I can’t wait for next Sunday.’
Chapter Twenty-two
You Are Not Being Fair
There wasn’t another Sunday like that first Sunday. When we were called, one by one, to collect our wages the following Friday, the news spread like wildfire that a big order had come in and that we were to work every day until it had been fulfilled, including on Sundays up until nine o’clock.
I was devastated when I heard. It was the thought of our Sunday outing that had kept me going during the week. The grinding, back-breaking monotony of sewing on ears, the supervisor’s constant sniping, the foul meals, the lack of sleep – I could cope with all of them as long as there was that one day when we could go out, have fun, be ourselves, feel free. Now it was being taken from us.
‘Ah well, at least we won’t be tempted to spend our hard-earned money,’ sighed Li Mei, who always tried to look on the bright side.
I nodded and knew that I should have felt some relief, but I wouldn’t be able to buy my blouse now. Because I had made up my mind to have it, it hit me harder that I was to be denied.
More bad news was to come. We had all had our wages docked to pay for the pillow we had torn, and a further amount had been subtracted because we had failed to pick up all the feathers.
‘They could buy fifty luxury pillows with the amount they’ve taken from us,’ fumed Dong Ying.
When it was my turn to see Mr Wang, I entered his office feeling angry and rebellious. I glared at him defiantly as I sat down, revolted by his vast paunch and a dribble of spit that clung to his chin.
‘Well now, young lady, things are improving, definitely improving. Not up to scratch yet, a bit slow, but better. Just to show what a reasonable chap I am, I’m going to pay you half wages, even though you’re still in training. No overtime, mind – that’s only for fully-trained operatives, and there was your little bit of illness last Friday for which I’ve had to deduct an amount, and, as you are probably aware, I’ve charged you all for the wanton destruction of company property. Lastly, of course I’ve kept back a small sum to go towards your repayment of the ferry fare, but I’m sure you’ll agree that I’ve been remarkably generous.’
‘But you promised I’d be home for Spring Festival. I’ll never have enough money if you keep taking it away,’ I complained.
‘No promises, dear. I said if you worked hard enough, but you’re not quite up to it yet and, of course, if I keep having to deduct sums for mindless vandalism I should have a word with your friends about that. Now, off you go, dear, and close the door behind you.’
‘You are not being fair,’ I yelled at him as I stood to leave. ‘You’re just not being fair.’
I slammed the door behind me and stormed back along the corridor.
In the dormitory, that evening, I opened my wage packet to discover that I hadn’t been paid enough money to buy my blouse, even if we were to have gone into town on the Sunday.
‘How am I ever going to get home?’ I cried to Li Mei.
She stroked my hair, but her awkward silence smothered any lingering spark of hope.
I was constantly in trouble from that day. I struggled to keep up as the realisation that I wouldn’t be home for Spring Festival, nor even for my birthday two weeks later, sank in deeper and deeper. I had been a fool even to think there was a possibility of earning enough money that quickly. I would look around at the other girls. Some of them had been there for months, even years, going home to visit periodically, but returning because there still wasn’t sufficient income to keep their families in food and clothes. What was I working for, I kept wondering, if I wasn’t going to be paid enough to go home and help my own family? The answer filled me with utter despair. I was there because I had no choice, and because at least, even if it took me two years, one day I would have earned enough.
But how was I to cope with two years? How was I to cope with one year, six months, three months even? The other girls managed, somehow, to keep going, to put on a brave face, to focus on some minute flicker of light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel. I was a child though, five years younger than the youngest of them. I was so physically and mentally exhausted by what I had already been through – the growing up I had already had to do, the pitfalls that seemed to lie in wait for me round every corner – that I felt I would break into a hundred pieces at the slightest touch.
My journey of a thousand miles had led me here. Was I at the end of that journey? Was I to make what I could of my life from this point onwards, and accept that I wasn’t going home, that I would never see my mother and my brother again?
Chapter Twenty-three
A Gesture of Goodwill
Much to my surprise, we were allowed a day’s holiday on the Sunday of Spring Festival, as well as being allowed to finish at half past six on the Saturday evening. Quite a few of the workers from the local factories went home, some of them taking extra days of unpaid leave. By then I had been paid half wages for two more weeks, but at least there had been no further unforeseen deductions.
On the Friday before Spring Festival weekend, Mr Wang called us in one by one, as usual, only to announce that wages would henceforward be paid monthly in arrears, and that the week just gone by would be included in the first month. We were to receive no money that day, nor indeed until the end of the following three weeks. The delight we all felt at the thought of a day off was immediately obliterated by the fact that some workers no longer had enough money to go home.
‘They’re doing it so that anyone who goes home is forced to return,’ raged Dong Ying, who had herself planned to visit her parents but could now only afford the fare. ‘How can I go home and eat my parents’ food without contributing a penny to the cost?’
‘I’m sure they would still prefer to see you,’ reasoned Li Mei, ‘even if you go home empty-handed. An extra mouth for two days will not make a lot of difference.’
‘But I wanted to treat them. I was relying upon this week’s wages to buy them something special.’
‘For them, nothing will be more special than a visit from their only daughter,’ Li Mei urged.
Dong Ying allowed herself to be persuaded and set off for the station in the early hours of Saturday morning. Li Mei, Song Shuru, Shen Enqing and I tried to console ourselves by making plans for our own Sunday. Everywhere in town would be closed, so we would have to entertain ourselves. Mrs Wang had announced that there would be a special feast in the canteen on Saturday, and notices went up encouraging those of us who were staying to take part in a talent show on Sunday afternoon.
My friends started to chatter about what we might do. I couldn’t help feeling that all I wanted to do was to sleep the day away, so that I could block out the invading images of my mother and Li-hu at home without me. So that I wouldn’t have to remember the Spring Festivals gone by, when Father was still alive; when we used to sing our way to market to sell our pig and come back laden with special treats, because Spring Festival was a time of national celebration, a time to be extravagant, a time to forget about hardship; when we used to eat and laugh and go to the village for the parade and eat and laugh some more and wait for the firecrackers at midnight; when we were so happy that nothing, nothing could burst our bubble of joy.
The determined enthusiasm of my friends wore down my resistance, and I found myself agreeing to take part in a playlet, based upon The Bridge of Magpies, a popular folktale, which we were going to put together on the Sunday
morning. I was to play a princess, separated from her husband by the River of Stars that divides the northern skies from the southern kingdom of the heavens. Only once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, is she allowed to be by his side, when all the magpies on earth fly up to heaven and form a bridge over the River of Stars. Shen Enqing was to be the prince, Song Shuru the king, and Li Mei the narrator.
After we had finished work on Saturday, we headed back to the dormitory, each of us full of our own faraway thoughts, but all of us wanting to be family to each other.
‘We may not be able to be at home with our families, but I’d rather be here with my friends than anywhere else,’ said Li Mei, voicing how we all felt.
We were surprised to find brightly coloured cut-outs of fish and birds hanging from the door and windows.
‘They are making an effort,’ said Shen Enqing sarcastically.
‘Probably paid for with our wages,’ grimaced Song Shuru.
‘Take it as a gesture of goodwill,’ said Li Mei, ‘or we’ll make ourselves miserable, and I for one don’t want to be miserable. Not tonight. Not tomorrow.’
We changed for dinner, dressing ourselves up as though we were going out somewhere special. Dong Ying had left a spare pair of trousers and a blouse for me to wear, and Shen Enqing lent me her jewel-encrusted slide. Song Shuru insisted that I put on some lipstick.
‘You’re going to be twelve in two weeks’ time. Feel what it’s like to be a woman for one evening. Prepare for your metamorphosis into a princess tomorrow.’
She painted my lips and held a mirror in front of me. I was shocked by the transformation. It was extraordinary how a little smudge of red could add years to my age.
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