Small black script lettering tattooed along the ribs of a seated woman in a grey sleeveless top, with brass cuff bracelets on her wrists.

Fine script lettering along the ribs

Lettering · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A woman sits on a cream cushioned surface with a grey sleeveless top pulled aside to show her side and ribs. Two lines of thin black cursive script run horizontally along the ribcage, and the words are not fully legible at this size. The image is softly lit with a warm, blurred background, and the tattoo is in black ink only.

Lettering Ribs Script Handwritten text Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The third letter came wrapped in oilcloth, the way Ada's father had always wrapped things he meant to keep dry, and somebody at the Lerwick post office had already opened it and pressed it flat again with a thumb that smelled of tar. She read it standing at the kitchen sink with the tap running, because the tap was the only thing in the cottage that never stopped.

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"Many fine days in Bergen, and the herring are thick as lint," Eli had written in his square pencil hand. "Tell the gulls I have not forgotten their pay. I have sewn a pocket into my coat for the good luck stone you gave me, and it knocks against my ribs every time the boat lifts. Keep the lamp trimmed. Keep the kettle on. I will be home before the wrapping goes soft."

Ada dried her hands on her apron and looked at the calendar nailed beside the door. Eleven days since the last letter. Nine since the tide had come up over the slipway in the night and taken the rowing boat clean off its chains. She had written back to him about it in careful sentences, leaving out the part where she had waded out to her knees in the dark to see if it was still there.

That evening she climbed the lighthouse steps with the paraffin can and a fresh wick, counting them the way Eli used to, seventy-two, seventy-three. At the top the sea was the colour of pewter and a single ship was coming in on the last of the light. She lit the lamp, watched its beam sweep out over the water, and felt in her pocket for the pencil stub. On the oilcloth, in the margin of his letter, she wrote one line and folded it back into its wrapping: Come home by the low water.