The Secret Mother by Victoria Delderfield

question about my previous experience. Should I mention
jia
? I’d only fed animals, washed clothes, planted seeds, chopped wood, made food – and run away from home. I must not forget that. I must not forget the courage it took to find my own way in the world. I leant over to see the paperwork of the woman next to me; she’d written nothing about her parents or farm work, simply:
Toy Factory, Shenzen. Two years.
    The official hovered behind me. “You have ten minutes to complete the form, there must be no errors.” She gave no guidance as to what I should write in any of the boxes.
    I left a blank and moved onto the questions about my health. Did I have poor eyesight? Did I lack energy? Did I have any physical deformities? Any tattoos? Was I pregnant? I stifled a giggle and filled in the form as best I could, then waited to be called up.
    It was impossible to tell just by looking at a girl whether she’d be accepted or rejected. I earwigged as the young woman who’d worked at the Shenzen Toy Factory was interviewed.
    “What did you do in Shenzen?” said the interviewer.
    “I was on the assembly line for one year.”
    “Was your residence permit renewed?”
    “Yes.”
    “What were your hours?”
    “Six to six, with one hour break for meals. Overtime six to ten.”
    “So what was your reason for leaving?” said the male official, tapping his factory pen impatiently on her form.
    “Because … because … I wanted to progress. I had set up a company magazine full of stories about the best workers. I wanted to inspire people and give workers a good feeling. But there was no opportunity for me to use my skills, nothing in the clerical department, and so I left.”
    The man looked up and nodded. “You have the right attitude. Go back to your seat and wait.”
    Her feet were restless. She looked older than most of us, in her mid-twenties, but there was a spark in her I admired.
    Soon after, a young man in his late thirties entered the canteen. He strode over to the desk, flicked through the interview forms and gave a deep sigh.
    “Are there no perfect candidates here today?” As he spoke the muscles rippled beneath the skin of his temples. He had a very square jaw. “You,” he pointed straight at me, “let me read your form.”
    I stepped up to the desk. His eyes darted over my paperwork. He stroked his jaw thoughtfully. His hands looked soft and veined, reminding me of a cow’s udder.
    “According to this, you have no previous experience. How can I employ someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing? Tell me, where have you worked since graduating from high school?”
    “I worked for
jia.
”
    “Peasants?”
    “Yes, Manager. I come from Hunan.”
    He frowned. “The home of Chairman Mao.”
    “I have completed middle high school,” I added boldly, sensing I must pen my own destiny.
    “Really? Then you should be able to write the English word
open
as in
open door policy.
” He handed me a factory pen.
    I stared at it blankly.
    “What’s the matter?” he laughed. “Has your education deserted you?”
    “No, Manager …! …”
    “Then show me some other skill.”
    The room was silent as snowfall. I reached into my pocket for my wooden figurines. “I carved these over Spring Festival. My hands are very nimble, Manager. I will use them to work hard for you.”
    He raised an eyebrow and examined the delicate flower pattern I’d carved into Mrs Nie’s
ch’ang-p’ao.
A long time seemed to pass before he responded.
    “Show me your hands,” he said.
    My cheeks flushed at his request. They were farm worker’s hands: rough and calloused. I hid them behind my back. It was not proper for a man to look so closely at a young woman’s hands.
    “Very well.” He set Mrs Nie on the desk. Her face was serene; her silk shoes seemed to glow a deep lucky red. He flicked back over my application form.
    Was he going to shout at me? Call for a guard? Have me thrown out? “You have no experience … But