The Ink Beneath
Charles Anderson
Copyright 2012 by Charles Anderson
Smashwords Edition
Not all skin was meant to hold the ink beneath.
It didn’t matter to Isaac which skin was brought before him because his needles could pierce it all the same.
“Why would such a pretty girl cut off all of her hair?” he asked. The girl in front of him whose hair was no longer than the shaved heads of prisoners he had known so long ago.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Why do you want a tattoo?” he asked knowing some tattoos brought up memories of his own past.
“Because they are cool. All my friends...”
There would be a time when his old store front would pass with him and so would Isaac’s only tattoo.
“Where’s your own ink?” she asked as she admired her new tattoo.
“I only have one tattoo,” said Isaac.
“Is it a work of art like mine?”
“No, there were no artists at Auschwitz,” said Isaac showing her his own forearm.
The girl stared at Isaac’s tattoo, and for a moment, he thought she might’ve understood. He had been a prisoner, a slave that should’ve died.
Isaac knew there might be a time when this young woman might grow tired of her tattoo and might want it removed, but he also knew he had the skin of a survivor and meant his skin should hold this ink for the rest of his life.
But he didn’t know how to make this art, this labor, until after he had left the camp where he had been forced to mark so many who didn’t want the tattoos he gave them. He had learned a hard lesson, and as an old man, he knew not all skin should hold the ink beneath it.
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