Single-colour blue ink pineapple tattoo with sketchy outlines and shading on the forearm of a person in a patterned outfit.

Pineapple tattoo on a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A pineapple with a textured, cross-hatched body and a spiky crown of leaves is drawn in blue ink on the inner forearm. The linework is loose and sketchy, with soft shading across the fruit. The tattoo sits small against bare skin, with a patterned top and skirt and a blurred street behind.

Forearm Pineapple Fruit Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gardener's boy swore on his mother that the pineapple had been stolen, though Abel Crane had seen the rind himself, scored in neat diamonds like a cheapjack's pastry, and knew better than to ask where a hothouse fruit went missing in February. Stolen or not, it was his now. He had paid the boy four shillings and a jug of gin, and the thing sat on the trestle at the Piazza end of the market, crowned in spiky leaves that caught the lamplight like the tips of a dragoon's plumes.

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By seven the crowd had come. A widow in mourning black wanted it for her husband's wake, a clerk wanted it for his employer's dinner, and a lady's maid offered three shillings with a look that said she would not offer again. Abel wrapped none of them. He kept saying a guinea, and watched the prices climb and fall like a tide he had no intention of drowning in.

Near ten, a wet-cheeked girl from the bakehouse came to the stall with nothing but a farthing and her brother's cap. Abel took the farthing, took his knife to the fruit, and cut it into slices that dripped gold onto the cobbles. He handed a wedge to her, one to the boy, one to the widow, who wept into hers, and one to himself, and the market went sweet and sticky around them until only the crown was left.

He planted the crown that night in a chipped pot on the sill above his shop, where the gas lamp could reach it. By March green blades were shouldering out of the soil, and the people who passed beneath them said Abel Crane had grown a pineapple on the Strand, which was a lie, and the truest thing anyone said about him that year.