Small black outline of an aeroplane tattooed on the ankle of a person wearing cork-soled sandals, in a fine line style.

Small airplane outline on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small outline of an aeroplane in dark ink sits on the side of the ankle, angled diagonally upwards. The linework is thin and even, with no shading or fill. The bare leg and sandals are set against a yellow wall and a paved pavement.

Fine line Ankle Airplane Aeroplane

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The guard at Lesk bridge stamped every passport twice, once for the paper and once for the person, and he did not trust anyone who arrived with less luggage than worry. So when Ilka Brandt came across the river on a grey Tuesday carrying only a shoebox, Anton Reil kept her in the booth long enough to drink two cups of tea and let the rain stop.

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The box was full of drawings. Her brother Pavel had drawn aeroplanes on the backs of seed catalogues and cigarette papers, small and sharp, each one angled up toward the hills as if it meant to leave the page. The village on the far side said a thing that climbs the pass cannot be stopped at any border, because it never touches the ground long enough to be counted. Pavel had believed it. He had gone up the pass in March and not come down, and Ilka had come to find out whether the drawings were a map or only paper.

Anton turned them over one at a time. He found no contraband and no lies in them, only a bird with thin, even lines and nothing inside it, going nowhere he could name. He stamped her form, stamped it again, and gave it back without a word about the weather.

The next morning, when the wind came through the open door of the booth, a drawing lifted off the desk where Anton had left it. It rose over the sandbags and the striped barrier, turned once above the river, and climbed slowly toward the pass. Ilka watched it from the bridge until it was too small to tell from a gull, and Anton, still holding his pen, drew a second one on the back of his log.