Famiglia script on an ankle
Lettering · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo
A close side view of a foot and ankle in a cream patent high-heeled shoe, with the word Famiglia written in flowing script across the ankle. The lettering is drawn in dark, near-black ink with fairly thin, even strokes and a joined, cursive form. The background is a green patterned carpet and a dark cabinet, and the photo is taken at a slight angle.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The snow had shut the pass by four o'clock, and the innkeeper, a stooped man called Tullio, put a brass key in my hand and a ledger on the counter. “Sign for the room,” he said, “and see what the last guests wrote. Nobody has been up the mountain since Christmas.”
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The ledger smelled of damp wool. Most entries were names and car registrations, but on a page near the back, in violet ink gone brown, someone had written the same word three times down the margin in a looping, joined hand: famiglia. Beneath it were a sum of money, a list of train times, and a note: “Mamma says the stove will hold till morning. Don't let Franco carry the wood alone.” I wanted to know who Mamma had been.
I asked Tullio. He laughed, then went quiet, and told me that in 1961 a family of five had been stranded here for nine days, the parents sleeping in the dining room beside the stove while the children wrote lists on the walls. The walls had been painted over twice. The ledger was the only thing that remained.
By morning the snowplough was grinding up the road. I wrote my own name under theirs, then, after a moment, added the word in my own hand, leaning it the way they had, so the next stranded traveller would find a family waiting in the margin. Tullio read it over my shoulder, nodded, and took the key back.
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