Mountain Girl River Girl (13 page)

It was the face of Demon Six that terrified her the most. Sometimes at night she was too afraid to close her eyes in the dark. Shui-lian didn’t know when Demon Six, a stocky, neckless man in his late thirties, had first taken a special interest in her.

One morning, Shui-lian was hurrying back to her machine from the washroom. She quickened her steps, worried that she might have overstayed her allotted time. According to the new rules, taking too long in the toilet would not just bring her a penalty but affect other workers as well. In addition to the old rule that gave every worker a fifteen-minute washroom break, twice in each shift, Ah-Wu’s new regulation had gone farther, turning the toilet breaks into a relay game. Now no one was allowed to leave until the person before them had returned. Ah-Wu called it a “system of responsibility.”

One minute Shui-lian was cursing Ah-Wu under her breath as a mean and cruel son of a dog, the next, she saw a shadow move sideway toward her, like a creeping crab, and stop, blocking her path. She crashed headfirst into a barrel-like chest. Demon Six’s face almost touched hers, and his smile was more like a grimace. He placed a meaty hand on one of Shui-lian’s shoulders.

“My little country sister,” he said in a lustful tone. “How about having some fun with me after your shift?”

“Take your hand off me, Boss,” Shui-lian replied, twisting out of his grasp. Head low, staring at the tips of her shoes, she stood, waiting for Demon Six to move out of her way. Her arms hung at her sides, her hands closed in fists to conceal her tremors.

“I like that. Calling me your boss,” said Demon Six, reaching to touch her chin. When Shui-lian attempted to step back, Demon Six took hold of her. Trapping her in his short arms, he ground his pelvis against hers.

“Oh, my Lord,” he moaned playfully, his eyes half closed. “Fresh tits. No bra. What a treat! You’re quite a she-devil, aren’t you? What a waste, though, hidden away in these shapeless rags. I’ll dress you up nicely.”

“Let go of me, you pig!” Shui-lian hissed, struggling to block the hand trying to get inside her shirt. Bending her head, she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

“Ouch!” Demon Six cried out, releasing her and jumping backwards. “Little bitch! I’m going to pull out all your teeth, one at a time, see if you dare open your mouth again!”

He grabbed a fistful of Shui-lian’s hair in one hand and cocked his fist, ready to punch her face. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two male workers standing nearby, staring wordlessly. He turned and nodded at them meaningfully before letting go of Shui-lian.

Shui-lian dashed back to the shop and took her place. Panting, her heart thumping, she willed herself to calm down. Her skin crawled, her stomach heaved.

That night, Shui-lian stayed awake long after curfew. When she was sure everyone was sound asleep, she sat up quietly and, groping in the dark, reached under her pillow for a handful of wide cloth strips she had ripped from a worn blouse. She pulled off her old T-shirt. Using her palm to smooth the cotton strips, one at a time, she began to wrap her chest, round and round, tighter with each turn, to flatten her breasts. Her eyes stung with tears as she tried to shut out the scene when Demon Six attacked her, observed by two strange men. How she wished her mother were there to comfort and protect her. On second thought, she was relieved her mother knew nothing about this or the other things she had suffered since leaving home two months ago—though it felt more like two years. After she finished wrapping herself, Shui-lian lay back down. Turning from side to side, she found a position that seemed to ease the tightness enfolding her chest. She closed her eyes against the pain, dreading the next day but glad that, for a few hours at least, the lock on the door would protect her.

Chapter
Seventeen

Pan-pan sensed that something more than the latest sewing injury was taking a heavy toll on Shui-lian. She seemed to have aged overnight. Her usually glowing face was doughy and pale, as if the bleeding from her wound had drained her dry. Her pretty eyes, which often sparkled like ripples in a river even when they were tired, had turned empty and dull. They were puffy and swollen with sadness. Even her movement was different: When she walked, she held her upper body rigid and stiff like a board. Gone were her bouncy and graceful steps. And she avoided eye contact with everyone throughout the morning washing and breakfast, Pan-pan included, like they were strangers.

Pan-pan wished Shui-lian would confide in her and tell her what was bothering her. She was crushed by the alienation growing between them and missed the laughter they had shared since the day they met. Their fun had come easily—loud and bubbling—sometimes annoying their dorm mates. Twice she was about to ask Shui-lian what was troubling her; twice she stopped at the last minute after reminding herself that Shui-lian sometimes was moody, or touchy, as indeed others had commented behind Shui-lian’s back. It scared Pan-pan when she thought that Shui-lian might have decided to abandon her, just like some girls in her village had. Or is it Shui-lian’s resentment, even jealousy, that is tearing us apart? she wondered. But it’s not my fault that I’m less intimidated by the sewing machine than she is, that I’m so far accident-free and making steady progress at work.

Pan-pan knew she was lucky because she wasn’t a complete stranger to a sewing machine. Her mother had owned one, a wedding present from Ah-Po and Auntie Cai-fei. Mom had loved to make her own clothes and, later, most of Pan-pan’s. She had also taught Pan-pan how to operate her machine, which was not much different from the ones in the workshop. It had a wide square treadle made of cast iron, a small hand wheel, and a large foot wheel connected by a leather belt rather than a motor, as in the factory. But the only damage Mom’s machine could cause was breaking a needle when the wheels spun backwards, which had never resulted in bleeding and injuries like those Shui-lian and other workers had suffered. It’s true that Mom’s machine was much slower, but still … Pan-pan was lost in her train of thought. But what was the hurry anyway, and what was the frantic need for such a great number of shoes? Hundreds of thousands, even millions of pairs from one factory alone.

Pan-pan had asked a few times to be moved closer to Shui-lian in the workshop, so that she could be close to her friend. But her requests had been denied. Her machine was so far away from Shui-lian’s it might as well have been in a different building. A few times, particularly after the accidents, if the Demons were not watching, she would quietly slip by Shui-lian on her way to her toilet or meal breaks and drop a number of her own finished pieces into her bin, so that Shui-lian wouldn’t be too far off her daily quota. Each time Shui-lian averted her eyes and pretended she didn’t see, nor did she mention as much as one word about them.

At the shop entrance, Pan-pan stole a last look at Shui-lian before heading to the opposite corner to start another shift of endless sewing. She was hurt by Shui-lian’s silence. At the same time she realized that she herself wasn’t being totally open and honest with her friend. She wondered what Ah-Po or her father, or even Xin-Ma, would have done in her situation. And what they would have said if they knew what was going on behind the tall and forbidding wall of Niavia.

T
HROUGHOUT THE DAY,
Shui-lian flinched each time she caught black pants legs moving toward her. She skipped her midday toilet break and trailed closely behind Pan-pan and other workers at meal times. It was the longest day she had ever spent. When the quitting bell finally rang, she could barely stand up, her legs like soft cotton from tension and exhaustion. The sweat-soaked strips around her chest were suffocating her, shortening her breath. She felt nauseated and couldn’t wait to get back to the dorm, lie down, and close her burning eyes.

Leaving the sewing shop, she was stopped by Demon Five, or “Flesh Hammer” as he proudly called himself because he was always ready to punch anyone who dared to talk back to him. He had once slugged a male worker so hard he bruised all four knuckles on his right hand. Most female workers shied away from him as soon as they saw his shadow. But today there was nowhere for Shui-lian to hide or retreat when Demon Four stepped behind her, blocking that path.

“You,” Demon Five grunted, pointing his finger. “Office.”

“Why me?” Shui-lian asked lamely.

Pan-pan stopped. A few departing workers also held back.

“Don’t ask questions!” Demon Five screamed, stepping closer, glaring down at Shui-lian. “I don’t haggle with worthless women like you. Office!”

“I’ll come with you,” said Pan-pan, but she was confronted by a thick arm that cut in between her and Shui-lian.

“No, I’ll go. I’ll be okay,” Shui-lian said in a hushed voice. Without looking at Demon Five, she turned and headed toward the office.

“Shui-lian, wait!” Pan-pan called after her, but her friend walked on and disappeared behind the building.

Inside the office, sitting behind the desk that used to be Mr. Yao’s, Demon Three, the director of People’s Affairs, was on the phone, nodding and repeating, “S
hi, shi, shi—
yes, yes, yes.” Demon Six stood behind him, picking his nose. He sneered at Shui-lian as soon as she came in. Shui-lian looked away, avoiding his stare, and fixed her eyes on the bare, whitewashed wall. She was nervous but not as frightened as she thought she would be, and that surprised her. It’s still light outside, and Pan-pan as well as a roomful of workers know where I am. If worse comes to worst, she said to herself, biting her lip, this time I’ll fight until my last breath.

The overhead fan revolved round and round, squeaking and wobbling. Finally the director put down the phone. Stone-faced, he told Shui-lian to step closer to him and began to speak calmly. He didn’t mention one word of what had happened between her and Demon Six. Instead, he told Shui-lian that because of her poor performance in the sewing shop, she was being transferred to the Cutting Department, starting with the next shift.

“I warn you,” he said, his voice firm, “if you fail again, you’ll only have yourself and your dirt-filled head to blame.”

Shui-lian stood still, so dumbfounded the insult failed to register. She had heard about transfers between workshops, but it usually happened for a reason. Despite her latest accident, Shui-lian’s sewing skill had been steadily improving. Even Elder Sister Meng had said so, praising Shui-lian for finally getting over her “machine fear.” So why the transfer now? Most of all, why the cutting shop, a place filled with more challenging machinery and employing largely male workers?

In the past two months, mostly through gossip in the dorm, Shui-lian had learned a bit more about the three other shops. The most sought-after one was General Assembly, where the shoes were put together. Equipped with three production lines and used equipment shipped from a factory in Taiwan, it was the least crowded. Except for the toxic fumes from glue and other chemicals, it was considered relatively quiet, clean, and safe. Despite the tragedy that happened to the girl from Yunnan, still no one considered the strong smells hazardous. It was no secret that most of the employees there were members of managers’ immediate families, other relatives, and friends.

The Insole Making Department was the dirtiest. Shui-lian had heard that the air was so thick with dust that the workers bumped into one another when they moved around, or banged into the machines and other equipment. Looming clouds of black and white powder from various chemical compounds hung heavily day and night inside the poorly ventilated workshop.

The most dangerous department was Cutting, also known as the “amputation shop.” It was outfitted with vertical and horizontal shears and other machines, among them punching cutters, which had proved as treacherous as they were unreliable. Like madmen with unpredictable fits, time and again they would malfunction, the cutter thrusting downward without any warning and causing grave injuries, from crushed hands and fingers to, once, a severed forearm.

Shui-lian didn’t know how long she remained frozen, gazing at a fixed point on the floor. A slap on the desktop brought her back from her thoughts.

“Now, get out,” Demon Three ordered. “I don’t want to see you back here again.”

As Shui-lian turned to leave, she caught sight of Demon Six making a slashing gesture across his neck before he threw his head back and burst out laughing.

On the way to the dorm, Shui-lian held back her tears. It was plain that the transfer was an act of pure vindictiveness, punishing her for spurning Demon Six. She thought about the evil of putting someone like her, who had just got over the fear of a sewing machine, into a room full of sharp and dangerous equipment. How could people like the Demons, Da-Ge, and the men who had violated her be so cruel? All were older than she was, and hateful toward her.

Before she reached the dorm, she realized that leaving Pan-pan and the other young women with whom she had been working and sharing the same living quarters scared her almost as much as the monstrous machines waiting for her. In over two months, she’d grown to like most of the women in the dorm—even Fang-yuan, who in the past couple of days had dropped a few finished shoe uppers into her bin when she thought Shui-lian wasn’t looking.

Pushing open the dorm door she wondered, who will help me now?