The Illegal Gardener

Начало книги

Aaman forces his hands deeper into his pockets, pinning his arms to his sides for warmth. He tucks his chin to his chest and wonders if he will eat today. His toes curl for some relief from his pinching trainers. He closes his eyes and allows himself to drift for a moment, the bright moon not dispelling his need for sleep.

The grumble of a tractor jerks him awake. He looks up. The tractor hauls a flat back of crates, ready for the casual labourers to fill them. The tractor passes and Aaman’s head sinks to his chest again.

The flick of a light in the pharmacy shop lays a rug of orange across the road. There are muffled noises within, buried in the depths of tinctures and bandages. Aaman rocks onto his heels and back, snorting warm air down his jumper, the heat giving him a momentary sense of civilisation.

The baker and his wife, next to the pharmacy, begin their work before Aaman arrives in the morning. The strong smell of bread gives him a time check. The oven door opens at the same hour each morning so the day’s staple can be presented to the trickle of locals for breakfast. It will be an hour or so before the first of them appears.

Читать дальше →