Sara Alexi - The Illegal Gardener

Aaman is waiting, sitting silently and still, his hands tapped between his knees. He is looking at his feet, his new shoes. Juliet thinks he looks like a small boy and realises how unhappy that would make him. She becomes aware of how little he is but also aware of how life treats him as if he is so small he is unable to decide for himself.

“Would you like to start back on your programming today?”

“I am so grateful for your kindness. I did not come back to be bought shoes and offered such generosity. I came back to tell you that I had not left from my own free will. That I did not take your kindness for granted. That I valued your kindness to me.”

“I am grateful to you too.” Juliet couldn’t add anymore on to the statement. She did have gratitude towards Aaman, but could not explain, even to herself, why exactly. She wants to hold him. She feels safe. She pats his arm, lingering.

Aaman gets back into his studying that day. Juliet looks at his form sitting at the table. His straight fringe hangs from his forehead as he bends over the keys. His small hands move quickly over the keyboard. His back curves just enough to soften his silhouette. His shape pleases her. She wishes she could draw as she would like to study him hour upon hour. She makes him a coffee and places it by his work, resting a hand on his back as she sets it down. Aaman turns his face towards her, eyes on her mouth. He murmurs, “Thank you” before a thought that passes behind his eyes causes him to turn back to the computer and frantically type.

Aaman finds he has not forgotten where he was with his studies. It flows and feels natural. He hadn’t realised he had made such progress.

The day slips by. Juliet visits the kittens every few hours, just for a peek. Aaman doesn’t move from his position. The evening draws in, and Juliet thinks about opening a bottle of wine but then thinks that perhaps she would be better having something to eat.

“Do you fancy going out to eat, Aaman?”

“Out? You mean a taverna? No, thank you, but if it is time for me to go then I will go.”

Juliet steadies herself with the kitchen table.

“No! You mustn’t leave. I mean, I am not suggesting you leave, just that I am getting hungry…”

Aaman cooks and they eat on the patio. The salt is passed with fingers that dwell. Aaman tells of his journey, his slice of police shortcuts. Juliet tells her tale of the chase, her slice of people’s shortcuts. Aaman speaks of his physical discomfort as if it was an experiment, it mattered little to him. Juliet spoke of the mental frustration, speaking as if it was a personal vendetta. They both listen more than they speak.

After dinner, Juliet tells her story of visiting his barn, but does not mention seeing the carving of her name.

“Aaman, you cannot go back there.”

“It is safe now, they think it is gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went back before I came here. It has been destroyed. They think it is no longer livable, so it is safe.”

“It is not habitable. The boards are hard, there is nowhere to sit. You cannot go back there. You must stay here.”

“That I cannot do.”

“You must.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

Aaman gives her a long stare. Juliet crosses her legs and leans away from him. She cannot return his stare.

“Look, have you anywhere to stay?”

“Yes, the barn.”

“Apart from the barn. I mean, if I was in the police I would go back there after a month. It’s an obvious place to go. Everyone thinks it’s safe so they go back, so it is an obvious easy raid. So, no, no barn. Anywhere else?”

“No.”

“So, to keep you safe you need to be somewhere legal. Can you afford anywhere legal?”

“Yes.”

“And then how much would you save?”

“Nothing.”

“So here is my thinking. If you are going to go back with enough money for your harvester, then you need to stay somewhere cheap or free. I have a spare room. You work here all day, you study at night. It will save time and effort if you stay.”

“How is this possible?”

“OK, you once said to me that you wanted the job of working inside my house as well as outside. You used the term house boy. This will also make it possible for you to get a blue card, a work permit, maybe even a passport. It could make you legal.”

Juliet explains the details she found out at the Pakistani Embassy. Aaman sits attentive. He leans forward in his chair, resting on the table, his crossed hands a finger length from hers, his little finger extended. It could be a reflex. Juliet extends her finger in response, the tips of their fingers touch. Aaman looks into Juliet’s face, his eyebrows raised in the middle.

“Thank you, Juliet. I can see it is logical. I would like to accept. Please tell me my duties.”

“You are talking to me like I am a stranger.”

“It is better if we are clear.” His eyebrows still arched, he turns his hands palm upwards on the table.

“Well, still do the garden. I would love it if you would prepare the meals, and if you could just help a little round the house, keeping it tidy and a bit cleaner perhaps. A bit of painting occasionally? But you are my friend, Aaman, and no amount of duties or rules will alter that.” She puts her hand on top of his. His lies limp, he does not respond. Juliet retracts hers. He smiles softly at her and draws his hand to his lap. Juliet smiles in return and withdraws her own hands.

“The guest room is yours.” Juliet stands and goes inside and returns and places a key on the table in front of Aaman.

Aaman dreams he is on a soft plank in the barn. The shelf bends in the middle and gives way to his weight as he turns. Surfacing slowly, eyes still held shut by involuntary muscles, he waits for harsh reality to return. He turns onto his back, the illusion of softness still there; he slides his hands to stretch above his head. Surprised, he stretches upwards only to be hindered by a puffy softness under his head. Consciousness comes rapidly. Aaman opens his eyes. The ceiling is beamed but in rich, honey-coloured pine timbers, not gnarled, dark-stained walnut with missing tiles.

A smile sparkles in his eyes and his hands slide over the pillow to complete his stretch. Feeling every inch of his body against the smooth cotton sheets, he twists and contorts, awakening the muscles in his back. His feet feel heavy, and he looks down to see the male cat sitting on his ankles. His smile turns into a chuckle. He lies back, hands under his head, and stares at the ceiling, planning a future. Eventually he is called to the bathroom; he slips to the floor and pulls on the jeans. He feels the need to get underwear now he is staying in the house, but this is something he will not discuss with Juliet.

The door opens with a pleasant squeak. Aaman looks at the hinge and makes a mental note to find some oil. He has a full-time job now and he must look out for all the things that need attention. He pads to the bathroom and taps gently. The door opens on his tap; it is empty. Aaman makes sure the toilet is clean and the lid is down before he washes his hands thoroughly. He hesitates to wipe his hands on the towel on the rail as it will be Juliet’s. He shakes his hands and leaves the bathroom wiping them on his jeans. He looks up to see, across the sitting room, Juliet in the kitchen. She looks over to him, with a spoonful of coffee paused over the jug. Aaman becomes aware of his shirtless torso and scuttles to his bedroom. He comes out again wishing her a good morning as he pulls on his oversized t-shirt. The neck wide enough to expose one shoulder, he hitches it up.

“How are you feeling?”

“Very excellent indeed! I thought I was waking in the barn, but then I felt the softness of the bed. It is truly wonderful this kindness you show to me.”