Spilled Water (11 page)

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 threatened 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.

‘Give us a pout,’ said Shen Enqing.

I puckered my lips and we dissolved with laughter.

‘You’ll do,’ chuckled Li Mei. ‘Come on, let’s have fun.’

We did have fun. The workers who had stayed behind and who normally used the other canteen were to use our canteen that weekend,
adding to the noisy air of festivity. The canteen ceiling had been decorated with huge red lanterns, the tables were covered
with red cloths, and large, colourful fish, birds and animals made of paper covered the walls. Everyone had dressed up and
a party atmosphere was evident the minute we entered the room. A table at the front of the room was covered with a gold cloth
and had two white ibises carved from turnips as a centrepiece.

‘Looks like we’ve got special guests,’ said Shen Enqing, admiring the centrepiece, which was beautiful.

‘There’s nothing special about the Wangs,’ said Song Shuru.

She shut up quickly when Li Mei prodded her in the back and nodded towards the door. Mr Wang entered and waddled self-importantly
across the room, followed by Mrs Wang, mincing in his wake, followed by his strutting managers and supervisors. We waited
for a cue from him, then took our places at our own tables. Waiters immediately danced attention upon the top-table guests,
serving each with sweet red wine. Large bottles of beer were placed on our tables. This was the first time we had ever been
allowed alcohol. The bottles were passed round quickly, everyone eager to make the most of this rare treat from the Wangs.
Mr Wang raised a first toast, to the health of his company.

‘Just sip, Lu Si-yan,’ warned Li Mei. ‘There could be many toasts and you will be expected to join in with them all.’

I did as she said, which wasn’t difficult because I had no taste for the bitter, pale amber liquid before me. Then the food
began to arrive. Enormous platters of chicken, beef, duck, fish and dumplings were carried ceremoniously to the top table.
The dishes deposited on our tables were smaller and less varied, but still the food was delicious compared with our normal
fare. Stiff and restricted at first by the presence of the Wangs, the workers gradually relaxed and the noise levels rose
again. Conversations grew louder and more ribald amongst the males, and the girls grew giggly under the influence of the beer.
The toasts came thick and fast: to the kindness of the factory owner; to the good fortune of the workers to be in his employ;
to the health and wealth of the factory owner and his wife; to an increase in orders; to an increase in profits.

Shen Enqing, giggly herself by now, leant over to me and raised her glass. ‘May he slip on a banana skin,’ she chuckled. ‘May
he choke on his own self-importance.’

I raised my own glass to that, and drank deeply, spluttering as the bubbles caught the back of my throat. I lowered the glass
and felt a hand on my shoulder. A head pressed against mine and a voice whispered, ‘Are you still doing what they say?’

I turned to see the boy from the karaoke bar disappearing towards a table at the back of the room. I was so shocked that the
colour must have drained from my face.

‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,’ chuckled Song Shuru. ‘Is it the beer doing that?’

I tried to shrug it off. So what if he was there? So what if that meant that he worked in one of the factories? What could
he do? I was with friends. They would look after me. But I couldn’t help glancing round every so often to make sure that he
was still at his table, worried that he might approach me again. I lost my appetite for the delicious food, and the cheerful
buffoonery of the evening failed now to embrace me.

Li Mei put her hand over mine. ‘Too many sips?’ she smiled at me. ‘Or too many sad thoughts?’

I didn’t have to answer. Mr Wang banged on the table for attention and rose to make a speech. I heard little of it, except
to register that it was largely self-congratulatory but contained one small word of thanks to us, his workers, before ending
with a final toast to himself and his wife for hosting such a magnificent Spring Festival celebration.

We left the canteen arm in arm to the sounds of firecrackers ringing in our ears from all over the town and the nearby countryside.
The New Year had begun. I had been away from home for seven long months.

We slept late into the following morning, blissful in the knowledge that our time was our own. When, finally, we roused ourselves,
slowly, delicately, the talk in the dormitory moved from the unexpected extravagance of the Wangs in providing the previous
night’s banquet, to their extraordinary arrogance, to the talent show and what a cheap way it was of keeping us entertained.
We didn’t mind. It was fun finding out who was going to do what and hearing them practise. Li Mei took us outside to run through
The Bridge of Magpies
. It was cold but bearable, though a shadow from the previous evening drifted across my mind and made me shiver.

‘Our little princess will freeze waiting for her prince,’ smiled Song Shuru.

We stopped at lunchtime and headed for the canteen, where the decorations were still hanging, but the food had reverted to
normal.

On our way back to the dormitory to ready ourselves for our afternoon performance, a sullen-faced girl called Zheng Yi grabbed
my arm and spat in my ear, ‘Keep away from my boyfriend, kid, or I’ll make you very sorry.’

She pushed her way past me and into the dormitory before I could say a word. I couldn’t have said anything anyway. I was too
dumbfounded. What boyfriend? She could only have meant my tormentor from the karaoke bar, but I had done nothing to encourage
him. She must have seen him approach me last night, but I hadn’t encouraged that either. I hesitated outside, no longer wanting
to go in, until Li Mei came to find me to begin my transformation into a princess.

I sat on my bed while Shen Enqing applied my makeup. I kept my eyes averted from the corner of the room where Zheng Yi had
her bed, but I felt her watching me, hating me. When I stood to change my clothes, I caught sight of her whispering to her
friends, pointing to me. Suddenly the dormitory was no longer a safe haven.

I wished now I didn’t have to perform at the talent show, but I went along so as not to disappoint my friends. The tables
had been removed from the canteen and a makeshift platform erected at one end of the room. Our supervisor was in charge of
the running order and told us we would be the fifth to go on. We sat near the back to watch the other acts – a dance with
ribbons, a singing duet, a man on a flute, a plate spinner (not very successful). Everyone cheered enthusiastically as each
act ended.

Then it was our turn. We made our way to the platform and, as I turned to face the audience, I saw him. Right in the front
row, staring at me. Next to him was Zheng Yi, who was watching his every move. I wanted to run away there and then, and when
it came to the part in our play where the princess cries at having to leave her prince for another whole year, I cried for
real and wished I could throw myself into the River of Stars and disappear for ever.

As soon as we had finished, I leapt from the platform and ran to the door. I wasn’t quick enough. Zheng Yi followed and caught
up with me outside. She grabbed me by the hair and pulled me round the back of the canteen.

‘I told you to keep away from him,’ she screamed. ‘I saw you looking him up and down. I saw you giving him the come-on with
those crocodile tears. I ought to kill you.’

‘Please, let go, Zheng Yi,’ I pleaded. ‘You’re wrong. I haven’t done anything. I promise.’

‘You must think I’m stupid,’ she snarled, tugging my hair again so that my head lurched backwards. ‘What are you doing here,
anyway? Spilled water, are you? Mummy didn’t want you? Pity she didn’t flush you clean away.’

She pushed me to the ground and stood above me.

‘You might think life is difficult enough here already, but I can make it even more difficult. Believe me. This is just the
start.’