Chapter 5

Mai led Thao out of the alley just as the streetlights all came on.

The city at night was not dark. It only changed color. In the daytime there was dust, harsh sun, and people could still see each other’s faces. When night came down, yellow light poured over everything with a fake color, making poverty look less smeared, filth look less naked, and the people looking for a way to live looked like shadows that knew how to breathe.

Thao walked half a step behind Mai.

She hugged a small plastic bag to her chest. Inside were her ID card, a little loose change, a face towel, and an old set of clothes folded in a hurry. She wore a gray jacket, faded jeans, her hair tied neatly at the back of her neck. The collar was pulled high, the buttons done tight. Her whole body seemed to be trying to shrink as small as it could.

But there were things on a woman’s body that the more she tried to hide them, the more people could tell life had once dragged them out to set a price.

Thao knew that.

She had gotten used to men’s eyes very early. Rude eyes, pricing eyes, eyes licking over her body like the tongue of a hungry dog. Back when she was at Thang Scar’s place, she had learned how to smile under those eyes, because if she did not smile, she got slapped. Now she had put away the makeup, put away the dresses, dressed covered up like a decent girl, but she still felt those old eyes stuck in her skin.

Mai walked fast, but from time to time she turned her head.

“Are you tired?”

Thao shook her head.

“No, Sister.”

“Don’t be too scared. If they ask, just say you want to apply for work. If you don’t know how, you learn.”

“Yes.”

“At first getting yelled at is normal. When I first came in, I got cursed all the time too. Held the scissors backward, trimmed thread and cut into the goods.”

Thao tried to smile.

“You got cursed too?”

Mai gave a faint smile.

“Working for wages, who doesn’t get cursed? Only difference is some places curse you then pay your wages, and some places curse you then still want to eat your flesh too.”

That made Thao fall silent.

Mai knew she had spoken carelessly, so she softened her voice:

“I mean ... the workshop is hard, but at least there is work. Just try it first.”

Thao nodded.

“Yes. I’ll try.”

The two of them passed a few grocery shops with their metal shutters pulled halfway down, passed a cheap rice shop with several dried-out fried fish still hanging in the glass case, passed the small garbage heap at the end of the alley where a few stray cats were digging through plastic bags. Farther off, the garment workshop appeared under greenish-white tube lights.

The workshop sat on a small road, with an old sign and peeling painted letters. Inside it was bright, the sound of sewing machines rushing without pause, like rain beating down on a tin roof. The smell of new fabric, glue, sweat, and cold boxed meals mixed into the thick smell of the night shift.

Thao stood in front of the gate and suddenly felt her legs go soft.

Mai reached out and lightly held her wrist.

“Come on.”

“Sister Mai...”

“What?”

“What if they don’t take me...”

“If they don’t, we go home. Uncle Tu already said it. Your room is still there.”

Hearing Old Tu mentioned, Thao felt her eyes sting.

That sentence, “your room is still there,” from a rough old man was not some beautiful promise. But to her, it was like the first time someone had said: you haven’t been thrown away completely.

Mai pulled Thao through the gate.

As soon as they reached the workshop yard, they ran into Hung.

Hung was standing beside the row of motorbikes, holding his jacket, probably just off shift and getting ready to go home. His face was gray, his eyes dark, his body thinner from too much night work. Seeing Mai, he mumbled a greeting:

“Mai, going on shift?”

Mai nodded.

“Yeah. You’re done?”

“Yeah, shift’s over.”

As Hung spoke, he looked over at Thao.

His eyes stopped.

Hung recognized at once the whore from the rental block. Thao, who had once lived in the last room on the third floor, who had been used in turns by Thang Scar and his underlings. Even though today Thao was dressed like a decent girl, with a gray jacket buttoned high, straight jeans, hair tied neatly, no makeup, Hung could still see it clearly. The full body, the tight full breasts under the shirt, the round ass still sticking up a little even though she tried to stand properly.

Hung felt a little hunger creep into his belly. Even knowing who she was, seeing Thao today looking cleaner, gentler, he still could not stop the dirty thought from flashing through his head.

Thao also understood that look from a man.

She glanced at Hung very quickly, then lowered her head right away. That look was too familiar to her: curious, hungry, contemptuous. She knew what Hung was imagining. She knew better than anyone.

Mai did not notice all of it. She spoke quickly:

“Husband, I brought this little sister here to apply for work. Are you still short of people?”

Hung looked at Thao again, then coughed dryly.

“Short, yes ... but we have to ask the team leader.”

“Is Old Quy still inside?”

“Still there. He hasn’t gone home.”

Mai brightened at once.

“That’s good. Can you put in a word for me?”

Hung scratched his head, his eyes still sneaking toward Thao.

“Yeah ... let me see.”

He went inside.

Thao stood behind Mai, both hands gripping the handles of her plastic bag.

“Sister Mai...”

“What is it?”

“Your husband ... does he know me? I don’t think he shows up at the rental block much.”

Mai looked at her.

“Maybe he knows your face. But never mind. You’re here to work, not here to beg anyone for pity.”

Thao nodded, but her face was still white.

A little later, Hung came back out with Old Quy.

Old Quy was a little over fifty. Short and stocky, belly a little swollen, thinning hair, his dress shirt untucked. He wore leather sandals and held an unlit cigarette. His face was always smiling a little, the type of man in a neighborhood who liked to call himself easygoing. But his eyes were different. Small eyes, oily-bright, moving around once and you knew his head had just finished calculating something.

Mai quickly greeted him:

“Brother Quy.”

Quy looked at Mai and smiled:

“Yeah, Mai. Thought you were on shift already.”

“Yes, I brought someone to apply for work. This is Thao. She lives in the same rental block as me. She wants to work. She doesn’t know sewing yet, but she can work hard.”

Quy turned to Thao.

His eyes stopped there longer than needed.

Thao wore a white shirt, but he could still see the pair of pumped-tight breasts lifting under the thin fabric, and Thao’s way of standing, already used to it, her ass always cocked back a little, the kind of posture that made any man want to pull his cock out and shove it in right away. This whore could not hide it. It was like she challenged men’s eyes.

Mai noticed the silence going on a little too long and quickly added:

“It’s her first time working, so you can let her help on the line or trim threads first.”

Quy blinked, and his smile widened.

“Of course. The workshop is short of people. If she’s got strength, she can work.”

Thao breathed out very softly.

Mai was relieved too.

Quy asked:

“Got any papers?”

Thao hurriedly opened the plastic bag, took out her ID and some old papers, and handed them over with both hands.

“Yes.”

Quy took them, glanced carelessly at the ID, then looked at Thao.

“How old?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Still young. Can work.”

He said it like an ordinary sentence. But in his mouth, the words “still young” made Thao’s back prickle.

Mai did not hear it. She was only happy things were easier than she had thought.

“Then can she try tonight?”

“Sure. Since she’s Mai’s acquaintance, I’ll give priority.”

Mai smiled.

“Thank you.”

Quy waved a hand.

“Take her into the thread-trimming line. I’ll arrange it later.”

Mai lightly tugged Thao’s hand.

“Come on.”

Thao looked back at Hung for a moment. Hung avoided her eyes.

Mai led Thao inside.

The sewing machines swallowed the two of them at once.

The night-shift workshop was white-bright like a hospital. Long rows of tables, workers packed close together, heads bent, hands moving nonstop. Machine needles went up and down, thread flew, fabric stacked into bundles. Some people yawned, some chewed gum, some worked while muttering curses over defective goods. No one had time to stare too long at a new person. Poverty did not let people stay curious long. Curiosity did not make money.

Mai took Thao to a table near the end of the line.

“Sit here. Trim loose threads first. Cut close, but don’t cut into the seam. Sister Thu next to you will show you more.”

A woman around forty lifted her head and looked at Thao.

“New girl?”

Mai nodded.

“Yes, Sister. Please help show her.”

Sister Thu looked Thao up and down, not mean, only tired.

“Know how to hold scissors?”

Thao spoke softly:

“Yes.”

“Then sit. If you cut it wrong, you pay.”

Mai hurriedly said:

“She’s just come in, Sister.”

Sister Thu gave a dry laugh.

“I’m scaring her a little so she wakes up.”

Thao sat down.

The small scissors lay in her hand. The blades were cold. In front of her was a pile of half-finished shirts, loose threads sticking out strand by strand. The work was not hard, but her hand shook.

Mai bent down and whispered:

“Calm down. One piece at a time.”

Thao nodded.

She bent her head and cut the first thread.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Each thread fell onto the table like a scrap of old life being cut away. She knew it was not that easy. Life did not become clean just because she changed where she sat. But at least tonight, she was sitting in front of a worktable. Not in front of a drunk man. Not on a dirty bed. Not under Thang Scar’s eyes.

She cut slowly, but seriously.

Mai stood watching for a while, and her heart eased.

She thought: this is enough. Slowly. The girl is still young. Pulling her out one day at a time is still pulling her out.

Mai did not know that in the team leader’s office behind the fogged glass, her name had just become the excuse for another trap to close.

Old Quy called Hung in.

The team leader’s office was small, with a metal desk, a wall fan rattling away, a calendar on the wall printed with a girl advertising soda, and several messy stacks of worker files. Quy sat down and lit his cigarette.

Hung stood in front of the desk, both hands down along his pants.

Quy blew smoke.

“That new girl, you know her?”

Hung startled.

“Yes ... a little.”

“What does a little mean?”

Hung swallowed.

“She lives in the same area ... before, she stayed at the rental block with Thang Scar.”

Quy raised his eyebrows.

“Thang Scar?”

“Yes.”

“Ah ... the guy who just got hauled away?”

“Yes.”

Quy tapped his finger on the desk.

“What did that girl do before?”

Hung lowered his head farther.

“She...”

“Say it.”

“She ... she used to sell herself.”

The room went quiet for one beat.

Quy did not look surprised. Only the corner of his mouth lifted very slightly.

“Is that so?”

Hung hurried to add more, as if afraid he had not said enough:

“But maybe now she wants to quit. Since Thang got taken in, she went looking for work. Mai brought her.”

Quy flipped through the ID, the temporary residence confirmation, then stopped at the old health check paper. He looked longer than normal. His eyes scanned line after line, stopping at the test section.

Hung stood there, sweat beading at the back of his neck.

Quy folded the paper again.

“No disease. Good.”

Hung did not dare answer.

Quy leaned back in the chair and drew on the cigarette.

“You want to become deputy team leader?”

Hung’s eyes lit up, then he quickly lowered his head to hide it.

“Yes ... I do.”

“If you want it, know your place. I ask something, you answer that thing. Don’t act too good. Good people in this workshop go hungry first.”

“Yes, I understand.”

The old man turned to Hung, his voice low:

“Hung, get close to Thao. Make friends. Talk to her until you’re a little familiar. Then bring that girl to see me. I want to teach her a few things about workshop rules.”

Hung stopped and looked at Old Quy.

Quy looked through the fogged glass. Outside, Thao was bent over trimming threads, her shoulders slightly drawn in, like a young bird just fallen from the nest.

The old man smiled.

“Go on.”

“Yes.”

Hung shuffled out.

When he reached the hallway, he stopped for one second and looked toward Thao. She did not know what had just happened. She was still bent over trimming threads. That serious, clumsy posture made Hung feel a little uncomfortable. It was not pity. He was not decent enough to pity anyone for long. It was only that he felt he had just sold someone out too easily, and the price in return was only a vague promise.

But then Hung told himself: each person handles their own life. I haven’t even handled mine.

He pulled up his jacket and walked out the gate.

Behind him, Old Quy still sat in the office, the tip of his tongue lightly passing over his lips.

Thao’s first night trying to work had not even properly begun, and someone had already planned how to tear it apart.

Lan had once promised to teach Old Tu his letters.

Promised properly. She had bought a squared notebook, a ballpoint pen, and several sheets with simple words written on them: contract, deposit, electricity and water, deadline, responsibility. Lan said if Old Tu wanted to be a landlord, he had to know how to read papers. He could not rely on Hoang for everything.

Old Tu heard that and nodded.

But when lesson time came, he hid.

One day his back hurt. One day his eyes hurt. One day he said someone had come asking about a room. One day he sat by the door smoking, saw Lan carrying the notebook down, and got up to water the plants, even though the chili plant in the yard was already nearly drowned.