The Secret Mother by Victoria Delderfield Read Free Book Online Page B

checking everyone’s documents. They let a few pass through the gates, but more were turned away. One woman refused to go.
    An official yelled at her. “You think I care? You’re wrong,” He pointed, “Look around you. Many women want these jobs. Why should I care about
you
?”
    She held onto the gate. “My husband, my husband,” wailed the woman.
    “Go, before the guard removes you.”
    “My husband can’t work. His legs are withered. I beg you, give me a job.” She sobbed. A guard pulled her away, avoiding her kicks and claws. He was tall with an ox-like physique and bundled her swiftly to the edge. Even above the chatter of the crowd, I could still hear the woman crying, “My husband, my husband!”
    My heart thumped as I pulled out my fake documents. The details were as requested: I was now a twenty year old graduate of Zhushan Number One School. The sixteen year old nobody from Hunan was gone.
    For the next hour, I scanned the faces of those around me. One young woman’s two front teeth were missing; I was close enough to see her tonsils as she laughed. Others looked as if they had been in the city longer; their appearance was more up to date: denim jackets, lipstick. Their elbows dug into my sides. The ones directly ahead spoke a dialect I didn’t recognise. Their clothes were shabby. They couldn’t understand a word of Cantonese when presenting their documents.
    “How did you expect to find work if you cannot speak the language of your bosses? Answer me, can’t you even tell me the year you were born?” asked the official. “Get away you stupid women and stop wasting my time.”
    I felt so thankful to Zhi, who’d taught me some stock Cantonese phrases over Spring Festival.
    “Who’s next? Show me your ID.”
    I elbowed forwards until I was standing in front of the gates, bearing my documents.
    “Hunanese?” she said, rifling through them.
    “Yes.” I lowered my head respectfully.
    “And you are twenty?”
    “Yes, born year of the pig. Whatever I do, I do it with all my strength and that includes working for your great corporation.”
    I half expected her to inspect me the way Madam Quifang had. But there was no prodding of my abdomen this time – only sharp eyes, obedience and nimble hands counted.
    “Go through,” she declared.
    My fake documents had worked! I slipped through the gate and walked calmly to the side entrance with the other hopefuls, my eyes fixed on the path.
    Inside, I was ushered up a flight of stairs and into a vast room, where about fifty young women waited to be interviewed. The room was frigid. Its walls were white brick, peeling in places. Waist-high metal containers lined one wall of the room to create a counter. Two slogans on the walls read: “
Don’t eat excessive food, don’t talk excessive talk
” and “
A
little dirt is good for your system
.” Through a hatch, I could see a boy scraping vegetables into a vat – perhaps the cook responsible for the awful smell?
    I wondered what kind of food the workers ate and whether the dishes would be spicy like they were back home. Zhi hadn’t talked much about the meals, only that workers gulped it down in fifteen minutes and hurried to their desks for a nap.
    There was so much still to know about the salary, my hours, time off, the bosses. She gave me the impression factory life was hard, but that there were prospects for someone like me, a girl with ambition.
    The grey-haired woman handed me a form. “Sit there and fill this in,” she said, pointing to a nearby table. One girl struggled to write using her
Forwood Motor Corporation
pen and I wasn’t sure whether her fingers were numb with cold or if she’d never been taught. At least Little Brother had shared his school books with me and I wasn’t a complete dumb ox.
    I sat down next to a young woman whose application form was almost complete. The first few questions were easy. I copied the details of my fake identity, but struggled when it came to the