Sara Alexi - The Illegal Gardener

Juliet, paralysed, her desire to hold him, melting at his touch, stands unmoving, smiling, mesmerised. He releases her fingers and breaks the spell, replaced by a calm that folds over them.

“Please come in, Aaman.” Her words are languid. She puts her hand on his shoulder and leads him to the house.

“Are you hungry?” His jumper feels dirty. She removes her hand to make a quick scan of his condition. His clothes are visibly dirty, and now she has noticed them, she becomes aware that he smells. They go into the kitchen. Juliet pulls out a wooden chair for him to sit on and begins to make him a sandwich.

“Actually, I wonder if you would like a bath? The water is hot and I think I can find something that might fit you.” She smiles at the memory of that last time she had offered him clothes.

“No, no, Juliet I am fine. I came to explain.”

“There is nothing to explain. I heard they had taken you. I tried to find you, I went to the Pakistani Embassy and several police stations but they seemed to have lost you. I presume they had deported you. I can’t believe you are here. What happened?” Juliet was expecting the excitement to fuddle her words, her thought, but instead there is profound tranquillity about her, as if she had the rest of her life to find out Aaman’s tale.

“You went to the embassy to find me?” His mouth is open, he processes the information. She is still looking at him, enquiring. “They let me go. I had twenty-four hours to become legal or leave the country.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will be an illegal immigrant all over again!” He is smiling as broadly as Juliet has ever seen. She laughs, the final tension relaxing.

“It is so good to have you back.” And before she can think, she hugs Aaman, they hold on a little longer, he breathes in, his nose in her hair, she feels the tension in his muscles. She pulls away, embarrassed by her feelings, unsure of their reciprocation.

“I insist you have a bath. If you have been in a detention centre, I imagine you will need one. I will be happy to wash your clothes. I can find you something to wear.” She opens a trunk by the bathroom and brings out a thick, fluffy, cream towel, which she hands to Aaman. He hesitates to take it, it is so clean. Juliet pushes it into his hands as she passes him to run the bath.

Juliet returns to find Aaman has taken his jacket and his t-shirt off. His chest is hairless. Juliet averts her gaze and leaves the room to look for some spare clothes in her bedroom. Once in her own room, she sits on the bed and reminds herself that she is a grown woman as she waits for her pulse to subside.

She finds the pair of unisex jeans she offered him before and, taking a needle and thread from her desk, sits and stitches the hole. Away from his company, her thoughts launch a deluge on her tranquillity, why had he returned, was he here to stay, would she be in trouble for harbouring an illegal immigrant if she knew he was illegal, could she legalise him? Halfway through the sewing, she can no longer ignore her unease. She puts down the sewing and returns to the sitting room for the telephone. She can hear Aaman splashing in the bath.

Having dialled, Juliet tucks the telephone under her ear against her shoulder and returns to her bedroom, closes the door and picks up the sewing.

“Michelle?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Aaman’s back.”

“Fantastic! How?”

“They just let him go, but listen, I feel out of my depth. I am not sure why I have rung, it’s just that…” Juliet snaps off the cotton and puts the trousers to one side on top of a t-shirt she has found.

“What, Juliet? It’s just that… what? And why did you say we are whispering?”

“No, I am being ridiculous. Sorry to bother you. Better go, bye, call you soon.” Juliet clicks the phone off and takes the trousers to outside the bathroom door.

“Aaman? I have left some clothes outside the door. I am going in the garden.” Juliet steps out the back door into the sunshine. The sky is clear, the air is thick, the warmth exaggerated by cicadas rasping. Beyond the orange groves, at the back of the house, the tickle of goat bells signal the herd’s return. Towards the village, a car door slams, and up by the hill a tractor fades away. But there is another sound. Juliet focuses. It is small but insistent. She tries to hone in on it. It stops. There it is again. She treads toward the wall.

“Juliet, thank you.” Aaman is rubbing his head with the towel. He looks revived, relaxed. The jeans fit but the t-shirt is baggy, his feet are bare.

“We better get you some shoes. Listen!” Juliet hears the noise again and pauses. Aaman hears something too, moves nearer the wall. Juliet hears it quite distinctly now. She lifts the ground-covering plant where the cats love to sit in the shade, and there is the cat’s friend with four blind kittens.

“Ahh, how cute.” Juliet reaches out to touch the small balls of fur. Aaman’s hand encloses on hers.

“No, don’t touch them. The mother may reject them if you do.” His hand releases its pressure but he does not let go. He looks from the cats to Juliet, arms abutting, her breath on his shoulder. Juliet thinks of Aaman’s dead child and Saabira.

“I wouldn’t want that.” She withdraws her hand and puts it in her pocket. “Come on,” Juliet breaks the bubble, “let’s go and get you some shoes.”

Aaman has not sat in Juliet’s car since the first day she employed him. It feels unsettling. In one world, he was handcuffed and in the back of a van, in another world he is in the front seat of a private car being taken to have the gift of shoes bestowed upon him. Grateful for the shoes, but impatient with his lack of power over his own life, Aaman sits with his knees neatly together and his hands loosely folded on top of his knees.

Juliet chats gaily as they pull out of the lane onto the road that leads to the village and on to the town. She talks about the replanting of the vegetable garden, and if it is too late. The sound of her voice to Aaman is like honey, it speaks of freedom and wealth, choice and power. It speaks of kindness and consideration, tenderness and love.

Aaman turns his gaze to look out of the window. There are two illegals in the square. Aaman can spot them immediately. They are new faces.

Past the kiosk, Aaman looks down the little side street where the old man sometimes tried to sell the illegals cups of coffee first thing in the morning. “Extra income for me, everyone’s happy!” he said. The road came and went in a second, but he sees, not a doubt, Mahmout sitting on the stool by the old man’s door. He opens the window for the breeze, wipes the sweat from his palms onto the jeans Juliet has given him, all stitched and ironed.

“So we will find some shoes, see if we come across a t-shirt that fits and pass by the nursery, OK?”

“You are very kind. But I must repay you.”

“When is your birthday?”

Aaman had to think when it is, where they are now.

“It has gone.”

“I’m sorry I missed it. I would like to buy you a belated present of a pair of shoes.”

“I would be very happy with some slip on sandals, in plastic if I can choose because they are better in water and mud.”

“Just going to pop in for cat food for our new mother. Anything you want?” Aaman shakes his head. He keeps a vigil as Juliet goes to the shop.

“Ah Tzuliet, isn’t it fantastic?”

Juliet feels thrown. It is fantastic to her that Aaman is back, but she is unable to see the connection with the shopkeeper.

“He has asked her and she has said yes! They are engaged. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Who? Oh! Yes, your daughter. I am so pleased for you and her.”

“She is divorced like you, so you see there is someone waiting for you right now, somewhere. Just the cat food? Eighty cents. Bye.”