Human Logistics

Ray Green survived 2008's recession with odd jobs and food stamps, sometimes broke and aching with hunger. Six years later when he had a secure job in a Chrysler plant in Detroit, he only saved a little each month because he donated regularly to the food bank that had helped him. To make some cash, he thought of a side hustle making car parts in his garage.

In a hobby magazine advertisement, he found a huge lathe. But it was $30,000 – or was it? He found it at the manufacturer's website for $12,500, shipped in three weeks directly from China to his house. It was an undeniable bargain.

A wooden crate the size of a backyard shed was delivered to Ray's garage on a freezing December Friday. The crate smelled of machine oil and garbage. The driver told him it was probably from the cargo ship; they were all like that. Ray noticed the truck had no license plate. He started to worry; what if this was a ripoff? He used a crowbar to pry open the crate's top boards and an acrid, rotting smell spilled out. He pulled off board after board. It was hard work. He took a break and leaned against his house.

He heard someone. A thin man in a white undershirt and khakis was climbing out of the crate. He looked Chinese and middle-aged, and seemed desperate when Ray made eye contact. Ray was paralyzed in confusion and sympathy, and thought about the price he got on the lathe. Was this his fault? Two winter jackets got thrown out of the crate, and two arms reached up from within it. The man reached up to help a small woman climb out. She stared at Ray, looking scared, in her twenties, and weak. The man held the woman's hand and spoke to Ray in a language he didn't understand. When he didn't respond, the man used his other hand to mime a telephone then pointed to the crate. Then they moved slowly and stiffly out of the garage, shuffled toward the street, and spoke to each other.

"I hope that American doesn't think it's our fault."

"I know, Dad. Which way do we turn?"

"Let's go left. Maybe one of those cars is your Aunt Lee. I activated the GPS 25 minutes ago."

"Dad, my legs hurt. Slow down."

"Me too. Oh, do you see what I see?"

"Oh, flashing headlights!"

Ray went back to prying open the crate. The smell was as intense as ever. A sense of regret filled him. Ray finally looked down. A young woman with long black hair, her eyes closed and her skin blue and lifeless, lay there. There was a note on her written in Chinese characters. The detective told Ray it said:

You bought a good lathe. This is Shi Roubai from Yantai, China. She wanted to live with her big sister in Detroit. She got cold and hungry on the freight train and died.