 but I don't know if they realise how hard we work. For this month, all we do is feed the worms. I return the following week and tap on the front door before remembering I'm not meant to make noise. A boy lets me through the garage, miming to be quiet. We're not using the front door anymore. Not until the worms have gone, he explains. Inside, the lush green branches of mulberry leaves are withered and brown. The saltworms sit listlessly. They're at their last stage now and will never eat again.