Tattoo

Written by: Delfina C

That first morning of December, I was cooking lunch while my daughter played with her dolls close to the kitchen door. I checked on her every time the little bell from the timer made a “ding” for me to turn the meat over and pour sauce over it.

Her laugh and the many conversations she had with herself and the dolls always took me back to the time before she arrived. Me and my sister, building our rag dolls with mom, and making them live all the adventures we couldn’t. I remember how many times we would hide with them under the cart where they stored the fruit crates and pretend they were flying while the whole group advanced to the next location. All sweet memories that now my daughter’s laugh would bring back. Smiling about those days seems so crazy sometimes but I couldn't help myself. Even if the dangers hunted us everywhere we went we still had some good moments to just enjoy being invisible to the world.  

I turned the stove off to let the meat finish cooking with the remaining heat while I set the table. I had managed to save a couple of mom’s green plates, they looked as pretty as the day she got them. A sweet gift from my dad that she always treasured. Two of them were only for us two, the rest for when my baby got a family of her own. Everything else was just enough. Just a week before I had gotten my hands on two purple glasses from an underground seller, old but beautiful pieces that could last even longer if well taken care of.  

I picked my baby up and sat her in one of the chairs. Her dark bed hair still, holding a strong form. I kissed her cheek laughing while she told me the latest game of her favourite doll, such an interesting life that one had, always getting into a new exciting adventure and taking my daughter into a new world far away from our tiny apartment. I grabbed our lunch from the oven and smelled the mixture of condiments gracefully dancing in the air, generations of learning the perfect combination finally coming together in a dish. Cutting it was so easy I could have done it with a spoon and a bit of friction, but for mom’s plates it had to be a perfect cut. 

All in place I took both plates back to the table. My baby’s eyes shined with happiness as she saw her favourite dish grace the table. Smiling, I stood behind her and grabbed from my apron’s pocket the tiny wood brush we both liked to use and got to work with that rebellious mat of hair. She continued telling me her stories and enjoying her meal. Every piece I managed to get in place was another improvement for me. Learning from memory all the ways to treat our hair wasn’t easy, but I made it work.  

Once she was done I took her in front of our TV, after a bit of fighting with the antennas the kids show appeared from a bunch of static, once it settled she was smiling and singing along with the characters. I went back into the kitchen so I could have my lunch. The taste brought even more memories back. My dad’s specialty on those days we got to eat meat. Everyone sharing the walk joined the table with something of their own but everyone was waiting for the main course to arrive. I always hoped that the one I made tasted well enough for him to praise me over it. Maybe it was, maybe one day he can tell me.  

Suddenly something interrupted my meal, the sound of the trumpets welcoming the leader into our tvs. I quickly went back to my daughter and told her to go to the bathroom and get the bath started. She left dragging her feet and I sat in front of the tv.  

The image of the leader appeared in front of me. The quality of the image was so good I could count how many hairs his eyebrows had. He started the announcements as usual, a bit of discourse about their great nation and what it meant to him being able to keep everyone safe. My hands firmly pressed on my skirt started sweating as soon as he let go of the papers he was holding and looked directly at the camera. 

“Once again…” he started “tragedy hits us closer than ever when a group of bare wrists got to cross over our security border” he had a sad look on his face, a look that made me shiver in anguish. “I came here today to assure all our fellow citizens that the invaders are no longer a threat to those who live in the vicinity or anywhere else in our territory. Also to extend my deepest apologies to each one of you. The security of my fellow tattooed is our top priority here and we assure everyone that heavier police enforcement will go into the border to make sure this does not repeat again. The next census will also include the verification of paperwork and biocode of every single tattoo excluding from the last one, as always, newborns and children under the age of 5. I also would like to thank our police force that was able to neutralize this threat and keep each member of our community safe from danger. Now-”  

I turned off the TV feeling my eyes burn. “A threat?” Just for nor having a tattoo, were we less than anyone else? My thoughts traveled back to the last meeting with my broker. He warned me that even if they could keep me hidden for a while the census was difficult to evade. Now it was impossible. No one was going to assume anymore that if you had a house you had a tattoo too. A light trembling got a hold of my legs as I hugged myself to not panic. I still had a month until the census. The money they asked for was all in my safe. I wanted to wait until next week to get everything in order but that wasn’t an option anymore. I needed this done as soon as possible. All fear, the sleepless nights, the underground working, all of it would’ve been for nothing. I took a deep breath as I repeated in my head my mother’s words “Always be calm, even when you’re cowering in fear. The moment you lose it is the moment you die”. She was always so right. Even if back then she wasn’t able to follow her own advice I promised myself I wouldn’t leave my baby alone and stand strong for both our sakes.  

After breathing a bit more and finally calming down I went into the bathroom. The next day was finally the time we both got the life we wanted. 

My heart sank as I saw how the roll of money I had carefully put together was returned from under the small plastic window. I stood frozen in place, looking at the fake glass with all the weight of the last few years heavy on my shoulders. I reached for the window trembling, there couldn’t be a human behind it, it must be a machine, a cold analytical machine that is incapable of seeing desperation and pain. 

-We came for the tattoo - I blurted out as calmed as possible -. There’s enough money there for two. Please take it. 

No answer. My mind started racing, I had followed every step, the contacts, the payments in advance, this just couldn’t be. My hand still on the window, I knocked once.  

-There’s enough there for two, I counted every single one.  

No answer again. I felt the sweat on my hands as I continued knocking. The few people that were entering the building that early took one look in my direction and scattered as far away as possible. I needed to breathe, “Be calm, be calm” the same mantra as always. A nervous laugh escaped from my throat. 

-I know we look a bit misaligned, but that’s only for the hurry to get here. I swear all the money is legitimate, please take it. 

That’s when the sound of the metal curtain invaded my brain covering the mantra, the window was closing on me. Everything became a spin, the air was suddenly heavier and disgusting. I started knocking faster, raising my voice as the curtain slowly descended on me.  

-Please! Please we came all the way here! They told me you could help us! That’s all the money I have! 

The whole place fell in a deep silence, only my voice and the mechanism of the curtain remained. One by one, the lights in the entrance became red, and now I couldn’t run. I kept on knocking, my hand turned to the side hitting desperately onto the window. A couple of seconds later the pain in my throat finally caught up with my brain. 

-PLEASE! PLEASE! I HAVE A CHILD WITH ME! WE HAVE NOWHERE TO GO! 

The curtain kept its way down. All the lights had finally turned red.  

I looked down to my daughter’s tiny hands holding onto my skirt as the sound of the black boots verged on the entrance. I could feel my heart pounding so hard against my chest, trying to escape as fast as my legs didn’t allow me right now. Once I turned to look at the window again there was a piece of paper in place of the money that had been rejected, with a message oddly scribbled into it: “Those who were born nowhere don’t deserve a tattoo”   

At that second all the shaking stopped, the sounds, the feels, even my baby’s screams were only whispers around me as they took us into custody. We were so close, all we needed was a tattoo, a small mark that showed we were just like everyone else, that we belonged.  

To be honest, I never knew where I was born, neither did my parents, we all grew up running from one place to another, begging anyone for an identity, a proof that we were humans.  

When I came back to my senses it was already too late, I was once again on the other side of that fence, but this time all alone. I kneeled in the dirt as tears fell down my cheeks. The scream I let out that night would leave me without a voice for a month and be heard on every bit of the border. All the pain, the anguish, the anger surrounded me heavier than ever.  

I never saw my baby after that day. There's not a single night I don’t think about entering that place one more time to go find her, protect her like I couldn’t that time and finally being with her in a place where danger was no longer a worry. However I know that that day might never come.