The Illegal Gardener (The Greek Village Series Book 1)

by Sara Alexi

  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.”

  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.

  Chapter 17

  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.”

  “I am sure if I was in your country in the same situation, you would do the same for me.”

  “Of course, I would love to be able to repay you one day. I hope you will come to our village.” Aaman stutters over the last few words as he thinks of the basic facilities he has. How little he could offer Juliet, whilst she offers luxury. “We don’t have much, but you would be welcome to all we have.”

  Juliet can picture the degree of kindness and consideration she would be offered by Aaman and his family. She blushes at the memory of how she treated Aaman when she first had him work for her. She feels sure that Aaman’s family would not have to wait to get to know her to offer kindness or to be asked for water on a hot day. Juliet turns away with these thoughts then turns back and looks at him directly.

  “Thank you. Breakfast?”

  They take their toast and marmalade, which Aaman appears to like very much despite its orange origins, out to the back garden. The trees are stretching now their roots are in soil and have lost their plastic boots. The grass is growing but the vines are still propped on the poles that Aaman put them on to protect them when he was clearing the land. The pomegranates are fattening and tinged with red. Juliet takes a big bite of toast and studies the garden.

  “I think,” breadcrumbs held in by skill and practice, “we should think about putting up a pergola to support the vines. They have been very patient.” She swallows. “But,” she adds as she feels Aaman energising himself next to her, “I think we should do that in a day or two. Let your body recover from your ordeals. Regular meals and good sleep for a while first.”

  “I ate twice yesterday, I am having breakfast now, and I have slept like a prince for ten hours. I am ready to build a pergola!”

  Juliet hears the enthusiasm in his voice and recalls that he is probably a bit younger than she is.

  “How old are you, Aaman?”

  “Thirty-two, I think. Yes, thirty-two.”

  Juliet scans his face. He has boyish looks but with an age of experience that shows through. At a glance, he looks younger than his age, but she had presumed he was older, a good few years older. A quick sum tells her he is sixteen years younger than she is. She swallows, her throat feeling curiously tight. She looks younger than forty-eight, but the reality knocks her. She feels ashamed of her feelings. A predator.

  They both look up as they see the mother cat carrying one of her babies across the lawn to the woodpile. She glances furtively around as she steals back for another one. She completes her task, all four moved. She stands protective in front of the hollow in which she has placed them. Her babies. She dashes madly across the lawn, glances sideways at Juliet and Aaman as she sidles in through the back door and into the kitchen. They hear the sound of crunching cat biscuits before she dashes back to
her vulnerable young.

  Aaman laughs.

  “More coffee?” Juliet asks. They continue their plans for the pergola. Aaman says he can use some of the old beams that lie against the wall at the back of the house that were there when Juliet bought the place. He says some are rotten, but some are good. Juliet asks if he will need help. He says if he prepares everything, she could give him a hand when it comes to putting the uprights in if she wants. It is agreed. Juliet says she will work from her desk in her bedroom with the window open and he can call her when he needs her.

  Aaman insists on washing and putting away the pots and breakfast things. Juliet settles at her desk. The garden lies before her through the window. A bird lands on top of one of the vines, but flies off when Aaman comes out. Juliet turns to her work.

  Aaman takes his time to lay out where the uprights should stand. He places markers and then wanders around the garden and along the back of the house to see how his placements will alter or improve the view if that is their final resting place. Once happy, he digs the first holes. After a couple of shovels of dirt have been removed, he takes hold of the pickaxe.

  Juliet looks up at the change in noise as the pickaxe drives into the deep compact soil. Aaman, sweating, has taken his shirt off. His skin has a sheen like gold. He is lithe to the point of thin, but his skin has a depth, a firmness that softens the edges of his muscles as they tense and release in his work. His hair falls like a mop, spiking into points. She presumes he has poured water over his head to stay cool.

  He lays down the pickaxe and shovels the loose earth out of the hole he has made. Different muscles come into play. He stops and rolls his jeans up to the knee. His calf muscles flex with the movement. Juliet tries to concentrate on her work, but Aaman corrupts her interest. He shovels in another area now, digging deep, muscles taut. He strides over to the sand and cement Juliet has had delivered. He scoops a spade or two of cement and several spades of sand into the wheelbarrow and turns on the hose. It snakes across his feet. He introduces it to the sand and cement and mixes, turning it over with his shovel. He is careful in his movements, avoiding splashes.