After Wolf woke up, Penguin headed into the village to get the doctor. When they returned, the doctor brought a machine to help get a clear picture of Wolf’s condition.
“There’s no internal bleeding, and his pulse is fine,” the doctor announced, “We just have to be careful of complications. Are you the one who treated him, Law?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“It’s perfect work. Perfect. I always knew you had prodigious talent, but this confirms it.”
“Well, thanks,” I said, feeling self-conscious about it. I still wasn’t accustomed to being praised by others.
The doctor estimated that Wolf would need two months for a full recovery. I would have liked to stay and keep an eye on him the whole time, but that wasn’t an option, as I felt that I was needed at my job. The doctor said I could have the time off work, but I chose to monitor Wolf’s condition for just a week before resuming my work at the clinic.
However, we didn’t want to leave him alone, so we all adjusted our work schedules to make sure at least one person was home to watch over Wolf every day.
“I’m all better now! Stop worrying about me and go do your jobs!” he raged, as I expected he would, but we ignored him. If a complication suddenly arose and no one was around to help, the results could be disastrous. So we kept watch over the old man and maintained our daily schedules.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Hey, you’re that kid at Wolf’s place,” someone called out to me one day in town.
“And you’re the tattoo artist, aren’t you?” I asked, recognizing the man’s face.
“I heard he got hurt real bad. How’s he doing?” the tattoo artist asked.
“His wounds are almost totally healed, but he’s not quite up on his feet yet,” I explained. “He sure does have a healthy appetite, though.”
“Ah, I see. Well, that’s good. The doctor at the clinic said you’re the one who operated on him. That’s impressive.”
“It’s not that special. I had no choice but to do it. We didn’t have time to carry him into town.”
“Ha! Hey, don’t be so modest!” he laughed.
Just then a thought popped into my head. “Hey, tattoo artist.”
“Hmm? What’s up?”
“Would you be available to give me a tattoo right now?”
“Yeah, I could do that. But are you sure you don’t need Wolf’s permission?”
“Mmm…nah,” I reassured him. “It’ll be fine.”
The truth was, I’d always had a fascination with tattoos. The idea of engraving something on your body just seemed cool to me.
“Okay then! I’m gonna give you a sick tattoo. You’re going to love it,” the man said with pride. He showed me to his parlor—the interior of which was decorated completely in black and white—and sat me down on a plush chair.
“What do you want? You gotta decide what kind of tattoo and where it goes,” he instructed.
I could think of plenty of designs, like brilliantly colored flowers, or cool swords and guns. But I didn’t choose any of those. I had something else in mind.
“I want you to spell out DEATH on my fingers. One letter for each finger, on both hands,” I said, without hesitation.
“Death?! You really want that?” The man was incredulous. “Why would a doctor want that tattooed on their fingers?”
“Actually, I want that tattoo because I’m a doctor.”
“Huh? I don’t get it. But if that’s what you want, sure thing.” The tattoo artist happily put his needle to my hands and got to work on my request. The needle pricking my skin did hurt a bit, but it was nothing I couldn’t deal with.
D-E-A-T-H. He put the letters on both hands, one per finger.
“There we go, all done! What do you think?”
“I like it. Thanks,” I said.
“No problem, man. Send my best wishes to old Wolf!” he said.
I left the shop, staring at the lettering on my hands. The reason for my choice wasn’t that profound. I wanted it because as a doctor, I always wanted to remind myself that death was close at hand. I wanted to know at all times that I had the power to keep people alive, to keep those I cared about from dying. It was important to me to remember that the lives and deaths of those I was working with were in my hands.
Doesn’t look too bad, if I do say so myself.
When I got back home, the first thing I did was show off my tattoos.
“Those are awesome!” said Shachi.
“Holy crap!” Penguin exclaimed.
“Really nice!” Bepo agreed.
They all loved my tattoos.
“Did it hurt when you got them?” Shachi asked.
“Yeah, it hurt like hell. I don’t think you guys could handle the pain,” I teased them.
I considered showing off the tattoos to the old man when I brought him dinner later, but I figured he’d probably yell at me, so I chose not to. The last thing I needed when he was almost fully recovered was to have him get all worked up and yap my ear off.