The Peacock Feather

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The Peacock Feather

If Saint ever had a first name, he mislaid it long ago. Despite the intense summer heat, he wore a baseball cap and a fleece top. Every exposed piece of skin bore crude, amateur tattoos – stars and crosses on his hands and wrists. His turquoise blue eyes wept permanent tears. The walls of his shop were plastered with photographs, designs and newspaper cuttings praising his exceptional skill. He left her alone in the front of the shop as he went to make a template from her design. She scoured the walls to see whether a similar design was there but it was not. She had wanted a tattoo for years but was frightened of the pain. It had also taken her years to decide on the right symbol.

The peacock feather is imbued with mystical layers. On the face of it a sign of male vanity, and sexual prowess, it has come to symbolize beauty and fidelity. In alchemy it represents a period of transition, self-knowledge and harmony. Most importantly it is a sign of protection, a shield for the psychic self.

Saint returned and took her through to a small back room with an alarming array of needles and inks. It was close and humid. There was paperwork and a consent form to be signed. She sat, hunched over, on an unforgiving stool. He carefully positioned the template centrally over her upper spine, and traced the outline with a surgical skin pen. Then, silently, he started his art. The pain was exquisite, especially as the needle passed over the spine. It felt as though the outline was being traced with a scalpel. She felt a trickle down her back, sweat? Blood?

It started with a buzzing in her ears, then the falling veil of grey that accompanies a faint. She asked him to stop, accepted a paper cup of cold water and sat for a while on the scarred lino. Saint offered to defer the colouring to another day, but she wanted to go through with it. She concentrated on the pain to make the faint feeling go away.

After 40 minutes it was over. He took her money with his painted hand.

The chemotherapy had taken away every hair on her body. Each day she would step from the shower, examine her reflection, and sorrow at her utter nakedness. It had also taken away fear. However, it could not take away her pride, or dignity.

Now, thanks to Saint, she would never feel truly naked again.