Blue Gold Read online

  ON MONDAY, Fiona started her shift at the food concession at eleven. It was slow at first—the hot bodies of Kits Beach liked to sleep in on Monday mornings. Fiona kept busy cleaning the ketchup and mustard dispensers, all the while adding up in her mind how many more paychecks it would take before she could afford a smartphone.

  “Hey, Fiona.”

  Fiona looked up from daydreaming to find Ryan standing at the order window. He was going shirtless, presumably to show off the baby abs he’d acquired over the summer.

  “Hi,” she said back, maintaining her cool. He was the last person she wanted to see.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Good. You?”

  “Good. Just got back from camp. I was a junior counselor this year.”

  “Cool. What can I get for you?”

  “Make it a large fish and chips,” he said, scanning the menu board.

  Fiona rang his order into the cash register. “Anything to drink?”

  “Coke.”

  “Got it.”

  “Is something wrong?” asked Ryan.

  “Why would anything be wrong?”

  He was scowling. Fiona got it—he was pissed that she was being so unfriendly. She wished he would take the hint and go away—this was so awkward!—but he just stood there, shaking his head.

  “You could at least talk to me.”

  “I am talking to you.”

  “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  “I’m not!” Fiona spat back. “I’m just doing my job.”

  Cathy lumbered out from the kitchen at the back, stiff with arthritis. “Everything okay here?” She was old enough to be Fiona’s grandmother, and she was just as protective as one.“Fine,” replied Fiona evenly. “Could I get a large fish and chips?”

  “Coming up,” said Cathy, giving Ryan a warning look as she headed for the deep fryer.

  Ryan handed Fiona a twenty. She gave him his change and poured his soft drink.

  “We’ll call your order when it comes up,” Fiona told him, avoiding his eyes as she set the drink down on the counter.

  “Why did you break up with me?” he blurted suddenly.

  Fiona looked up at him, surprised to see a hurt look on his face. “You called me a slut, Ryan,” she told him.

  “No, I didn’t!” he shot back. He seemed flustered, and confused.

  “That’s what you were thinking.”

  “I tried calling you. You never bothered to call me back.”

  That was true. Fiona’s mother had given her the message, but Fiona had been too angry to talk to him, and had managed to steer clear of him at school until the summer break.

  “So? I was busy,” Fiona replied, lamely.

  His face pinched with anger. “Just forget it,” he said bitterly, and strode away.

  “What about your food?” Fiona called after him, but he kept walking without turning back.

  Now she felt bad. She should have at least returned his phone call. But at that point, she had wanted nothing to do with him. Is it so wrong, she thought, to want to forget about last year’s mistakes—including Ryan? She was sorry that Ryan’s feelings were hurt, but she refused to feel guilty. Guilt was what had made her take that stupid boob shot in the first place, when she was trying to make it up to Ryan for getting sick at Jeff’s party. And she was willing to admit that maybe—just maybe—the real reason she broke it off was that the thought of him made her cringe about what a dumb move it had been to send him that selfie.

  From now on, I’m going to be smarter than that, she decided.

  All she wanted was a fresh start in grade ten. Maybe, eventually, she’d be able to explain it all to Ryan. Maybe they could even be friends. But for now, she decided, she was going to concentrate on reinventing Fiona.

  AT THE END of Laiping’s seventh week in Shenzhen, she went to the row of bank machines outside the American-style restaurant and lined up along with the hundreds of other workers waiting to receive their paychecks. When it was her turn to put her card in the slot, she discovered with relief that the company had at last put money in her account. It was only two weeks’ pay plus overtime—the company was still withholding her first month’s earnings—and deductions had been made for the dormitory and the cafeteria meals. That left her with a little less than 600 yuan, from which she still owed Min 110, and she had to send at least some of the remaining yuan home to her parents.

  “You’re a good daughter,” her mother said when Laiping talked to her later that morning over the computer at the Internet café. “When can you send the money?”

  “Right away,” Laiping promised.

  Laiping was exhausted from last night’s shift and needed sleep, but before going back to the dorm, she went to a financial services kiosk and stood in line for almost another hour—which gave her plenty of time to consider just how good a daughter she was. A good daughter would send all of her money home, but that would mean waiting for her next paycheck to buy a mobile—another two weeks. Laiping decided that she could be a good daughter and be good to herself, too. She sent 250 yuan home to her parents, and kept nearly that much for herself, hoping it would be enough to pay for a basic phone.

  When she reached the dorm, Laiping fell into a heavy sleep. Fen shook her awake far too soon.

  “Let’s go, lazy!” she said, adding “Okay?” in English to show off how much she’d learned from her book.

  Laiping was off for the rest of the day, and she and Fen had made plans to go into the city in the afternoon to shop. They walked to the subway station where Laiping had first arrived nearly two months ago, and boarded a train for the main shopping district. The subway car was crowded and they had to stand up, holding onto hand straps as the train jostled along. Laiping looked around at the girls in their pretty tops and short skirts and wished that she could afford to buy some new clothes to replace her jeans and T-shirt, but she knew she barely had enough money for a phone.

  They got off the train and climbed up to street level, where Laiping finally got her first real look at the city. It was just as Min described it—block after block of shiny new buildings rising up to the sky, enough apartments for hundreds of thousands of people. Laiping wondered who could possibly afford to live there—and if she ever would. The sidewalks were jammed with smartly dressed girls and guys—it seemed that no one in Shenzhen was old! Shop after shop was bursting with all sorts of things to buy, from shoes and handbags to TVs and cameras. Laiping had never seen so many brand new things in one place. She wanted them all! Fen was shopping for clothes, and she called everything she saw cute!, practicing her English again.

  “Look at them,” she said to Laiping, pointing to a couple of stylish girls in frilly tops and sleek skirts walking along together with their heads bowed over their mobile phones. “I bet they’re office workers,” she said enviously. From that point forward, Fen pulled Laiping into every dress shop they passed until she found a similar top and a skirt and bought them. “Address to success!” she said in English, then translated for Laiping’s benefit, “That means, dress for success!”

  Everywhere they looked, there were shops and street vendors selling mobile phones. The ones the street vendors were selling were cheaper.

  “That’s because they’re stolen,” said Fen.

  Stolen or not, Laiping could only afford the street vendors’ mobiles. She bought the cheapest one, for 175 yuan, and a phone card for fifty yuan, leaving her just enough for subway fare back to campus.

  It was evening now, and the restaurants and clubs they passed were full of laughter and loud music. Laiping wished they could go in and join the fun, but neither she nor Fen had any money left. At any rate, the legal drinking age was eighteen, and their fake IDs said they were only sixteen. They had to content themselves with swaying to the music out on the sidewalk, and with people-watching.

  As Laiping and Fen rode the subway back to the factory campus, the fatigue and frustration of the past weeks faded away. For the first tim
e, Laiping felt she’d had a taste of city life—and she loved it. All the hard work has been worth it, she realized, happy at the thought of her very own mobile, resting in her pocket.

  IT WAS NEAR MIDNIGHT when Laiping and Fen entered their dorm room.

  “It’s almost curfew!” snapped Big Sister Choilai, who was sitting on the edge of her bunk, painting her toenails. “Better keep the noise down, unless you want a fine.”

  “You’re the one making noise,” Fen talked back.

  “Watch yourself, Fen,” replied Choilai. “Your type always thinks they’re destined for better things.”

  “If you mean I plan to make more of myself than an ordinary worker after being here for as long as you have, you’re right.”

  Choilai scowled. Laiping started climbing up to her bunk so Choilai wouldn’t see the smile on her face.

  “Laiping,” said Choilai, “Your cousin was here looking for you.”

  “What did she want?”

  “How should I know what she wants? Something about your father.”

  Laiping’s blood ran cold. “What about him?”

  “I’m not your answering service!”

  “Quiet down!” came a sleepy voice from one of the bunks down the row.

  Clutching her new mobile, Laiping barreled up the ladder to her bunk and punched Min’s mother’s number into the keypad, even though she knew she would be waking her up.

  “Auntie,” she said, trying to keep her voice low. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s your father, Laiping. He had a heart attack this afternoon.” Laiping felt her own heart miss a beat. “He’s in the village clinic, recovering,” Auntie quickly added. “Your mother is with him.”

  “Will he be all right?” she questioned her anxiously.

  “They say he needs an operation, but the doctors at the village clinic are no good—they bought their diplomas on a street corner!” clucked Auntie. “Your father should be going to Heyuan, to a city hospital.”

  “How much will that cost?” asked Laiping, reeling at the thought of poor Baba, and Mama, too. They must be so frightened. She wished she could be there with them.

  “Thousands of yuan,” replied Auntie.

  “Auntie, tell my mother I will send the money!” she said, although she had no idea how.

  “You are a good daughter, Laiping. Not like Min, who never calls.”

  But Laiping didn’t feel like a good daughter. She was overwhelmed with guilt—she shouldn’t have bought the phone! Still, she was owed almost a thousand yuan in back pay. If only they would give it to her, there would be no problem. She slept fitfully that night, knowing that her father’s life depended on the mercy of the company.

  OLDER COUSING MIN had warned Laiping not to call the company’s Help Hotline, which had been set up after the suicides. It was supposed to be private, a counseling service that workers could turn to when they had problems—but people said the calls were recorded and that any information a caller gave found its way to the bosses. When she woke up in the morning, Laiping decided out of desperation to risk it, and dialed the line on her new mobile.

  “Are you feeling depressed?” came the sympathetic voice of a young woman.

  “No,” replied Laiping.

  “Are you having thoughts of harming yourself?”

  “No!”

  “Are you missing your family back home?”

  “Well, yes,” Laiping admitted.

  “You should get out of your room more often,” advised the young woman. “Go to the movies or go for a swim. The company provides lots of different kinds of entertainment. Have you heard about the karaoke competition?”

  “I just need to find out how to get my back pay.”

  “Oh,” said the young woman, sounding annoyed. “In that case, why are you calling us? You should go see Human Resources!”

  Laiping knew only one person in Human Resources—

  Miss Lau. An hour before her shift was due to start, she entered the factory building and made her way down the management corridor to Miss Lau’s office. Timidly, she knocked. When there was no answer, she knocked again—a little louder this time. After a moment, Miss Lau opened the door.

  “Yes?” she asked, wearing the same gray suit, and a humorless smile.

  “Hello, Miss,” croaked Laiping, her throat suddenly dry. She was regretting her boldness in coming here.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m Laiping. Remember?”

  “I meet many Laipings.”

  “I…I need help,” Laiping faltered. In a rush, she explained about her sick father and her back pay. It was on the tip of Laiping’s tongue to point out that it wasn’t legal for the company to withhold the money she was owed, but she didn’t want to seem like a troublemaker—not when she needed Miss Lau to be on her side.

  “This is highly irregular,” said Miss Lau.

  “But my father is ill,” Laiping explained again. “I need the money now, to pay for the hospital.” Miss Lau’s jaw tightened. She shook her head. “Please,” implored Laiping,

  tears budding in her eyes. Miss Lau seemed to soften slightly. Laiping thought about what Fen would do in this situation to get her way—she would lie. “The doctors say if my father doesn’t have the surgery immediately, he will die!” she exclaimed.

  Miss Lau let out a sigh. “Come with me,” she told Laiping.

  Not daring to ask where they were going, Laiping followed Miss Lau back down the corridor from which she had just come. They veered off down an adjoining corridor and pushed through a glass door, into a large office in which many nicely dressed men and women sat at computers, typing.

  “Miss Jang,” she said to a pretty young woman who had her hair up in a smart style, “please show this girl how to fill out Form G-32.”

  “Yes, Miss Lau.”

  Miss Lau turned to Laiping. “Miss Jang will help you apply to payroll for special consideration.”

  Laiping was overjoyed. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

  “You see?” said Miss Lau, smiling her stiff smile. “At this company, we look after each other with a loving heart.”

  With that, Miss Lau turned and left the office at a smart pace. Miss Jang smiled at Laiping—warmly, not the coiled-snake smile of Miss Lau. She took a form from a cubbyhole beside her desk.

  “Write your name and employee number here,” she said, “and down here, the reason why you need the money.” Laiping couldn’t stop thanking her. “It’s okay,” laughed Miss Jang. “It’s my job!” She leaned closer, as though letting Laiping in on a carefully guarded secret. “Just be sure to make it sound like a real emergency!”

  Without warning, Laiping burst into tears, alarming Miss Jang.

  “Don’t cry!” she told her, half comforting, half insisting.

  “I miss my mama and baba,” confided Laiping in a choked whisper. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with longing to see them.

  “It’s all right,” said Miss Jang, looking concerned. “I’m sure everything will be all right.”

  Miss Jang showed Laiping to a counter where she could fill out Form G-32, then went back to her desk. Laiping cheered herself up by thinking about the money she would soon be able to send home. Perhaps she would go home herself soon—but that would require applying for permission to take leave, which was unlikely to be granted with the push for the launch of the new smartphone. One thing at a time, Laiping decided. First she must persuade the company to release her money.

  After handing the form back to Miss Jang and thanking her again, Laiping climbed the wide staircase to the fourth floor for her shift. She lifted her knees higher than usual during marching exercises, and worked with extra concentration—ignoring Bohai at her side—so grateful was she to Miss Lau and Miss Jang, and to Steve Chen. Yes, the work was long and hard and some of the rules seemed unfair. Yes, there were a few bad eggs, like Bohai. But she saw now that, just as troublemakers were punished, loyalty would be repaid. She worked diligently all night—circui
t board-capacitor-solder-capacitor-solder; circuit board-

  capacitor-solder-capacitor-solder—counting her good fortune to be employed by a company so full of loving hearts.

  MAMA MADE SYLVIE’S LIFE UNBEARABLE after Marie shot the video, complaining to Lucie and Pascal—as though Sylvie wasn’t sitting right there on the dirt floor mixing dough to fry—that their sister had no pride, letting a foreigner take pictures of them so that the whole world could see their miserable state.

  “Sylvie wants everyone to laugh at how we live, like animals,” she told them. “When Papa finds us, he will give her the beating she deserves.”

  Sylvie tried several times to explain that when these

  foreigners saw the video, they would want to help them get out of Nyarugusu, but Mama turned away and pretended not to hear. Finally, Sylvie bit her tongue as she went about her daily chores, concentrating on making sure that the children were clean and fed, and that Pascal went with her to school each day.

  In class, Sylvie found it hard to pay attention. The math teacher, Charles—a Congolese from South Kivu—understood less algebra than she did, and spent most of his time pestering the high-school girls to give him love in exchange for him giving them passing grades. Sylvie he left alone, for which she was grateful. You’re lucky you’ll never have a husband, Mama had told her. She was beginning to believe she was lucky, in many ways.

  Marie had been right when she said to Sylvie that telling her story would make her feel better. She was having fewer nightmares, and her stomach didn’t tighten every time someone stared at her scar. She held her head high and thought about what the future might hold, about becoming a doctor. Maybe even the kind of doctor who helped people like her.

  “You mean you want to be a psychiatrist, or a psychologist,” said Marie, when Sylvie shared her dream during her shift after school on Thursday.

  “Yes,” said Sylvie. But there was more. All week, a new idea had been taking shape. “Once I’m a doctor,” she told Marie, “I’m coming back to the Congo, to help the people, the way you do.”

  Marie looked up and smiled. “That’s a wonderful plan, Sylvie,” she replied. She didn’t look up from the patient’s chart she was reading. She didn’t even smile. Sylvie was a little wounded—she doesn’t believe me, she thought. Then again, maybe she was just tired. There were so many patients in Nyarugusu, and so few doctors.