neighboring carts. Except for her white jacket and fancy scarf, she looked much like the other women, but Mehrigul knew who she was. She was the wife of the local party leader. A Uyghur, no more trusted than her husband.
When Mehrigul was free, the cadreâs wife came over and examined the squash as if deciding whether or not to buy a piece. âYour teacher tells me you no longer go to school,â she said, still looking at the squash.
Mehrigul kept her head down, too. She couldnât let the woman see the hatred that seethed inside her.
âItâs true, isnât it?â The woman moved closer.
âYes . . . yes,â Mehrigul said, struggling for control.
Be calm. Think. Act like Hajinsaânot Ana.
She pulled in a deep breath and lifted her chin. âIâm helping my family for a whileâduring harvest. I have no intention of giving up my opportunity for an education or my chance to become more proficient in Mandarin. I know that is my key to a successful future.â Mehrigul shot her words straight into the face of the cadreâs wife.
The woman did not back away. She narrowed her eyes. Looked intently at Mehrigul. Kept looking. Waiting.
A numbness crept inch by inch up Mehrigulâs body as she strained to bring in more than tiny gasps of air. She must hold her gaze. She must!
Finally, the cadreâs wife backed away. âWeâll see, my dear,â she said. A lopsided grin crossed her face. âIâll keep track of you.â Her hands rested on her hips as she puffed herself up. âRemember, if youâre not in school, it will be easy for me to arrange your papers so you can be sent down south to work in one of the big factories.â She shrugged. âWe have our quota to fill, you know, and youâll be much more useful to your family if you go.â
She paused. The sickening grin left her face. âYouâre not going to run away like your brother did. Right?â
Nine
E CHOES OF M EMETâS VOICE swirled through Mehrigulâs head as she watched the cadreâs wife slip back into the bustle of the market.
Donât be taken in, Sister. Donât be taken in.
Be careful, Sister,
Memet had sung to her just before he left.
Mehrigul shivered at the memory. It had been the end of market day. She and Memet sat on the edge of the cart as they headed home. Not saying much, Memet calling out to the donkey now and then when he went too slow. Theyâd had a good day, but Memet was on edge, sliding off the cart, jumping on again. âIf Ata makes a deal to send you far away to work in a Chinese factory, donât go,â heâd said suddenly. âHe may try to make you do it. Some of his friends who need money are sending their daughters away. A few of the girls even want to go. But donât, Mehrigul. Just donât do it.â
âWhy?â Mehrigul had asked.
He wouldnât answer. Wouldnât look at her.
Now he was gone.
Mehrigul had learned the meaning of Memetâs warning by listening carefully to the whispered chatter of the women at market. She heard stories of girls who were sent south and never returned. The leaders didnât want their daughters here at home, the women said, where theyâd marry Uyghur men and have Uyghur babies. They hoped the girls who were sent away might find Chinese men and marry them; there was a shortage of Han Chinese women. Mehrigul learned it was even worse for the girls who did return home. No Uyghur man would marry one; he couldnât be certain that a girl whoâd been sent away was still a virgin.
Donât be taken in, Sister.
Memet had known and now she did, too. And anyone honest with himself knew that things would not change, the Han would never leave.
Mehrigul thought of the courage it had taken for Memet to take a stand against them. Theyâd tried to kill him, but they would punish her in a different manner. For no offense at all, sheâd