The nausea came on like a locomotive. Wei Ling flung herself from her perch on the top bunk and landed on the thin carpet with a light thud. She doubled over, grabbed her stomach with both hands, and stomped her way to the community bathroom at the end of the hall. The tight confines of the sleeping quarters assured that Wei Ling’s departure didn’t go unnoticed by her three roommates. But it was five in the morning, sleep was at a premium, and the alarm wasn’t set to start screaming for another half an hour.
Shi Shi Wong slept in the bunk under Wei Ling and the light aluminum frame of the two-story bed made every movement of either occupant a shared one. Through a half-closed eye, Shi Shi watched Wei Ling bend over and dart from the room. It wasn’t uncommon behavior. The food served by the sweatshop kitchen haunted all the ladies from time to time. Shi Shi tossed and turned for twenty minutes before slipping on her bright green flip-flops and going to check on her bunkmate.
Wei Ling was curled in the fetal position, clutching her stomach on the floor in front of the toilet in the first stall. The remains of last night’s sesame noodles painted the floor between her body and the intended porcelain target. The longest strands of her hair mixed with the nastiness on the dirty tile floor. Shi Shi pulled her bunkmate up by the armpits and half-walked, half-dragged her friend to the shower stalls on the opposite end on the room. She fetched a wet hand towel and pressed the cool cloth to Wei Ling’s face and neck.
The foreman in charge of the morning headcount came up two seamstresses short in workgroup B. He demanded an explanation, and when no one volunteered information, he started swinging. When he reached the third girl, he closed his hand and landed a full-speed punch to the side of her head, sending her ninety-pound frame flying off the wooden seat onto the floor. Chinese curses flowed from the foreman’s mouth and he ordered everyone to get to work before stomping off in the direction of the seamstresses’ quarters. Every girl knew what was next.
Wei Ling was sweating profusely, and Shi Shi Wong was trying to coax her out of bed when the foreman stormed through the door.
“It’s six-thirty, you lazy pieces of shit. Get your asses to work.”
Shi Shi looked up and risked her face. “She’s sick. She needs to see a doctor.”
The foreman looked at Wei Ling and back to Shi Shi. “You have five minutes to report to your work area,” he said without sympathy.
On cue, Wei Ling sent a shower of vomit onto the foreman’s opened-toe sandals. The foreman’s need to cleanse himself overpowered his urge to use the girls as punching bags, and he limped to the shower to wash his foot. He yelled over his shoulder down the hall to Shi Shi. “Take her to the main building, have Chow Ying call the doctor, and get to work. You have four minutes.” ***
The large room on the first floor of the administrative building served as Chang Industries’ doctor’s office, sickbay, and hospital. The four-bed room was well equipped. It had to be. Employees who were injured or too sick to work cost the company money. There was no time to be sick, not on Chang Industries’ dime.
The doctor strolled in, black bag in hand, thirty minutes after he received the call on his boat. Wei Ling was on the bed in the far corner, half asleep. She had thrown up two more times after blasting the foreman’s foot and was feeling as bad as she looked.
The doctor was American and competent. He had graduated from NYU before attending UCLA medical school. He was in his mid-forties, with sharp looks and a serious, but kind, bedside manner. He lived on Saipan as the physician for both Chang Industries and the local hospital. He could have worked anywhere, but after his first month on the island, he found himself unable to leave. The snorkeling, fishing, and sunsets were addictive. Living near the beach had spoiled him. He vowed never to return to the rush of a big city. He had spent twenty years of his life in downtown New York and LA. and had endured enough smog and congestion to last a lifetime.
The doctor asked Wei Ling a few questions and Lee Chang needlessly translated them into English. Wei Ling answered honestly. He took her pulse and blood pressure, and felt the glands on her neck. He tapped her stomach and asked what she had eaten in the last twenty-four hours.
“Are any of the other girls ill?” the doctor asked Lee Chang.
Lee Chang looked at Chow Ying and re-asked the doctor’s question.
“Not that I know of,” Chow Ying answered. “Everyone else reported to work on time.”
Lee Chang and his new main henchman watched the doctor finish the cursory examination in silence.
The doctor went to the huge storage room and unlocked the door. He turned on the light and dug through the shelves of medical equipment and medication. Wei Ling could hear the soft clanking of glass and the squeaking of the metal shelves. The doctor reappeared with a small box, sat down on the stool at the side of Wei Ling’s bed, and told her what to do.
The initial pregnancy test read positive. A second test was administered and the results came up negative. The doctor drew blood and marked the small glass vial with Wei Ling’s name. He would take the blood to the hospital and settle the “pregnant, not-pregnant” confusion once and for all. His instincts told him the girl was pregnant. The blood test would confirm what Wei Ling already knew. She was as regular as clockwork and had missed her period by ten days and counting. There was nothing to do but pray for a miracle.
The doctor told Wei Ling to get some sleep and ordered a day of rest. Lee Chang agreed to one day. She was expected back at work tomorrow.
Lee Chang and Chow Ying finished wolfing down a lunch of stir-fried rice when the doctor called back with the official prognosis. Wei Ling was pregnant.
Lee Chang went ballistic.
Chang Industries’ seamstresses were kept on a tight leash. They were forbidden to fall in love, much less become pregnant. Trips off the company grounds were limited to groups of four, with a company-sponsored chaperone. But the workers were creative, a blind eye could be bought with the right favors, and once in a great while a seamstress showed up pregnant.
Lee Chang would handle it as he always did. There would be a dock in pay and the seamstress would have an abortion whether she wanted one or not. The cost of the abortion would be added to the seamstress’s overall debt to the Chang family.
Lee Chang and Chow Ying stormed into the infirmary. With a level of anger reserved for the most blatant company infractions, Lee Chang approached the side of the bed and violently shook Wei Ling from her light sleep.
“Who is the father?”
“What?” Wei Ling answered, still groggy.
“Who is the father?”
Wei Ling didn’t answer.
Lee Chang slapped her on the face, his thumb catching the corner of her mouth, drawing blood. An immediate red impression of four fingers appeared on her otherwise unblemished skin.
“You should know, you sent me,” Wei Ling said, breaking into tears.
“Peter Winthrop? Is Mr. Winthrop the only man you have been with? If it’s one of the company guards, you had better tell me now. I’ll find out eventually anyway.”
Wei Ling looked up at Lee Chang’s face. A vein pulsed visible in his forehead. Her hatred for him was justified, and yet somehow she felt sorry for him. He was more than just cruel. He ruled with an iron fist because he wasn’t smart enough to rule with his head. He was a bastard, but he was also pathetic, hopelessly lost in a family of brilliant businessmen and politicians.
“I didn’t sleep with Mr. Winthrop,” she said, tears of shame rolling down her face. “I slept with the other American.”
“Senator Day?” Lee asked, looking first at Wei Ling and then at Chow Ying.
The word “senator” caught Wei Ling by surprise. She looked at Lee Chang’s face, his anger now mixed with excitement.
“I only knew his name was John.”
Lee Chang’s heart beat faster. His throat became dry and he felt faint. He was delirious with possibilities. He may have been the low-man on the family totem pole, but he was cunning enough to see the opportunity lying in the bed in front of him.
Lee Chang’s personality thawed, and Wei Ling heard him speak with compassion for the first time in her two years on the island. “It’s okay,” he said, touching the crying girl’s head. Wei Ling flinched and then pushed herself to the far side of the mattress.
