Man in linen shirt with small forearm tattoos
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A man in a rolled-up white linen shirt and black trousers holds a straw hat at his side, with his face cropped out of frame. Several small black tattoos are visible on both forearms, including thin lines that resemble script and a small motif on the right arm. The shot is softly lit and framed against a textured pale stone wall, with the tattoos as secondary details.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The hook came up on the third morning of the blow, tangled in the grey line we had been mending since Lent. Nobody on the quay wanted to touch it, so I did, because I was the one who had taught Ivo to splice, and he had gone out on the Sveta Marija at four without his boots.
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Under the hook, knotted into the mesh, was a tin the size of a matchbox. Inside, folded small, was a strip of paper with a tide table copied out in pencil, and beneath it a line in the careful capitals the nuns used to teach at the school above the fish market. It said only: THE SEA TAKES ONE NET IN FIVE, MEND THE OTHERS. I read it three times before I understood it was Ivo's hand, which had never been careful at anything except knots.
I went down to the slipway with the tin in my apron pocket. Old Marin was there in his tarred hat, counting the boats in as they came round the breakwater, the way he had done every morning since his brother's boat failed to come back. He did not look at me. He held out his palm, and I put the tin in it. He turned it over under the grey light, then laughed, one short bark, because the stopper in the lid was the kind only Ivo's family ever used.
The Sveta Marija came round the point at noon with her sail patched in three colours and Ivo standing in the bow, bootless, waving a fistful of rope above his head. We pulled the nets that afternoon as if nothing had happened. I knotted the square with the hole in it the way the paper had told me, and I did not say a word to him about the tin.
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