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  But Pan-pan knew that her mother hadn’t wanted a second child, boy or girl. She’d overheard an argument between her parents late one night when they thought Pan-pan was asleep in the next room. Her mother’s voice, usually soft and gentle, was tense and harsh. Her father spoke quietly, almost pleading, but insistently. Auntie Cai-fei was mentioned a couple of times. Pan-pan had to strain to hear her father’s words.

  “I wish you’d told me you’ve been unhappy about this all these years. But—”

  “No buts this time, Dao-feng. I never tried to hide my feelings from you, you know that. This is different. It’s just that times have changed, and now I may have a chance to do something about my problem. Trust me, I’ve thought about it long and hard, back and forth, over and over. And I’ve decided to go ahead, to get it done. To end it once and for all. So please don’t try to stop me.”

  “Lin-fei, I don’t care what other people think or say, if that’s what bothers you. You should know that by now. I’ve been in love with you ever since we were kids. As soon as we were old enough I asked you to marry me. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing in this world, will change how I feel about you. I—”

  “Oh, you stop it. Your charm won’t work this time,” Mom had cut him off. “I’ve made up my mind. Nothing can change my decision, not even the strength of nine water buffaloes yoked together.”

  “Would having another baby help?” Dad asked. “Isn’t it about time Pan-pan had a little brother or sister to play with?”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” Mom began to cry bitterly, her voice rising. “Damn it! I don’t want another baby! I won’t take the risk of having another imperfect child. I couldn’t stand more humiliation.”

  Pan-pan gasped. Her stomach dropped, her heart hammered in her ears. Mom’s talking about me! she thought. But what’s wrong with me? What did she mean by humiliation?

  Pan-pan was so shocked and confused she didn’t notice that her grandmother beside her had stopped snoring. Ah-Po rose from their bed and stomped out of the room.

  “If you don’t pity an old bag of bones, at least show some mercy on your child. We’re trying to sleep!” Ah-Po scolded.

  The next morning, all three adults got up at the usual time and went about their routines as though what had happened just hours earlier was no more than Pan-pan’s bad dream. But it hadn’t been a dream. She had clearly heard her mother say that there was something wrong with Pan-pan. “Imperfect” was the word she used. The flaw went so deep that Mom didn’t want more children. The hurt that Pan-pan felt was so powerful it drove her to silence for a couple of days. When finally she resolved to confront her mother and beg for an explanation, she never got the chance. A week later, Mom told Pan-pan she was going to Tongren to visit Auntie Cai-fei—alone.

  “Don’t look so worried, Pan-pan,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

  Chapter Four

  Shui-lian

  Finally the drizzle stopped, yet the sky remained laden with thick grey clouds threatening another downpour. Shui-lian leaned against the trunk of a willow tree a few metres off the road, waiting for Jin-lin to show up. She put on her socks and clenched her teeth tight, shivering inside her thin cotton jacket and wishing that she’d brought her woollen sweater with her, the one her mother had knitted for her fifteenth birthday five months earlier. The heavy pullover was warm and soft against her skin, and it was fire red, her favourite colour. But shortly after the Spring Festival, the Lunar New Year celebration, her mother had stored the sweater away for the next year. Now it was lying at the bottom of a large wooden box, with a handful of mothballs.

  At last, Shui-lian caught sight of Jin-lin, fussing over her hair as she hurried up the dirt road.

  Shui-lian stood up. “Finally!” she said with annoyance. “Let’s go!”

  “Yes, let’s!” Jin-lin smiled, her eyes shining.

  An hour passed before they reached Sandbar Village, where the recruiters were conducting their job interviews. If Shui-lian had expected to see a large crowd, with drums beating and gongs clanging, she was disappointed, but at the same time relieved. They must have got there before anyone else, she told herself. Everywhere she looked, doors were closed, windows shut tight, and silence prevailed. The only creatures up and moving were some chickens, pecking aimlessly as they strutted along a footpath of hard-packed soil. There was no sign at all of a recruiting team. Nevertheless, Shui-lian and Jin-lin began to search up and down the narrow laneways and between the rows of houses. But the place turned out to be a maze. Three times they found themselves back where they’d started.

  Finally they spotted a group of women gathered in front of a one-storey building at the end of a twisty alley. Like most of the houses they’d seen, this one had a blackened straw roof and whitewashed mud walls fading to yellow. So much for an early start, Shui-lian grumbled. She grabbed Jin-lin by the sleeve and pulled her toward the group. The women waiting in line looked older than Shui-lian and were dressed more stylishly. Most wore brightly coloured jackets with shiny buttons that reflected the morning sunlight every time they moved. A couple of them even sported new perms. Shui-lian wished she’d spent some time fixing her own hair. Who’s going to hire a ragged thing like me, she thought, when there are better dressed and more mature women to choose from? Her courage failed her, and she cast an angry glance at Jin-lin, as though blaming her friend for not warning her.

  Jin-lin merely shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “We might as well join the lineup, now that we’re here.”

  As the morning dragged on, more women trickled into the line. Shui-lian was hungry and nervous, but most of her discomfort stemmed from her feet. They were hot in her new socks and, worse, they had swelled, her toes now squeezing against each other inside her rubber shoes. By the time the door finally opened, there were nearly twenty young women waiting. A few chatted nosily. The rest remained silent, like Shui-lian and Jin-lin, holding back their anxiety and curiosity.

  Shui-lian craned her neck and stood on tiptoe, peering through the gaps between the hopeful women in front of her, trying to get a glimpse into the house. Suddenly a man hollered, then she saw a hairy hand appear at the doorway. “All right. Let’s begin!”

  Shui-lian and Jin-lin followed the others through a narrow hallway and crowded into a room. A wooden desk and chair was the only furniture to speak of. Behind the desk sat a large man, drinking tea directly from the spout of a clay pot. A match-stick protruded from the corner of his mouth. One by one, he beckoned the women with a curled finger, and one by one he dismissed them with a backhand gesture, as if he were chasing away a fly.

  “Listen, all of you,” he shouted, the matchstick leaping up and down. “I came all the way here to look for young women workers, not to put together a regiment of old mothers and wives. You’re wasting my precious time!”

  Mean son of a bitch, Shui-lian cursed silently. When the man waved her forward, he looked her up and down several times, then smiled, the matchstick pointing skyward. To his questions Shui-lian lied that she was seventeen and that she was unattached—no thanks, she thought, to her mother’s attempt to match her with the ugly boatman.

  “Per—fect,” he laughed, letting go of the match-stick. “Call me Da-Ge—Elder Brother—will you?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you wish. You’re the boss,” Shui-lian answered calmly, hiding her contempt for his stupid suggestion. Why don’t you take a look at yourself in a mirror? she thought. You’re old enough to be a father to most of us, including the wives and mothers you’ve sent away. But for once Shui-lian held her tongue. She remembered her mother’s saying that when you live in someone else’s house, you should bend your head if the ceiling is too low—a peculiar homily coming from someone who had never lived in a house. Shui-lian looked away, avoiding Da-Ge’s appraising squint.

  Da-Ge talked funny, with a strange accent that was hard to understand. He wasn’t a local, that was for sure. Shui-lian supposed that was how peop
le from big cities talked. She’d have to get used to it.

  By the time the sun had climbed over to the other side of the roof, Shui-lian, Jin-lin, and three other young women had been sitting on the dirt floor in a backroom for hours, waiting for Da-Ge’s final decision. There was barely any furniture in this room either, and the small, single window was too high for them to see outside. From the other room they heard only the murmurs of voices, the outer door opening and closing. Shui-lian tried to contain her edginess, wondering if her lie about her age would be found out. Her anxiety was so unsettling that she felt as if half a dozen buckets were moving up and down inside her chest.

  All heads swung to the plank door when it was thrown open. All eyes focused on Elder Brother as he strutted into the room, followed by one of his helpers.

  “I just finished talking to my boss on the phone,” he said cheerfully, holding up a black object foreign to Shui-lian. “He wants me to return to Shanghai immediately because our recruiting quotas have been met ahead of schedule.” Da-Ge paused for reaction, then continued. “It’s a pity. I’d planned to stay in this region for a couple of days and hire at least a few dozen more young workers like you, but,” he shrugged, “things’ve changed.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Shui-lian demanded, ignoring a nudge in her back. She was thirsty and hungry and tired of waiting. “Do you want us or not? Spit it out!”

  “Aren’t you a little red pepper!” Da-Ge laughed, throwing his head back. “Of course I want you, all five of you. And I hope you’re grateful, because I’m the one who persuaded the big boss to take you.” He waved his phone again to make his point. “But he wants us to leave for Shanghai right away, which means no time for you to go back and say farewell to your families.”

  “Not even a couple of hours?” one young woman asked in a quavering voice. “We can’t just leave without saying goodbye.”

  Da-Ge ignored her and turned to look at Shui-lian and Jin-lin. “How about you two? Don’t tell me you already miss your mommy and daddy. I’ve chosen you over the others because I thought you were different.” He smirked.

  “That suits me fine,” Shui-lian spoke, fixing her eyes on Jin-lin, who seemed to hesitate.

  “But we brought nothing with us for the trip, Da-Ge,” Jin-lin pleaded, biting her lip. “No food, not even a change of clothes.”

  Elder Brother burst out laughing. “You’re worried about your clothes? Listen to me, ladies. You’re going to Shanghai, where every store is stuffed with beautiful clothes and shoes like you’ve never seen in your life. You’ll find everything you’ll ever need or want for your hair, skin, even your toenails!” He winked awkwardly. “Stop worrying! The sooner we hit the road, the earlier you’ll get there and start work and make money to buy everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Believe me, in no time you will be as beautiful as movie stars.”

  He paused again, patting his chest. “Don’t worry about a thing. Trust your Da-Ge to look after all your needs—your food, transportation, and lodging. After you arrive in Shanghai, you can eat anything you want. If you desire, you can have fish every day!”

  He prattled on and on, drunk on his own words. What a blockhead, thought Shui-lian, shaking her head, bragging to a river ku-li’s daughter about eating fish.

  The matter seemed settled, yet as soon as Da-Ge led them through the backroom and out of the house, two of the young women took off running, each in a different direction.

  “Hey!” Da-Ge shouted, his face pale with anger. “Where are you going?”

  The women quickly disappeared into the maze of laneways. Da-Ge turned to Shui-lian, Jin-lin, and the third young woman, who stood with her eyes fixed on her feet. “Are you going to run off like those ungrateful dogs?”

  “I’m staying,” Shui-lian said again.

  Jin-lin sounded hesitant. “Me too.”

  The third woman, twisting the end of one of her pigtails around her finger, nodded.

  Soon, an ancient-looking flatbed truck clattered to a halt before them. Elder Brother directed the three young women to climb into the back of the truck and sit on the mouldy straw, then hoisted himself into the cab. After a brief, bumpy ride, the truck stopped at a roadside restaurant. Throughout the meal—a bowl of rice noodles—Shui-lian kept her eyes diverted from Elder Brother and the driver and trained on her friend instead. Jin-lin looked like she was going to break into tears at any minute. Shui-lian fought off her own doubts and sadness, reminding herself that in order to have a better life she would have to chi-ku—eat bitterness—first. Later, in the back of the truck, leaning against the cab, half-listening to the yapping of Elder Brother and the driver, Shui-lian stretched her neck to look over the side of the vehicle and get a sense of where she was. Everything seemed strange, even the rivers and the mountains. That’s because I’ve seen them only from the deck of a riverboat, she thought. Soon the towns and villages fell behind, and the mountains and clouds merged with the horizon. Later still, all was swallowed by darkness.

  Shui-lian crossed her arms on top of her bended knees and lowered her head, wondering if her mother and brother were worried and looking for her. It then dawned on her that this would be her first night away from her family boat since she was born. She had cursed living on water for as long as she could remember, yet sitting in the dark on the rattling truck between Jin-lin and the other young woman, she wished she could see the rivers one last time.

  SHUI-LIAN AWOKE to the gabble of unknown voices. She raised her head, blinking and rubbing her eyes hard, and saw that a dozen more women had joined them in the back of the truck.

  “We’re near a train station,” Jin-lin told her cheerfully, which brought a smile to Shui-lian’s face. Shui-lian had never been on a train but had seen plenty of them zipping along the tracks beside the riverbanks. She let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes again, hoping she’d be in Shanghai soon.

  But before long Shui-lian began to feel as if she were caught in the guerrilla warfare she had read about at the floating school. She and the others got on the train all right, in the middle of the night, but hours later they were herded off like ducklings and into a minibus with blacked-out windows. A short ride later, they were hustled out of the bus and shoved into a shed with narrow cots lined up against windowless walls, then ordered to sleep.

  Da-Ge travelled with them the entire time and seemed to know what he was doing, but he told no one where they were or what route they were taking, and snapped at anyone who dared to ask. Most of the time he let his first finger do the talking, pointing the young women out the shed door and onto a bus, or off the train and into a different vehicle. After two days the pattern became clear to Shui-lian. They would board the train late at night and get off before dawn broke, to be taken to a rundown house or shabby hut to rest until night fell again. There was no opportunity to wash, no soap, no running water. Then they were on the road again.

  On the fourth night, after the young women were dropped off in front of a decrepit warehouse, Da-Ge announced that they would not be catching another train but were going to stay there for the entire night. Shui-lian welcomed the news like everyone else. By now she felt like a walking corpse, disoriented and exhausted, dirty and smelly and homesick. Jin-lin looked no better. As everyone rushed inside the building, Shui-lian lingered outside, wondering where they were. The night sky gave little light, but the monotonous drone of frogs told her a pond or a paddy field must be nearby. The solitude felt overwhelmingly odd for someone who had grown up in a province inhabited by more than a hundred million people.

  Inside, a single light bulb burned weakly at the end of a wire, as if it, too, were suffering from fatigue. Unlike the other places they had stayed, this one had a cement rather than a dirt floor, cool and rough against Shui-lian’s bare soles. Beds with rusty metal frames had been set up against one wall, each with a woven straw mat on wood planks, a pillow, and a thin blanket. Coloured plastic sheets hung between the beds—a pathetic attempt at privacy, thought Shui-lian bi
tterly, considering what they had been through the past four days.

  “This looks like a workers’ dorm!” one woman said cheerily. “We’re close to Shanghai for sure!”

  Her words were hailed by loud laughter and babbling. Two of the women started singing.

  Da-Ge walked in and handed out small bars of soap and towels. “Good news,” he crowed. “We’ll be in Shanghai tomorrow. To celebrate, you’ll have hot noodles to eat tonight, and fresh water for washing. So get yourself cleaned up and ready for the big city!”

  Before the sound of his words hit the ground, everyone was chirping about their plans and their bright future. By the time the food arrived—bowls of thin noodle soup with pork fat and bits of cabbage floating on top—Shui-lian and Jin-lin had decided they would room together in Shanghai to save money.

  “Who knows,” Jin-lin chuckled, “maybe one day we can open our own business. It’s allowed now, you know. The government even encourages it, praising anyone who makes money. If we work hard, maybe we’ll both become boss women!”

  Shui-lian smiled, feeling a buzz travelling through her nerves, anticipating the new life she had dreamed of for so long. It was all about to become real in a matter of hours, or, at most, days.

  Shui-lian and Jin-lin chatted on amid the slurping of noodles. After they had washed and stretched out under the blankets—which smelled of sweat and mould—they whispered their hopes and dreams into the darkness. Behind the flimsy plastic partitions, they could hear other plans growing bigger and more extravagant, and the future burned brighter with every passing minute.

  Chapter Five

  Pan-pan

  “Everything is set to go.”

  Dad’s voice at the doorway brought Pan-pan back to the present. “Leave the porridge for now, Pan-pan. Come out and take a look.”

  Pan-pan shook her head to clear her thoughts. Quickly she dried her hands on her apron, took it off, and headed out of the kitchen. The image of the paper and bamboo house returned to her mind, along with the rigid, glass-eyed chickens. She wondered what other new and unexpected items awaited her.