Country Driving [211]
The red envelope is a traditional Spring Festival gift, with money inside, but Mr. Tao was unimpressed. “I don’t want to split up my family,” he said. “It costs us money to do that.”
“I know,” Master Luo said. “I told him that if I have to find workers and train them, it’s going to cost about five hundred per person. I told the bosses that your demands aren’t so high.”
“It doesn’t include food and lodging?”
“It doesn’t include food,” Master Luo said. “They’ll give lodging.”
“I want both.”
“I’m sorry, but don’t forget they’re offering the bonus and the red envelope.”
“Red envelope or no red envelope; bonus or no bonus,” Mr. Tao said. “All that matters is what’s guaranteed. If they aren’t paying for food and lodging, then they should pay seven yuan a day for living expenses. It has to be the same for everybody, including Ren Jing. She’s my responsibility, just like the girls.”
“I don’t know what they’ll say.” Master Luo’s hands were nervous; he folded a scrap of paper repeatedly. Now Mr. Tao’s wife entered the shack and she joined the circle around the burner.
“When I started this job,” Mr. Tao said, “I left a factory where I made four and a half yuan per hour. They told me I could make more here, which hasn’t been the case. So I’m not going to move without a guarantee.”
“I know it’s a hassle,” Master Luo said.
The woman spoke up. “Why bother?” she said. “We can send both of them to work in a shoe factory.”
“We need to figure this out before we start talking about shoe factories,” Mr. Tao said.
“For this period, two thousand is fair,” Master Luo said. “And after the Spring Festival you’ll get a guaranteed eight hundred.”
“Things that happen in the future are things I can’t control,” Mr. Tao said. ‘“Guaranteed’ is just another way to trick workers. Yufeng can do ten thousand pairs of wires in a day. Where are you going to find a new worker who’s that fast?”
For the next forty-five minutes the conversation circled the room. The men chain-smoked West Lake cigarettes, complaining about the hassles of moving and hiring new workers; they agreed on the general untrustworthiness of Zhejiang bosses. But it took a long time before anybody mentioned a specific number again. “They have to pay each of us an extra hundred per month, before the holiday,” Mr. Tao finally said. “Tell them the money is to cover living expenses.” Master Luo nodded, put out his cigarette, and left the shack. He had been there for more than an hour.
BACK IN THE FACTORY, Boss Wang and Boss Gao were in the midst of negotiating with a moving crew. For days they had done nothing but haggle, and now they received the message from Master Luo.
“We should just pay them,” Boss Gao said. “Who cares?” But he looked to his uncle for the final decision. Boss Wang thought for a moment—he was clearly annoyed to be dealing with Mr. Tao, even through an intermediary.
“Offer him fifty,” he said. “Not one hundred.”
“Is that the last offer?” Master Luo said. It was a difference of six dollars and thirty-seven cents.
“Tell him it’s the last offer. I’m not going to give him what he wants.”
MASTER LUO AND I walked back across Suisong Road. It was after 9:30 and the night had grown colder; he laughed bitterly at the routine. “I always have to do this,” he said. “Every job, it’s the same thing—the master has to be the middleman. Nobody wants to deal with each other directly. Mafan! All I want are reliable workers, but I have to do all this negotiating.”
The Tao home was empty, so we continued to the family dry goods stand, where Yufeng and Yuran were handling the evening’s customers. Usually their father was there at this time, but he had disappeared on another mysterious errand, and he wasn’t answering his cell phone. Master Luo left a message with the girls, asking Mr. Tao to call, but he never did. The offer was still on the table when the night ended.
ON THE MORNING OF November 28, the eighth day of the lunar month, a day of good fortune and fine prospects, I awoke to a Volkswagen Santana with a flat tire.