“I don’t think we’re supposed to earn money outside the compound,” Baiyue said.
“You are too much of a good girl,” Jieling said. “Remember, it doesn’t matter if the cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice.”
“Is that Mao?” Baiyue asked, frowning.
“No,” Jieling said, “Deng Xiaoping, the one after Mao.”
“Well, he’s dead, too,” Baiyue said. She rapped a dish against the counter, and the needle on the volt meter jumped.
—
Jieling had been working just over four weeks when they were all called to the cafeteria for a meeting. Mr. Cao from human resources was there. He was wearing a dark suit and standing at the white screen. Other cadres sat in chairs along the back of the stage, looking very stern.
“We are here to discuss a very serious matter,” he said. “Many of you know this girl.”
There was a laptop hooked up and a very nervous-looking boy running it. Jieling looked carefully at the laptop, but it didn’t appear to be a special projects computer. In fact, it was made in Korea. He did something, and an ID picture of a girl flashed on the screen.
Jieling didn’t know her. But around her she heard noises of shock, someone sucking air through their teeth. Someone else breathed softly, “Ai-yah.”
“This girl ran away, leaving her debt with New Life. She ate our food, wore our clothes, slept in our beds. And then, like a thief, she ran away.” The human resources man nodded his head. The boy at the computer changed the image on the big projector screen.
Now it was a picture of the same girl with her head bowed and two policemen holding her arms.
“She was picked up in Guangdong,” the human resources man said. “She is in jail there.”
The cafeteria was very quiet.
The human resources man said, “Her life is ruined, which is what should happen to all thieves.”
Then he dismissed them. That afternoon, the picture of the girl with the two policemen appeared on the bulletin boards of every floor of the dormitory.
—
On Sunday, Baiyue announced, “I’m not going.”
She was not supposed to leave the compound, but one of her roommates had female problems — bad cramps — and planned to spend the day in bed drinking tea and reading magazines. Baiyue was going to use her ID to leave.
“You have to,” Jieling said. “You want to grow old here? Die a serf to New Life?”
“It’s crazy. We can’t make money dancing in the plague-trash market.”
“I’ve done it before,” Jieling said. “You’re scared.”
“It’s just not a good idea,” Baiyue said.
“Because of the girl they caught in Guangdong. We’re not skipping out on our debt. We’re paying it off.”
“We’re not supposed to work for someone else when we work here,” Baiyue said.
“Oh, come on,” Jieling said. “You are always making things sound worse than they are. I think you like staying here being little Miss Lei Feng.”
“Don’t call me that,” Baiyue snapped.
“Well, don’t act like it. New Life is not being fair. We don’t have to be fair. What are they going to do to you if they catch you?”
“Fine me,” Baiyue said. “Add to my debt!”
“So what? They’re going to find a way to add to your debt no matter what. You are a serf. They are the landlord.”
“But if—”
“No but if,” Jieling said. “You like being a martyr. I don’t.”
“What do you care,” Baiyue said. “You like it here. If you stay you can eat pork buns every night.”
“And you can eat congee for the rest of your life. I’m going to try to do something.” Jieling slammed out of the dorm room. She had never said harsh things to Baiyue before. Yes, she had thought about staying here. But was that so bad? Better than being like Baiyue, who would stay here and have a miserable life. Jieling was not going to have a miserable life, no matter where she stayed or what she did. That was why she had come to Shenzhen in the first place.
She heard the door open behind her, and Baiyue ran down the hall. “Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll try it. Just this once.”
—
The streets of Shanghai were incredibly loud after weeks in the compound. In a shop window, she and Baiyue stopped and watched a news segment on how the fashion in Shanghai was for sarongs. Jieling would have to tell her mother. Of course, her mother had a TV and probably already knew. Jieling thought about calling, but not now. Not now. She didn’t want to explain about New Life. The next news segment was about the success of the People’s Army in Tajikistan. Jieling pulled Baiyue to come on.
They took one bus and then had to transfer. On Sundays, unless you were lucky, it took forever to transfer because fewer buses ran. They waited almost an hour for the second bus. That bus was almost empty when they got on. They sat down a few seats back from the driver. Baiyue rolled her eyes. “Did you see the guy in the back?” she asked. “Party functionary.”
Jieling glanced over her shoulder and saw him. She couldn’t miss him, in his careful polo shirt. He had that stiff party-member look.
Baiyue sighed. “My uncle is just like that. So boring.”
Jieling thought that, to be honest, Baiyue would have made a good revolutionary, back in the day. Baiyue liked that kind of revolutionary purity. But she nodded.
The plague-trash market was full on a Sunday. There was a toy seller making tiny little clay figures on sticks. He waved a stick at the girls as they passed. “Cute things!” he called. “I’ll make whatever you want!” The stick had a little Donald Duck on it.
“I can’t do this,” Baiyue said. “There’s too many people.”
“It’s not so bad,” Jieling said. She found a place for the boom box. Jieling had brought them to where all the food vendors were. “Stay here and watch this,” she said. She hunted through the food stalls and bought a bottle of local beer, counting out from the little hoard of money she had left from when she had come. She took the beer back to Baiyue. “Drink this,” she said. “It will help you be brave.”
“I hate beer,” Baiyue said.
“Beer or debt,” Jieling said.
While Baiyue drank the beer, Jieling started the boom box and did her routine. People smiled at her, but no one put any money in her cash box. Shenzhen people were so cheap. Baiyue sat on the curb, nursing her beer, not looking at Jieling or at anyone until finally Jieling couldn’t stand it any longer.
“C’mon, meimei,” she said.
Baiyue seemed a bit surprised to be called little sister, but she put the beer down and got up. They had practiced a routine to an M.I.A. song, singing and dancing. It would be a hit, Jieling was sure.
“I can’t,” Baiyue whispered.
“Yes you can,” Jieling said. “You do good.”
A couple of people stopped to watch them arguing, so Jieling started the music.
“I feel sick,” Baiyue whimpered.
But the beat started, and there was nothing to do but dance and sing. Baiyue was so nervous, she forgot at first, but then she got the hang of it. She kept her head down, and her face was bright red.
Jieling started making up a rap. She’d never done it before, and she hadn’t gotten very far before she was laughing and then Baiyue was laughing, too.
Wode meimei hen haixiude
Mei ta shi xuli
tai hen xiuqi—
My little sister is so shy
But she’s pretty
Far too delicate—
They almost stopped because they were giggling, but they kept dancing, and Jieling went back to the lyrics from the song they had practiced.