Sara Alexi - The Illegal Gardener

“The next thing I knew, Dad was picking me up but not kindly. I screeched and reached for little Emily Bear, but Dad ignored me.” Juliet relates the struggle to be released, but her dad’s hand pressure pushing against her head had only increased. “He ran from the bedroom. I was frightened because Dad had always been kind and loving and now he had suddenly turned into being like Mum. He was holding me too tight. My nose was against his chest but with one eye, as he opened the door, I could see the corridor was on fire.” Juliet breathes fast. Aaman strokes her back and makes soothing noises.

“I realised that if I left Emily she would burn so I reached out again and tried to scream, but Dad pressed my face harder into his chest and ran. When we got outside he put me down. I felt very hot and funny. He looked even funnier as he had only half a head of hair. I couldn’t say anything because something hurt. He started stripping my pyjamas off me. But they were nylon and they had melted onto my skin. I was screaming then. I thought I was screaming for Emily Bear, but now I wonder if I was screaming in pain. He sat me on his knee and hugged me tight, all except my arm, until the ambulance came.”

“Your mother?”

“Ah yes, her. She had got out when my dad came home. I don’t remember her being with me after Dad got me out. The fire was started by my mum’s candles in the bathroom. She liked to have candles when she bathed. It was a combination of candles, tissues, and towels."

Juliet looks over to the church, now all but deserted. The doors are still open and the occasional smell of incense in the air mixes with the evening’s warmth, sickly sweet.

“I was in hospital for a while. I remember Dad visiting me every day. My dad’s dead now. Mum may have visited, but I don’t remember. I hated her then. I thought if she had listened to me, Emily Bear would not have been burnt along with the house.

“There was a nurse who was so kind to me. I can remember wishing that she was my mum. She bought me a small bear and said the bear had a new body but inside it was all Emily, all I had to do was give her enough love and I would see for myself.” Juliet exhales and looks at Aaman. He senses she is nervous with this disclosure.

Aaman sits quietly. He is gathering words in English. He begins by stroking her scarred arm. But the words do not come. Juliet waits. They stand in unison and begin a slow walk, kicking small pieces of gravel. They pass a pomegranate tree and Aaman picks a flower and hands it to Juliet. She twirls it between her fingers. She looks back to where they had been sitting, her candle left behind extinguished. In a few yards they reach a bench. Aaman sits down and Juliet follows, putting the flower on the bench next to her.

“I know fire too, but not like you. When I was eight, I was given a chance to see if I was any good to get a job at the factory where my brother worked.” Aaman says, the picture still vivid in his mind’s eye.

"You give me four days work and we’ll see if you are cut out for working here.” The man said, “If you are, I’ll hire you and pay you. If you’re not, best go home and work in the fields.”

“You will see. You will hire me.” Aaman stood as tall as he could for eight years of age. His parents would be so proud of him when he came home with a job at the factory where his brother worked.

Four days, he worked at the back of the factory where paper and cotton was stored - rolls and rolls of them. His brother usually worked in the printing room but for these trial days he worked in the storage rooms with Aaman. On the fifth day, excitement ran through Aaman. This was the day he felt sure he would have a position with the factory, a proper job.

His brother was called to take some cotton pieces up to the laminating room. He pulled Aaman to one side. “You take the cotton pieces up, it will look good for you.”

The cotton was heavy and it took a long time. He walked slowly on his return journey, savouring his free run of the factory. It made him feel important. He smiled at the people he met, proud to work there. When he got back to the storage yard, he ambled up to the door of the storage room and everything looked normal. But as he neared the door, something felt amiss. He put his hand out to open the door, and a wave of adrenaline pumped through him. He swung the door open. At first it didn’t make sense. There were orange tufts on the rolls on the top of the stacks. His brother was pulling these rolls off the stack and hitting them with his jacket. It was fire. Aaman’s body flexed rigid. His feet anchored to the spot. His jaw hung slackly. The smoke was filling the room. Aaman stared. His brother left the rolls, the orange tufts flicking towards the ceiling. He disappeared into the smoke. Aaman wanted to follow him but nothing would move. He stopped breathing. A shape came out of the smoke. His brother all but carried one of the old workers. A fleeting thought of how big and strong his brother was drew in a breath to expand his chest. Giaan carried the old man past Aaman and put him on the ground outside.

“Stay outside,” he barked as he passed Aaman. He went back in, and Aaman followed. He felt scared; he wanted to be by his brother. But no sooner had they entered the building than Giaan ran. He ran between the burning rolls, coughing and shouting to the men to get out. He came back with another old man whom he put outside. As he passed Aaman, he shouted “Get help!”

The blaze had really taken hold now, and the room grew dark and hot. Aaman hesitated before beginning to pivot on his heels when a stack of cotton rolls tumbled. They were very heavy. Clouds of dust mingled with smoke. A draft of singeing hot air hit Aaman in the face. He tried to clear the air with his hand. The rolls had landed where his brother had stood. As the dust settled, he could see his brother under the rolls trying to push them off. Aaman took a step towards him but the second step never came as he knew he was too small to lift the rolls. He stood there in horror. Giaan was waving at him, but Aaman’s ears would not open. He shouted again. “Get help! Run!” But Aaman’s legs would not move. All he could see was his brother’s eyes and his strength not helping him.

Then he was released and he ran screaming for aid. The old men were still coughing outside, and he ran manically calling everyone to come, to help. People began to stream out of their work units. First in curiosity and then in urgency. Aaman ran. Aaman shouted. The whole factory swarmed to the out buildings, the bigger men pushing to the front. Aaman ran and ran to every part of the factory he knew screaming for aid. Until finally there was nowhere else to run.

His legs could not move him fast enough to get back to his brother. His lungs cut like knives in their bid for oxygen. As he neared the store room, his legs began to wobble. He forced them forward, his feet twisting over onto his ankle. The door to the storeroom was open. Everything inside was fire. There was no life.

Juliet has stopped crying and finds that she is stroking Aaman’s arm. Aaman looks up from his lap where he has been staring in the telling of his tale. His eyes shine with tears, and the candle flutters between them. They sit in silence. Understood and understanding.

Juliet is the first to move, shifting her weight. They stand in unison, slowly. The village streets have hushed. Noise and laughter and light come in streaks from the shuttered houses. Aaman and Juliet walk in silence, snatches of conversation coming with each house they pass.

When they reach the lane, Aaman steps away. They stand opposite each other. The mutual understanding belied by the social distancing, the rigidity of conformity. There is a need for something to be said. But neither can find the words. The minutes of struggle themselves become the words that wished to be spoken, the understanding made explicit in the time taken trying to search for them. The tension releases. They both give a little, quiet laugh. Juliet turns to go.