The Interior

6

IF HULAN HAD BEEN IN BELTING, SHE WOULD HAVE COM-pleted all of her interviews in one day. But she was in the countryside now, where the pace was slow. Activity happened early or late in the day to avoid the brutal heat. Part of blending in meant that she would have to melt into those rhythms. So on Monday morning Hulan once again set out for the village, where she planned to stop at a cafe and strike up a casual-and hopefully informative-conversation with the owner.

With its sign in English posted on the door, the Silk Thread Cafe seemed particularly receptive to people from afar:

WELCOME DISTINGUISHED GUESTS GOOD FOOD COFFEE

It was too hot to sit on the sidewalk, so Hulan stepped inside the single room of the establishment, where several men sat clustered together at two tables. When she entered, she saw one of the men pick up a remote control and change the television channel. From Hulan's seat in the corner she could see the television, which was hung from the ceiling in one of the corners. On the screen she recognized The Three Amigos, an American movie that was very popular in China.

The proprietress took Hulan's order and soon came back with a pot of tea, a large bowl of congee, and condiments. The eating bowl and spoon were filthy and still covered with leavings from last night's dinner. Hulan poured some of the hot tea into her bowl, swirled it around, then poured the dirty tea on the floor, where others had tossed their leftover bones and gristle and had cleaned their eating utensils in the same manner.

The men seemed to forget about Hulan-either that or they decided she was unimportant-and turned the television back to CNN. Hulan was halfway through her meal when one of the men called out, "You!" It was rude, but Hulan responded nevertheless with a curt nod. "Are you looking for work?" the man asked. "No."

"Don't be shy," he said. "There is no need for that." "But I don't need work." The man scowled. "Then why are you here?" "For lunch."

"Women don't come in here for lunch," the man said, his voice filled with innuendo. The other men laughed.

Hulan chose to disregard the insinuation. "I'm not from here," she said. "I don't know your village customs."

Ignoring everything Hulan had said, the man asked, "Do you have proper work papers?"

Faced with his persistence and the curious stares of his table companions, Hulan decided to see where this would lead. "Of course," she answered. She did indeed have work and residency permits for Beijing, but not for any other village or city in China, so she added, "But not for Da Shui."

The man waved his hand dismissively. "No matter. It is a small problem easily fixed." The man pushed his chair away from the table, the legs scraping against the floor. With the other men watching, he stood, crossed to Hulan, and handed her some papers. "You can read, I hope." Hulan nodded.

"That is good but not essential," the man continued. "We"-he gestured to his companions-"we see women like you every day. Some come from close by, some come from as far away as Qinghai Province.

These days so many country people go to Beijing or Shanghai for work, but we say there's no need for that. Come here. We'll make sure you get work."

"For a fee? I have no money," Hulan said, playing along for now.

The man smiled broadly, pleased at how cleverly he'd gotten his fish to take the hook. "No cost to you. The company pays us a small token."

"What company? What's the work? I don't want to work in the fields anymore. That's why I left my village."

"It's a factory. American. They give you food. They give you a room. And the salary is very good."

"How good?"

"Five hundred yuan each month."

Hulan calculated that would be about $60 each month or about $720 U.S. a year. By American standards the pay was indecently low. By Beijing standards, where there were now all kinds of jobs with American companies, it was still quite low. In the countryside, where a peasant might hope to earn only about 300 yuan a month or just over a dollar a day-the official poverty level-it was fantastic, especially if this income was considered a second or third or even a fourth to be added to the family pot.

"When can you start?" the man asked.

Hulan studied the contract. It appeared straightforward.

As if reading her thoughts, the man said, "Take it. Read it. Come back tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. We'll be here." Then the man went back to his table.

Hulan finished her meal, paid her bill, and left the cafe. As she walked out of town, she felt the oppression not only of the heat but also of Da Shui itself. Yesterday's visit with Tsai Bing and Siang had been disconcerting. The people at the Public Security Bureau had been rude. The villagers and the Silk Thread's proprietress had been closed-mouthed. But none of them had been as disturbing as the men in the cafe. On this day, as Hulan followed her investigative custom of stepping back and back again from the scene of a crime, she found no answers, only more questions. The main question that now played in her mind was the role of the Knight factory. Miaoshan had worked there. The men of the town made no pretense of hiding the fact that they were earning some sort of kickback from Knight by placing women-with or without proper papers-at that factory.

Just as Hulan had a method for looking at a crime scene, she also had routines for getting questions answered. One was direct, the other circuitous. To ease her mind, she would have to follow both. This afternoon she would make an "official" visit to the Knight factory. Tomorrow she would go back to the cafe, sign her contract, and see what happened. The idea that either of these plans might be dangerous to her or her baby did not enter her mind.

An hour later, wearing a simple linen dress and a light jacket, Hulan took the bus back to Taiyuan. From the bus stop she hailed a taxi and rode to the Shanxi Grand Hotel, where she arranged for a car and driver for the day. An hour after that she was back on the expressway.

Eventually the driver turned off the main road and followed signs decorated with cartoon figures of what Hulan assumed were Sam amp; His Friends. The car made one last turn, and the Knight factory rose up stark and white against the sky. In the traditional Chinese manner, a high wall protected the entire compound. The driver stopped at the guardhouse. Hulan introduced herself and opened her MPS credentials. The guard paled, stepped back inside his shelter, and made a call. A moment later the gate lifted, and the car pulled into the compound.

The driver steered down the center road of the complex. On either side were buildings-some immense, others little more than single rooms- each with their own sign designating what they were: DORMITORY, ASSEMBLY, CAFETERIA, ADMINISTRATION, SHIPPING, WAREHOUSE, COMPANY STORE. Next to each of these words was a different cartoon character. Since this was still a new complex, the trees were not yet tall enough or broad enough to provide shade. A few shrubs withered against the white walls of the buildings.

The car stopped before the building marked ADMINISTRATION. A man with light blond hair and pale skin opened Hulan's door and said, "Good morning and welcome to Knight International. I'm Sandy Newheart. I'm the project director here."

Hulan introduced herself and showed her Ministry of Public Security identification. That Sandy Newheart didn't demonstrate the fear that the guard had shown didn't surprise her. It was conceivable that Sandy had never heard of the MPS, or if he had, he didn't realize its power.

"I wish you'd told us you were coming," Sandy said. "I would have prepared a proper welcome, perhaps even a banquet."

"That wouldn't have been necessary," Hulan said.

Sandy 's forehead crinkled as if he hadn't understood what she'd said. Then his features smoothed. "Well then, what can I do for you?"

"I have come about one of your employees, a Ling Miaoshan."

"I don't know anything about that, so I doubt there's much I can help you with."

"Still… Perhaps there's a place we can talk."

"Of course. What was I thinking? Please come inside." As he mounted the steps, he glanced back at the car. "Can I get your driver anything?"

"No, he's fine."

With the air conditioning, the lobby was at least five degrees centigrade cooler than outside. Under her lightweight jacket goose bumps popped up along Hulan's arms. Air conditioning was an extravagance in China, used almost exclusively in Western hotels and businesses. As they walked down a long corridor, Sandy kept up a one-sided dialogue.

"Henry Knight, our founder, came to China for the first time during World War II. He didn't return until the winter of 1990, just after the troubles at Tiananmen Square. That was a time when most American businesses were leaving."

"I remember," Hulan remarked, thinking it odd that Sandy felt compelled to bring up a subject that was still touchy, especially with government officials.

"But China has long held a fascination for Mr. Knight," Sandy continued as they passed a large room broken into individual work stations, where a flock of nicely dressed Chinese women sat before computer screens. Between the aisles that separated the cubicles walked a handful of supervisors-also women, all Chinese. From this central room Hulan could see four hallways leading outward at the four points of the compass. Sandy turned down the corridor that led to the left. "So at a time when others were unsure, when even our own government was suggesting that America should beware of China, Mr. Knight took a chance."

Hulan bet he'd also hoped for an extraordinary deal.

"But as you know, things move slowly here, and we didn't get this place up and running until two years ago." Sandy stopped before a display of animation eels, products, and a company history. "This is our brag wall," he explained, then began pointing out the various highlights in Knight's corporate history.

After years in the lucrative preschool market, Knight had struck gold in the post-war years with the Sally Doll-one of the first baby dolls on the market to drink from a bottle and pee in its diaper. The company had experienced another growth surge during the mid-eighties, when deregulation under Reagan led to relaxed limitations on advertising during children's programming. But none of the products introduced at that time had experienced the phenomenal success of the Sam line. The action figures had been designed as a team of ten. Sam was the leader, but he was never seen without Cactus at his side. After Cactus there were-in order of military rank-Magnificent, Glory, Gaseous, Uta, Annabel, Notorious, Nick, and Rachel. Ironically, although children were supposed to want all the figures equally or at least in order of rank, the ones with the most common names lagged behind in popularity and sales.

Sandy 's patter came to a close, and he continued down the hall. Following behind him, Hulan realized that the names of the Sam figures were the same as those on the financial papers at Suchee's. Again Hulan wondered how those documents had gotten into Miaoshan's hands.

Sandy stopped, pushed open a door, and gestured inside. "Here, this is my office."

A huge black lacquer desk dominated the sleekly modern room. In front of the desk the room was divided into two sections: to the left, a mini conference area made up of a round table and four chairs; to the right, two couches with a coffee table between them. Sandy took a seat on one of the couches and motioned for Hulan to sit across from him.

This entire experience puzzled Hulan, and she tried to reconcile what she knew about Americans and American business with what she understood as a Chinese woman. In China great value was placed on titles. Sandy Newheart had said he was the project director, and certainly the size and opulence of this office suggested that he was the top person here. But in China it was practically unheard of for someone of importance to meet directly with an unknown quantity, let alone go outdoors to meet that guest. Was he being polite or trying to control the situation?

"Are you the person I should talk to about Miss Ling?" Hulan asked.

"I can take you over to meet Aaron Rodgers. He's the manager of what we call assembly. I believe that's where Miss Ling worked."

"I thought you said you didn't know her."

"I didn't. I just know she didn't work in the heart."

"The heart?"

"That's the area we just passed through," Sandy explained. "That's the heart of what we do. Those girls handle all orders from the U.S. They track shipments and money transactions. I doubt that poor girl was ever in this building. But tell me-and please forgive my ignorance-why are you here? Her death has nothing to do with us."

Only tell one-third of the truth, Hulan thought for the second time since coming to the countryside. "I'm an investigator for Public Security. It's my duty to investigate suspicious deaths in this province. Ling Miaoshan committed suicide."

"You're with the police?" Sandy asked, finally grasping what this was all about.

Hulan tipped her head in acknowledgment.

"But a suicide-" he tried again.

Hulan held up a hand to keep the project director from repeating himself. "You're absolutely right, but as you've noted, we have our own ways in China. I'm here to understand this girl. It will help me if I can see where she worked and how she spent her last days."

Sandy 's eyes narrowed. His fingers drummed on the armrest. Finally he asked, "Have you met with Governor Sun?"

"No, I haven't," she responded, startled by the question.

"Governor Sun Gan represents the province," he explained. "He also serves as the provincial liaison between American companies and the Chinese bureaucracy, I mean, government. I'm surprised you don't know him."

Hulan smiled thinly. "Everyone has heard of Governor Sun, but China is a big country and I haven't met him." She stood. "Now, I'd like to see where Miss Ling lived and worked. If you're too busy, then you can have one of your other workers take me around."

"No." The word came out sharply. "I mean, I'd be happy to show you our facility."

As they walked down the road between the buildings, Sandy once again took up his tour guide role. They stopped to look at the cafeteria, where Sandy showed her the private dining room used by himself, the department managers, and the Knights when they came to visit. Hulan was not allowed to see the area where the factory workers ate because, as Sandy explained, the room was being cleaned and readied for dinner.

Back outside, Sandy led her past the warehouse and several of the other buildings, all of which he said were places that an employee such as the girl who killed herself would never have entered. When Sandy passed the entrance to the dormitory, Hulan reminded him that she wanted to see where Miaoshan had lived. He said that regretfully this area was off limits today. "You can imagine that with nearly one thousand women living together that things can get quite messy. So once a month we send in a crew to do a thorough cleaning using high-strength disinfectants and such. I don't think you'd find that a particularly pleasant place to be today."

"But I'd still like to see it," she said, her eyes roaming over the harsh white exterior.

"Perhaps another time."

Noticing that the dormitory building had no windows, Hulan slowed and turned her head back the way she'd come. None of the buildings in the Knight complex had windows, at least not on the facades facing the center road.

Hulan followed Sandy up the couple of steps leading to the building marked ASSEMBLY. As he pulled open the door, Hulan felt again the rush of cool air. But once inside the lobby, she realized that this building was not nearly as cold as the Administration Building. A guard-a foreigner-sat at a desk.

"Jimmy, could you call Aaron out here? We have a visitor I'd like him to meet."

"Sure thing, Mr. Newheart," the guard said in an Australian accent. Hulan watched as his beefy fingers hit the number pads on the phone. Jimmy hung up the receiver and stood. He was at least six feet tall and well over two hundred and fifty pounds. Most of this weight bulked in the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Unlike Sandy Newheart, who seemed to have no inkling of what Hulan was, Jimmy's deep brown eyes sized her up and seemed to come to the automatic conclusion that she was in law enforcement. At the same time Hulan was coming to conclusions of her own: Jimmy was accustomed to physically settling scores and carrying out other people's orders. His recognition of her could only point to one thing: He had more than a passing acquaintance with cops. He might have been a policeman at some time in his life, he may have simply passed his working life as a guard of some sort, or he may have been a low-grade criminal himself, doing breaking and entering, maybe even "enforcement" for hire. Although how an Australian of such questionable background would end up working in an American-owned factory in Shanxi Province was a mystery, to say the least.

Behind Jimmy's desk a door opened, and Aaron Rodgers came through. He wore jeans, a cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and tennis shoes. His smile showed perfectly straight white teeth.

"You're here for a tour, huh?" His voice was young and enthusiastic. "We don't get a lot of visitors, so I'd be happy to show you around."

Jimmy pressed a button under the desk, the door buzzed, and Aaron held it open for Hulan and Sandy. They followed Aaron through an inside foyer, then down several circuitous hallways lined with unmarked doors. Left, right, left again. Hulan felt lost and claustrophobic in here. This was compounded by the lack of air conditioning or windows. Finally Aaron opened one of the doors, and they stepped into a large room, which was obviously well soundproofed because Hulan had heard none of the hundred or so voices of the women who were working here until now. They sat at tables in long rows that ran the length of the room. They wore pink smocks and pink hair nets. Fans overhead kept the air circulating, but otherwise there was no mechanical noise. Everything in this room was done by hand.

Looking around, Hulan thought back to the plans she'd seen at Suchee's house. Why hadn't she studied them more closely? Shouldn't this room be much larger?

"As you may have guessed, this is our assembly area," Aaron said. "This is where the workers add the final details to Sam amp; His Friends, where we do inspections for quality, and, finally, where we package the finished products."

Hulan walked down the center aisle and got her first look at the Sam amp; His Friends figures. They were dolls, but the bodies were soft like stuffed animals. She stopped to watch a woman bend back the arms to keep the fabric limbs from interfering with her work, then begin to clip human-looking eyes into the plastic face.

"Have you seen Sam before?" Aaron asked. Hulan shook her head. "We don't have this in China." "You will soon enough. The cartoons will come here one day, and every child in China will want one."

How many times had Hulan encountered foreigners such as Sandy Newheart and Aaron Rodgers who thought that the China market was wide open to them if only they could break into it somehow? Just because something was manufactured here didn't mean that the Chinese wanted it. But then, who was she to underestimate the power of television? She had seen what the recent rash of news stories had done to her own life. If Knight-or the studio that made the Sam amp; His Friends Show- could actually get it broadcast in China, then these dolls probably would become a sought-after commodity.

Aaron leaned down and spoke softly into the woman's ear. She smiled prettily and put the doll in his hands. Aaron then held the doll out to Hulan. When she didn't immediately take it, he began twisting its limbs. "These products are unique in the world market. Sam, the cartoon, is an action figure in the traditional sense, but you would expect to see an action figure to be made of molded plastic and be no taller than four inches. Mr. Knight had a different idea and one that took some persuading when it came to the studio and advertising guys. G.I. Joe, Batman, Ghostbusters-all of them followed the same four-inch model. Hell, more than a few of them were made in the same molds. Mr. Knight took a big risk going soft."

Aaron squeezed the Sam doll to show Hulan what he meant, then grinned boyishly. "But Sam's insides are as tough as any hero's." Seeing Hulan's look of bewilderment, he added, "We provide Sam amp; His Friends with a steel wire skeleton. You can bend him into any shape you want." "Don't all stuffed animals have that?"

"Most just have stuffing and don't move at all. Some have articulated limbs but, again, no flexibility."

"I know I've seen stuffed animals that can bend like that."

"Oh sure, cheap things made in Hong Kong. Manufacturers have been running hanger wire through kapok for years. But this is different. Sam can hold his position, he can grasp a weapon, he can sit in a jeep. And that skeleton is guaranteed not to poke through. That means no hurt fingers or injured eyes."

"I see."

But Aaron wasn't done. "Traditionally the toy market has been extraordinarily biased by sex. Girls like Barbie; boys want G.I. Joe. But we have something unique here," he repeated as he continued to twist the figure. "We're able to appeal to girls because Sam amp; His Friends are soft like dolls and we make female characters who conform to modern attitudes of girl power while still maintaining their femininity. At the same time, boys want them and all the accoutrements-the weapons and vehicles-for their practical uses in war and other action scenarios. And it's all because of the steel skeleton. We-I mean Knight International-have patented this technology. It'll have practical applications for toys well into the next century."

"That will translate into lots of money, I suppose."

"Absolutely, Inspector."

"And you still haven't shown her the best part," Sandy interrupted.

Aaron blushed, grinned again, and said, "Sam talks too."

He pressed something on the yellow figure, and it said in a surprisingly tough voice, "Give me a hand here, Cactus." This was followed by: "All's quiet now." Then: "This is Sam. Until next time."

"Sam amp; His Friends come factory-equipped with standard phrases such as these," Aaron explained. "But this is just the beginning. Our deluxe model comes with a microchip that allows kids to program different conversations. We're talking about a fully interactive toy. The technology is still in the early stages and rather expensive-about ninety dollars U.S. for the full package. But in a year or so we'll be able to bring the deluxe models way down in price."

At last Aaron handed the figure back to the Chinese worker. Again he leaned down and softly spoke into her ear.

"Your Mandarin is very good," Hulan observed.

"Thank you. I studied it in college. It was my major, actually. That's how I got the job."

The trio continued down the aisle. On either side of them women applied different features to the faces of the colorful figures. When they came to the end of the row, they turned the corner and came up another aisle, where women packed the figures in boxes. This involved taking clear plastic straps and winding them around the neck, arms, and legs of the figures and tightening them into place on a cardboard backing. On the next aisle women attached various gizmos to the cardboard. Some got combs, brushes, mirrors, and knives. Others got pistols, machine guns, grenades, and miniature backpacks.

At last Hulan and her guides came to the door leading back to the hallway. "May I see where the other women work?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sandy asked.

"You said you have a thousand women working here. I'm guessing they're on the other side of the corridor."

"That's an empty room," Sandy answered, irritation spilling from his mouth like oil running from a bottle.

"Then you won't mind if I see it."

"Actually, our time is up."

"What about the other women who work here?"

"I'm sorry. I can't help you anymore. Aaron and I have a meeting, right, Aaron?"

"Yes, that's so." But the young man couldn't help blushing again.

"Our office will be sorry to hear that you haven't cooperated," Hulan said.

With any Chinese citizen this comment would have been understood for the threat that it was, but Sandy Newheart seemed unimpressed.

"Perhaps on another day you can come again and we'll be properly prepared to receive you." Sandy opened the door and led the way back through the labyrinth of corridors and doors. As they entered the foyer, Jimmy stood, moved his bulky frame around the desk, planted his feet apart, and crossed his arms.

"I'll come back," Hulan said. "But I doubt I'll be calling first. You are guests in my country and you must abide by our rules."

Sandy grimaced as he opened the outside door. "Until our next meeting, then."

Hulan held his gaze, nodded, then passed through the door to the courtyard. Aware that three sets of eyes were on her, she looked toward the Administration building and held up her arm to get her driver's attention. Waiting for him to pick her up, she once again took in the vast emptiness of the courtyard complex. Where were the signs of life? She expected to see people walking from building to building either on break or moving merchandise, people sitting together for a late lunch, even people sprawled out asleep for xiuxi. How did this company, administered as it was by what appeared to be just three foreign men and a handful of Chinese women, manage to control such a large population of workers? How had Knight ended up out here at all? Most important, what was going on in those other buildings and on the other side of the Assembly wall?

Once the car had turned back onto the expressway, Hulan pulled out her cell phone, punched in David's number, and waited several seconds for the line to connect. If it was 3:00 P.M. here, then it was midnight in Los Angeles. David would be up. She was sure of it.