The Interior (Red Princess 2)

Hulan raised her eyes to meet Zai’s. “One week,” she said, “and I will go back to my place.” Those words could have many meanings, and she wasn’t sure she understood any of them.

9

HULAN HAD FORGOTTEN HOW EASY IT WAS TO TRAVEL with a foreigner. By paying almost double what a typical Chinese national would pay, Miss Quo picked up two round-trip airline tickets from a travel agency. David gave instructions for Investigator Lo to fly down tomorrow, rent a car, and meet him at the Shanxi Grand Hotel. Hulan packed clothes that would be appropriate for any official meetings that might come up, as well as some old work clothes she found in the back of her closet.

An hour and twenty minutes after takeoff, they arrived in Taiyuan. A half hour after that they registered in the hotel. Upon check-in David was handed several envelopes. In their room, while Hulan unpacked, David read the faxes. Most were inconsequential, but two were important. One was from Miles, saying that Tartan saw no problems with David representing Governor Sun. In fact, it might prove useful. The second was the promised waiver from Tartan. The last was from Rob Butler; no new leads had turned up in the Rising Phoenix investigation. David wrote a couple of letters himself, and on their way through the lobby he handed them to the concierge to be faxed ASAP.

They ate in the hotel dining room, where they ordered the specialties of the region—thick tounao soup, steamed pork with pickled greens, and a plate of flavorful noodles. Hulan drank tea, while David sipped fen jiu, a strong wine from vineyards located to the north of the city. After dinner Hulan packed a separate bag with simple clothes, kissed David good-bye, promised that she would be back the next night, and left. She took the local bus back out to the crossroads near Da Shui Village and walked the final few li to Suchee’s home.

The following morning, as David was taking a hot shower, Hulan washed her face with cold water. While David shaved, Hulan took a pair of Suchee’s blunt scissors and cut her hair until the edges were uneven. While he put on a lightweight suit, Hulan slipped on some loose gray pants that came mid-calf and a short-sleeve white blouse, both of which were soft and thin from years of wear and many washings. (As the saying went: New for three years, old for three years, mending and fixing for another three years. These clothes fit the last category.) Then, while David perused the many dishes adorning the hotel’s elaborate breakfast buffet, Hulan joined Suchee for a simple breakfast of a green onion pulled fresh from the earth tucked into a bun. At about the time that David opened his laptop to check his e-mail, Hulan took one last look at herself in Suchee’s hand mirror and then set out across the fields.

By seven, when Hulan arrived at the Silk Thread Café, the old-timers had already taken their places for the day and were sucking at cups of tea, picking their teeth with toothpicks, and smoking cigarettes. The man who’d so brazenly spoken to Hulan during her last visit called out, “Good morning! You have come to see us again. Perhaps you have reconsidered our offer!”

Hulan kept her eyes lowered. She spoke softly, humbly. “I have.”

The man pulled himself out of his chair and crossed to Hulan. “Where have you been all this time?”

“I went to Beijing. People in my village say it’s easy to go there and find work, but no one would hire me.” Hulan’s voice filled with anxiety. “They are not nice to country bumpkins like me.”

“Like you? Like me, too!” The man signaled the waitress to bring tea, then said, “Sit down. I can help you.”

The waitress brought the tea, poured it, and left without a word. Hulan’s fingers shyly edged across the tabletop to her cup. The man said, “Take the tea. It will relax you and we can talk.” As Hulan sipped, she kept her eyes focused on the greasy tabletop. The whole time she could feel the man appraising her. “Do you still have the papers I gave you?” he asked at last.

Hulan nodded and gave them back already filled out. She’d tried to answer each question as simply as possible, knowing that the closer to the truth her lies were, the easier they would be to remember.

“Liu Hulan,” the man read aloud, glancing up at her. “A good, common name for women your age. There are probably some other Liu Hulans at the factory. You might enjoy meeting them. Your birthplace? Umm…” He crossed out what Hulan had written, then wrote in new characters. “We’ll say Da Shui Village. It’s less complicated that way. Now, what are your special skills?”

“Until my husband died, I worked in our fields. I can also cook, sew, clean, wash…”

The man shook his head impatiently. “They will teach you everything you need to

know. Any illnesses?”

“No.”

“Good,” the man said. “Now sign here.” When Hulan faltered, he said, “What is it?”

“How much will I earn?”

“Ah,” he said, drawing out the syllable and assessing her again. “You are a thinking woman. Impudent but thinking.”

Hulan stared at the man noncommittally.

“The contract is for three years,” he said. “As I told you before, the factory will pay you five hundred yuan a month, plus room and board. You will have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. You may leave the compound during those times, but since you don’t live in a neighboring village, you will be allowed to stay in the dormitory for a small fee. You won’t be lonesome, because most of the women who work there are from far away.”

Hulan picked up the pen and signed.

The man’s solicitous attitude instantly evaporated. “The bus comes at eight o’clock. It will stop right outside the village. Please wait there.” With that he scooped up her contract and walked away.

Hulan raised her eyes and saw the man hunker back down into his group. She picked up her satchel, left the village, and went to stand on the dusty patch of land that passed for Da Shui’s parking lot. At quarter to eight two other women arrived. Hulan ascertained that one of them, Jingren, about eighteen, had—like Hulan’s cover story—retraced her steps to this town after failing to find work in Beijing. The other, Mayli, was about fifteen. She’d come here from Sichuan Province after some labor scouts had come to her village promising work in either Guangdong Province or Shanxi Province, even though she was below legal hirable age. The salaries were the same, Mayli explained, but if she came here, she was only a six-day bus ride from her village.

“And no other women came with you?”

“Oh, there were many girls from my village who got on the buses. Have you been on a bus before?” When Hulan said she hadn’t, Mayli said, “Everyone has her own meals packed. This is okay on the first day, but on the second day, with the smells and the winding road, many people were getting sick. For me it was very bad. The other girls are complaining, because I am so sick. Finally the bus driver can’t stand it anymore. He leaves me in another village. I am there for five days. Can you believe it? But I had signed my contract, and the bus had to come back for me. I got here last night.” She gestured back toward the village. “They found me a place to sleep. They said they usually send new girls to the factory on Sunday nights, so they can get processed first thing in the morning and work a full week. But they also have a bus that comes every day to nearby villages to pick up stragglers.” Mayli looked at Hulan and Jingren. “What does that mean, to be processed?”

Before either woman could answer, the bus rounded the corner. It was neither a city nor a provincial bus, for it was far older than even those that usually plied country roads. The bus stopped and the door wheezed open. The three women picked up their parcels and climbed aboard. About a dozen women were already on the bus. Most of them had spread out their possessions so that no one would sit next to them. The driver ground the gears and began to pull away even before the three newcomers had found seats. Then someone at the back of the bus shouted, “Wait! Someone’s coming!” The driver stopped, threw open the door, and Tang Siang, her hair a windblown mess, hopped up the steps. “I don’t wait for people,” the driver said. “Next time I will keep driving.”

“It won’t happen again,” Siang called out over her shoulder as she came down the aisle, trailing her belongings behind her. She plopped down in a seat across from Hulan. After she’d arranged her gear, she looked across the aisle at Hulan, trying to place her. “I know you.”