In the storage depot, Giulia signs a receipt indicating that she has taken charge of the merchandise. The package is there in front of her, scarcely any bigger than a suitcase. With trembling hands, she takes a cutter and slits it open along one side. The first strands of hair appear. Delicately, she takes hold of a strand: long, very long, jet-black hair. A woman’s hair, unquestionably, incredibly thick and sleek. And another strand, just beside it, not quite as long, and as soft as silk or velvet. A child’s hair, by the feel of it. The batch was bought a month ago, at the temple in Tirupati, her contact told her: the busiest temple complex of any religion, anywhere in the world, busier than Mecca, or the Vatican. Giulia had been impressed. Suddenly, she thinks of all the men and women she doesn’t know and will never meet, who come to give the gift of their hair. Their offering is a gift from God, she thinks. She wants to take them in her arms and thank them. They will never know where their hair has been taken to, its extraordinary journey, its odyssey. But the journey is just beginning. One day, someone, somewhere in the world, will wear the strands that her workers have disentangled, washed and treated. That person will have no inkling of the struggles involved. She will wear this hair, and perhaps it will be her pride and joy, just as it is for Giulia, here today. With that thought, she smiles.

With Kamal’s hand in hers, she has found her place in the world. Her father’s workshop is saved. He can rest in peace. Their children will carry on the line, one day. She will teach them the trade and show them the roads she had ridden with Papà, on his Vespa.

Sometimes, the dream returns. Giulia is no longer nine years old. Her father’s Vespa will never come back, but she knows now that the future is full of promise.

Now, the future is hers.

Sarah

Montreal, Canada

Sarah walks through the snowy streets. In the Arctic freeze of early February, she blesses the winter weather: it is her alibi. Thanks to the cold, her woolly hat blends with the crowd of passers-by, each covered up like her. She sees a group of schoolchildren holding one another by the hand. One little girl wears a hat exactly like hers. They catch one another’s eye and grin.