A Room with no View

A Room with No View

Mai Tran's young fingers were quick and capable. They darted around the
sewing machine like the small anxious mice that lived in the corners of
the factory, under the massive piles of cloth. Today she was sewing
together the front and back panels of a tracksuit top. Sew, flip, sew,
turn around, sew. A repetitive sequence that could easily lull a worker
into a dream-state, but Mai knew she must be ever alert. The machines
could take a finger clean away from the hand and she had seen this
happen on a number of occasions, the girl in question would be whisked
away and they would not see her again.

At night when they had finished their day at the factory, Mai and her
room companion Tien would lie side by side at night on their small beds
and tell each other stories of their home villages. Tien's father had
died a few years ago and she had worked in the factory ever since,
sending most of her small pay packet back to her mother and siblings.
When Mai had arrived at the factory, Tien had smiled at her and helped
her to pack away her meager belongings. They had been friends from that
time on.

'In my village,' Tien had told Mai the last time they talked 'we would
gather together and offer green rice flakes, bananas, and fresh coconut
to the Moon God for a good harvest Afterwards, there would be Ngo boat
races; they were so much fun to watch! ' She'd smiled at the memory,
but her smile had faded after a few moments.
'Everyone was so happy,' she had said in a soft voice, staring up at
the ceiling, her small frame still on the bamboo cot.
Mai missed Tien.

Sew, flip, sew, turn around, sew.

She was extremely grateful to have this job. Though she missed her
family and friends back in the village, she felt brave coming to the
city alone and starting a job in a factory. The factory mother had
driven into their village in a big white van and talked to many of the
parents there. She had told them about the factories in the city and of
the large companies from the Western countries that employed them to
make all sorts of wonderful things. She also told them how their
daughters could be a part of this, they could earn money to send back
to their families and the factory mothers would ensure they were kept
from harm's way in factory owned accommodation. Many of the parents in
the village sent their girls with the factory mother that day, Mai was
among them.
'Don't be afraid Mai,' her mother had soothed.
'You'll be all right, you'll have a chance to work in a city job and
help us with the money you send home.' She held Mai's hands and looked
into her eyes.
'My little one,' she said softly and sadly, 'there's no future for you
here.'

Mai had not seen her mother cry as the big white van drove out of the
village down the muddy track, the local children squealing with delight
as they ran behind it. She had looked forward with a beaming face in
the direction of the city and the new job she would have.

Sew, flip, sew, turn around, sew.

The girls from Mai's village had been separated out to various
factories around the city. Some had gone to the shoe factory on the
East Side, others to jobs in the factory to the South, making food
containers and children's toys. Mai had seen the beautiful plastic
dolls that were made there on one of the few outings her factory mother
had organized. Their hair was shiny and yellow and their waists were
tiny. She would have liked to send one home to her little sister, but
she knew she would never be able to afford it. Her friend Tien had
sometimes saved for weeks to buy her youngest brother a sweet, which
she sent home along with her money.

Sew, flip, sew, turn around, sew.

Sometimes for no particular reason, Mai would feel a tight ache in her
chest, like someone was squeezing it. She would feel the tears flow
behind her closed eyelids, threatening to overflow and roll down her
cheeks. On these occasions, Mai would take a deep breath and
concentrate. She often thought about her life back in the village, the
easy happiness and excitement of childhood and the warm, sleepy comfort
of her mother's arms. It was usually enough to stop herself from
crying, but today when she thought about her mother and sister, about
the long hours at the factory, the painful loneliness and her small
hard bed, she had to fight extra hard to keep the ache from growing
bigger inside her. She almost had the feeling under control when she
thought about her friend Tien.

It had been four days since Tien's accident. Mai could remember the
screams and the bright crimson blood on the cloth, a soft floral
pattern. They had been making summer dresses that week. No matter how
hard she tried, she couldn't control the ache in her chest and the
sudden tears that overwhelmed her as she remembered Tien's hunched form
being led away from her machine as she clutched tightly to her bloodied
hand, her short hair covering a down-turned face.

A small cry escaped from somewhere inside.
She could not stem the tide of bad feelings and began weeping and
wailing in an uncontrollable flood. Not even the thought of what the
factory mother would do could stem the tide. The girls nearest to her
machine looked up from their sewing, the fear in their eyes plain to
see. The round-faced girl to her right started to whimper quietly
before joining Mai in a loud chorus of despair. One by one, the others
joined them until the entire factory was a cacophony of high-pitched
cries and sobs and every sewing machine fell silent. The elder female
supervisors and male bosses scuttled through the rows, cajoling and
threatening in turn, but to no avail.
After about ten minutes, the noise died down of its own accord, the
girls' pent up energy spent. The sound of the sewing machines resumed,
punctuated by the regular sobs and sniffles of some three hundred
workers as they bent once more to their work.

Sew, flip, sew, turn around, sew.