In time I change into my work smock and join the exodus to the factory floor.
I like having sharp scissors in my hand. If only I’d had them with me. But where would I have hidden scissors in lace stockings and scanty, skintight clothing? It’s too late for revenge against the fat one. I wish now for some disaster that would ruin Boss Lee, his factory, and every pair of overalls within its walls.
It’s unsettling to let my mind stray from cutting denim. I try to lull my brain with mindless routine, but my thoughts drift to how I might sabotage the pieces I’m working on so the fat man’s reputation is ruined. It’s hard to make overall bibs and hammer loops lethal.
Then, the inevitable. Little Boss tells me to report to Ushi—at once.
I finish the pile of utility pockets I’m working on. Leave the scissors at my workstation and walk into the hallway. I regret I have not spent more time thinking about what part of the Australian men’s conversations I’ll tell.
“Sit,” Ushi commands the minute I step into the room.
The chair faces her desk. I do not wish to look at her. I angle it toward the wall. I sit.
Ushi does not speak.
I set my face, my body, in stone so she can’t know what I’m thinking. If she wants me to break down, to beg for help so she’ll have me in her power and become a tool to her ambitions, I’ll give her no satisfaction.
Ushi can’t sit still. I can. I hear the rustle of paper. Little scrapes of metal chair legs on concrete floor. Then one giant scrape as she storms across the room and pounds on the door. “Mr. Lee, she’s here,” she says.
Boss Lee circles the desk and finally sits on the edge of it. “The Australian men spoke a lot of English yesterday. I want to know everything they said about me, about the factory.” His voice is haughty, condescending.
I don’t wish to answer. My voice has turned to stone too.
“Get the rod, Ushi. This one is stupid. She doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
Ushi hits my legs from the side. One side. The other. Then directly on the front. I’m afraid she’ll break my kneecaps.
“They said you lied to them.” I speak, rather than take the chance of not being able to walk. “Your factory is so small you could never finish their job on time. And if they forced you, your workers would drop dead because they already look exhausted and must be working overtime.”
“That’s not true!” Boss shouts. He jumps up, stomps around until he ends up staring into my face. “What else? What else did they say?”
“If they were going to let you get away with it, they might as well enjoy a night on the town and have you pay for it.”
Boss’s eyes flare. “You’re making that up.” His fists tighten. I think he might hit me.
“No,” I say in a clear, icy voice, looking right at him. “Why would I make it up when I know it will make you angry and you will probably hit me?”
If he was going to, he stops himself. Gnashes his teeth. “What else?”
“The overweight one said he was wealthy. He owns many enterprises. Would you like me to name them?”
His fists tighten again. I glare at him. His hands release. “There must be something else,” he says.
“No, they were quite boring,” I answer.
“Oh, boring, were they? I thought you had a good time, honey.”
It takes me a second to understand what he’s saying.
I get up and walk from the room.
“Come back here!” Ushi yells.
“No. Let her go,” I hear Big Boss say.
Boss’s words haunt me. Not a good spy, but good for other things, isn’t that what he really meant? How long before I’m asked to “entertain” again? Customers are always intrigued by us Uyghur girls. They stop and point. Want to know about us. Am I a little something special for Boss to offer?
Later that night, before we fall into our beds, I gather everyone as far from the door as possible. “I can’t ever go out with Big Boss again,” I say, and my body trembles. The fat man’s stinking breath engulfs me again as Boss’s words assault my ears: I thought you had a good time, honey.
I can’t go on. Jemile takes my hands, strokes them gently. She’s comforting me, when I should be comforting her! Warning her. Warning everyone. This isn’t just about me, it’s about all of us. “I’m not certain what we can do to defy Big Boss,” I say. “I thought he wanted me to go because of my English . . . but he wanted . . . more.” The words choke me. I hang my head. Am I more concerned with saving my saintly image than helping my sisters? Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! resounds in my head as words from this poem rush before my eyes:
The day will come, you will be so sorry,
Then, you will understand the real meaning of my words.
You will say “Oh,” but it will be late.
Then, Uyghur, you will think about my calls.
I open my eyes. Study the girls surrounding me with new urgency. “Big Boss wanted me to spy for him,” I say. “He also offered the fat man my virginity to help compensate for late delivery.” Their hands fly to cover their mouths. Looks of horror cross their faces. “I was saved by an act of unbelievable compassion. . . .” Tears shroud my eyes, but I keep talking. “A brave and wonderful girl helped to get him drunk. She took my place, and he didn’t know the difference. Big Boss thinks I ‘had a good time’ because the fat man was happy.” I’m talking too fast now, but I can’t slow down. “I’m certain he’ll want me to please other clients,” I say. “He may ask you. The girls he buys at the club are expensive. He doesn’t have to pay us.”
“He can’t do this,” Adile says too loudly.
I hope this isn’t a night when Ushi patrols the hallway.
“They can do anything they want,” I say. My voice is flat and hard. “I plan to become as repulsively ugly and dirty as I can. No hair washing or combing. No clean clothes. I’ll lose more weight. I’ll do everything I can think of. I apologize in advance for becoming a foul-smelling mess.”
“Should we do that too?” Jemile asks.
“I don’t think so, not yet. If they try to get you to go to the club with Big Boss, remind them how important you are to getting the job done on time. If you don’t get your sleep, you won’t be able to work. Do something disgusting while you say this, like picking your nose, anything so that a client wouldn’t want you.
“If we can last for three and a half more months, we can go home.”
Thirty-Seven
“YOU CAN’T DO this, Roshen,” Adile says. “You can’t go without food. You’re too thin already. You’ll get sick.”
“Nurse Adile, I’ll be fine. To go with Boss Lee to the nightclub is worse than starving to death.” Adile and I sit side by side on Mikray’s bunk. She’s spooning noodles into her mouth, while I’m trying to convince myself I’m not hungry.
“It will be all right if I miss a few more meals,” I say. “Being unkempt may not be enough. Ushi could scrub me clean in the shower downstairs. Then I’d have two choices—do what Boss Lee wants or escape. You know only too well that there is no escape.” I twist away in anger. “I could hide out until I’m caught and sent away for reeducation, or cross a border and exile myself forever from my home and all I hold dear. I’m not willing to do either.”
Adile is laughing. “You won’t have to do that, Roshen. You’re quite unattractive already with your soiled clothes and your stink. But please don’t starve yourself anymore. All I see are your hollow cheeks and bones,” she says, and she is no longer laughing.
“I’m in control. I drink just enough so I can keep working.” I tell her not to worry, though doubts about the success of my campaign haunt me daily. “Adile,” I say, “if for any reason I do have to leave, will you make sure everyone gets home, that they save enough money?”
“I already have a job, and that’s to keep you healthy. You’re the one we need, the one who holds us all together. You know that, Roshen, don’t you? It was your poems, the stories you told us duri
ng the long, cold winter months, that helped us survive. You gave us hope that we would return to our homes in East Turkestan, that our lives would, one day, be given back to us.” By now many of the girls stand in front of my bunk listening to Adile, nodding as they scoop food into their mouths.
“I’m getting your bowl, Roshen,” Adile says. “Then I’m taking you to the kitchen to get lunch. The noodles are almost edible today.”
I try to follow Adile’s advice. I fill my bowl with food, but I can’t eat it. The taste is repulsive to me now, it turns my stomach. I pretend to eat, then throw it away. I get thinner every day. Weak, too, which bothers me. It’s not a good feeling, and I’m having trouble working long hours. I know the sting of the rod too well. Too bad most of the bruises are under my smock—they would make me look even more ugly.
Today, however, I must be especially unattractive. Ushi notified us that important visitors are coming. Uniforms clean; we are not to speak.
It’s a torturously long day, waiting for them. Little Boss probes and scolds. The customers come. They’re speaking English. After much gesturing and bowing and scraping, Big Boss leads one of them toward my table. He passes me by—turns, takes another look, and is obviously repulsed by the gaunt, unappealing person he sees. He leads the man away with more gesturing and bowing.
I take a deep breath. It worked! I will not have to be Honey tonight. I can be the dirty, ignorant Uyghur girl he already thinks I am. Now I can eat. It’s been a while since I had any food. But I don’t feel hungry anymore, just dizzy. My head aches.
I hear the clack of footsteps coming my way. Little Boss. I place the pattern and start cutting, but I can barely open and close the scissors. They’re so heavy.
The rod hits my calves and I . . . begin . . . to crumble.
Thirty-Eight
IT’S MORNING WHEN I wake. Gulnar holds my head. Adile spoons water into my mouth, her hand stroking my throat to help me swallow. I’m in Mikray’s bunk.
“You fainted yesterday. They brought you upstairs,” Adile says. “You must stay here and rest.”
“No . . .” I try to sit up. My head swoons. I fall back. They’re right, I can’t work today.
“We have to go,” Adile says. “We left water and food. Drink and eat all you can.”
“Please, do it for us,” Gulnar says. “We need you.”
Then they’re gone. And I do, I try. I spill the water, but some goes into my body. I eat a spoonful of porridge. I think Big Boss will not try to use me again. Now I must get strong so I can work. I’m certain I’ll need the money for my return trip home.
Another sip of water is all I manage before sinking onto the bed. I’ll go back to work at noon, I tell myself.
I hear the stampede of girls running upstairs. It’s the noon break. I try to sit up. It is not so bad this time. Adile rushes in. Gives me a gentle hug. “I’ll bring more water and food,” she says. Jemile sits next to me when Adile leaves. She takes my hand. I think they’ve decided not to leave me alone, and I love their comfort. It gives me strength.
Lunchtime is short. I sip more water. Try to eat a spoonful of soup. I’m still wearing my smock—they put me in the bed with it on, and I’ve not had the energy to remove it. With help, I stand. I’m wobbly at first. My body aches all over, but I can do it. Adile and Gulnar are at my side as I make it down the stairs to my cutting table. Little Boss seems to not want much to do with me, but with as much haughtiness as she can affect she brings me material, scissors, and a pattern.
I’m a bit unsteady. Very slow . . . glad I’m not being hit. I have no other speed.
My body feels strange. I must try to eat. I’ll feel better . . . then Ushi will throw me in the shower. Clean me up. And then . . .
I hear the clack of feet. Maybe the scissors weren’t moving at all. I wait for the rod. It doesn’t come. I look up. It’s Ushi. Coming for me. She and Little Boss. They’ve come to get me, throw me into the shower. I smile. Am I not a prize even now? If only Ushi knew I’m still a virgin. That I’m really worth so much more than she assumes. I’m unclean, but I still have something special to offer.
They stop a short distance away. I can’t keep from staring at Ushi.
“I don’t want another one dying on us,” I hear Ushi say as she turns and walks away.
Little Boss comes to my table and begins removing everything. “I’ll take the scissors,” she says, yanking them from my hand. “Go upstairs to your room.”
“I don’t want to,” I say. I can’t move. I won’t. I don’t know what this means.
“It’s an order from Ushi. Just go,” she says, and walks away.
My legs are shaking, but I understand only too well the hopelessness of defying Ushi. I weave as I begin my slow progress. A pair of small, strong hands supports me. It’s Jemile, whose cutting table is nearby.
Too quickly a pair of large hands pulls her away. “I don’t care if she has to crawl. You have your work to do. Get back there,” Little Boss orders.
For a moment my eyes meet Jemile’s. I’m glad that compassion has always been a strong part of our Uyghur hearts.
It is easy to find sleep, and I lose track of days and nights. I try to swallow water when forced to. Food is too difficult.
The factory is at last closed for its one-day break between orders. I’m left alone, although someone always seems to be here when I wake up. Perhaps the girls take turns. I’m glad they’re allowed to go out. Their voices sound happy when they return. “Everything outside is lush and green,” someone tells me.
“We’ve brought a gift,” Gulnar says. “We met Chen when we were taken to the town by one of the workmen and told him you were ill. He got something for us to bring to you. Something to eat. I’ve taken the pit out.”
I press against the wall. I don’t want food. I don’t open my mouth. Everyone stands around watching as Gulnar forces a date into my mouth. Memories overwhelm me. The sweet, juicy flesh. The taste of Hotan. Thoughts of Mikray.
I lick my dry, cracked lips. “We must all have some to remind us of home,” I say in a voice that’s cracked too. One I hardly recognize as my own.
“No,” comes a flood of responses. “They’re all for you. If you eat them, it will make us happy.”
“You eat them all, Roshen,” Gulnar says. “I know where to go to get more.” She bends over me, cradles my head. “And where to get help if we need it,” she whispers as she puts another date into my mouth. I suck on it as I am given a round of applause. But I can’t eat more. Not tonight. I give Gulnar’s arm a squeeze and close my eyes. The room becomes quiet.
For a day I enjoy my diet of dates. I try to think it will make me well again. I’ll show Ushi. I’ll be back downstairs in no time. And then . . . again . . . I wonder if I want to be.
I go back to sleep.
Thirty-Nine
AND THEN I have a dream.
A man’s arms are around me.
I struggle. Try to break free.
Lash out with all my might.
Until a smell surrounds me.
A smell I know.
And love.
It’s Father. I am having a dream.
A beautiful dream.
“Try to walk, Roshen,” he tells me.
Somehow I do.
I go with him.
I think this may be paradise.
Forty
WE’RE FLYING IN the sky, high above the clouds. My head rests on Father’s shoulder, but I try to stay awake to see what new visions appear in the small window at my side. Father asks me to sip from a container he holds in his hand, and I want to. I try to. The drink tastes special, like something Mother might have made from flowers that grow on bushes, and roots from deep in the earth.
It seems so real.
“What is happening?” I ask Father.
His hand covers my lips.
“Later,” he says. “We’ll talk when we get home.”
Home.
That is a word used in dr
eams.
Like the dream I am having now.
Forty-One
WE FALL FROM the sky.
“It’s all right,” Father says. “It’s part of our journey.”
His hand trembles almost as much as mine.
Uncle is here to help Father. We’re to ride in his truck. I’ll know the countryside. I’ll finally know if this is real. But the movement, the beat of the tires—my eyelids shudder and close.
Forty-Two
I AWAKE WHEN I hear whispering. The silhouetted figures standing in the doorway bring shivers of joy. “Come,” I say. They rush in and enfold me in their arms. “Is it you, Mother? Aygul, is it really you?” These are the words I think. I try to say them, and maybe I do. My mother and sister do not answer. They rock me back and forth and cover me with tears.
For a long time we stay, holding, comforting. Then Mother leaves and comes back with a special drink. I swallow. Swallow again. She puts it aside. Aygul and I nestle against our mother.
“We’re not home, are we?” I say. The room is dark, but it seems unfamiliar. I’m not lying on my own sleeping platform.
“We are not at the farm,” Mother says. She strokes my forehead. “But you are with us, Roshen, and it is a time for you to eat and to get well. Will you do that for us?”
I don’t answer.
“Let’s try,” Mother says. “Warm some of the broth we made, Aygul.”
Mother helps me to sit up, holds me. Aygul brings a spoonful of broth to my mouth, which I open like a dutiful child. The taste brings memories of food fresh from our garden. It also brings a remembrance of half-rotten potatoes in slimy, bug-infested soup. My stomach churns. I think I might vomit. Aygul has another spoonful ready for me. I hold up my hand. I rub my stomach. Try to erase the horrible memory from my mind.
Factory Girl Page 18
