Fine line black tattoo of an infinity symbol with a cross and the word faith in script with a small heart, on the inner wrist.

Infinity cross and faith script on wrist

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a fine line tattoo on the inner wrist, with the palm and fingers visible above it. An infinity loop wraps around a solid black cross on the left, and a continuous single line runs from the loop into the cursive word faith, with a small outlined heart above the i. The ink is black on a plain skin tone against a warm, blurred background, and the design sits centrally in the frame.

Fine line Lettering Other Infinity Cross Faith Heart Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are the one who keeps the log now, because Mr Pardoe's hand has started to shake and the ink runs when he tries to write the day. Three weeks off the Horn the wind has gone round and stayed round, and the Marigold has been turning in the same grey stretch of water like a dog settling on a rug. At noon you take the sun with the old brass sextant, work the figures on the slate by the binnacle, and every day the answer is the same. You write it anyway. Somebody has to.

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Pardoe watches you from his hammock with a tarnished cross on a cord tucked under his shirt. He says the sea is a loop the Almighty plays on men who have stopped praying properly. Then he asks you to take the pencil and draw the course home without lifting it from the paper. You try. The line runs out from Cape Pillar, bends back on itself, crosses its own track at the same place, and bends again. You laugh until he tells you to stop.

On the twenty-second day the cook comes aft with a bowl of burnt biscuit and says the swell has changed its mind. You go up, and the cloud has broken low in the west, a clean silver seam where the wind is coming. You do not look at the slate. You take the pencil from behind your ear and write faith in the margin of the log in small looping letters, and above the i you make a little heart, because Pardoe would have laughed at that and then pretended he hadn't.

By the forenoon the topsails are drawing and the wake runs straight as a ruled line behind us. You close the book and tuck it under your arm. Pardoe is on deck with his face to the wind, and for once he does not ask you for the figures.