Tattoos

Harry ducked under the door frame into the apartment and Katharine immediately noticed the scarring on his bare forearms; two symmetrical, swollen lines around the thicker part before each elbow. She let go a battered bowl and closed the short space between them, clasping Harry's wrists and halting him as the door crept closed. He swayed his dark head with exhaustion and avoided her gaze.
“What are these?” Katharine pleaded. The scars didn't look to her like the normal injuries earned after a day working in the depths of Labatouche's recycling plant. A jagged black line traced faintly underneath each wound.
Harry felt the determined, cold press of Katharine's fingers against his skin and looked down at her face, right inside her wide set blue eyes.
“Insurance.” Harry's voice was stiff with dust and work. Katharine pulled herself to him and wrapped her arms around his body, trying to reach around him and pull her face into his chest. He let them stand together for a silent moment, then moved toward a three legged stool; apart from their bed the only piece of furniture in their apartment. Katharine was a steel post that Harry had to lever out of his way.
In front of Harry's face the limp fabric of Katharine's t-shirt covered her stomach. He knew that under there her skin was porcelain smooth and he saw the gentle curves in his mind. Taking her arms in his sore hands he held her firmly, but the tears were already beginning to slip down her face.
“They make sure that not more or less is taken, than decided at time of contract.” Harry's voice was a cracked whisper.
“So who owns your hands? My hands?” Katharine quivered. Her flimsy clothing trembled. Harry could do no more than look back up at her, holding her. tighter in his grip.
“Or is it the rest of your body that they take?” Katharine's head cocked to one side, her tears plunged downward making dark splodges on the cardboard covering the floor.

Harry's new tattoos were unavoidable since he had no long sleeves to cover them up with, and over the days Katharine jealously watched them heal to form neat black rings that portioned his flesh. At the end of another week Harry leaned out of the small window of their apartment and looked down into the depths of the gap between Labatouche's building and the next one along, pondering over the tiny. orange lights that fluttered at the bottom of the chasm. At least she and Harry had a roof over their head, Katharine was often heard to say. Harry tucked his body back through the gap into their room and let his eyes drift over his wife. Her brown hair had a silvery blue shine under the fluorescent lights.
“Did you have luck today?” Harry asked gently, but Katharine could hear the hunger; he was always hungry. Katharine struggled to feed him sometimes.
“Some.” She held up a transparent bag of whitish powder.
“The Provider said we'll need to add some water to it, so I'm sorry if you're thirsty tonight.”
Harry looked closely at the bag Katharine held up and could see little flecks of blue running through the white dust. He rubbed unconsciously at the black ink on his arms.
“I also got these.” Katharine's face creased with hope as she held out to him a small hand. containing wrinkled berries of a deep red colour. She clutched them back to her chest as Harry picked her up and whirled her around the apartment, grinning at her squeals of mock protest.

When Harry next appeared through the door to their room he carried a small television in both hands and a grin across his face. Katharine stopped arranging cubes of a squishy grey substance and stood aghast at the machine which Harry set down on the small stool.
“Labatouche said we could have it for a week!” Harry exclaimed, a week becoming the longest time in the world.
“Labatouche himself?” Katharine watched Harry carefully as he stood with his hands on his hips, nodding vigorously.
“Yes!” Harry ignored her suspicion.
“Does it work?”
Harry stopped nodding and his excitement abandoned him, straight away Katharine regretted asking. Squatting down Harry took the power cord and plugged the machine into the wall socket. Peering around he found what he supposed was the power switch, held his breath, pressed the button in and sat back to wait. For a moment nothing happened, then on the screen a line appeared, which gradually developed into a smudgy black and white image of a man pointing at shapes on a wall chart. Katharine gasped and jumped to land next to Harry on the floor, her legs curled up underneath her. She pushed, pulled and twisted various controls but couldn't get any sound. They sat themselves down on their bed of packing crates and curled up within one another, watching the shapes drift over the screen long into the night.

Katharine watched Harry undress at the far end of the grey room near the shower cubicle, seeing his courses of muscle reflected in a small mirror she had bartered for recently and that she had arranged just for this purpose. She faced away from him and he didn't know that she could see him. Little clouds of dust exploded from his clothing as it was laid down; Harry was undressing for a rare wash. Katharine's own work allowed them to eat; she had visited the Provider and managed to claim a coarse flour which she was now kneading into a dough for a flat bread.
Drowsily watching Harry in the mirror Katharine rhythmically pushed at the dough. Fascinated with each knot of his muscle, she pushed at the dough harder and harder, revelling at the sight of him. When Harry dropped his trousers to his ankles he revealed a tattooed ring around each leg, at the top around the thigh just beneath his loins, Katharine gasped. The tattooed lines were just like the ones on his arms and Katharine hadn't seen them before.
Katharine began to cry quietly and pushed at the dough again. Harry was still unaware that she had been watching him and continued to flex and stretch himself as he wound down from the day, relishing the routine before his shower. As Katharine's tears fell into the dough, she wondered that she hadn't any salt to add to the bread.

Later after they had fed and Harry had washed they lay on the bed together, wrapped around each other. Katharine pushed her hand into Harry's trousers and put her hand onto the top of his leg where the new tattoos were. She felt his change as she touched him.
“Would you have told me about these?”
“No.” It was all Harry could do to whisper with Katharine's cool hand against the inside of his thigh.
“Stop.” His voice panicked and he tried to wriggle out from underneath her.
“What will they get us?” She gripped his leg painfully hard, digging her nails into his skin.
“This apartment for a year. Labatouche has signed an agreement.”
Katharine took this in then pulled herself on top of him, pressing down with her hands on his chest, keeping her arms straight, her dark hair sheathed her face in shadow above him.
With Katharine straddling his chest and squeezing with her legs Harry felt the breaths start to rush from him.

Katharine didn't know how to tell Harry that she was pregnant, about the morning she had woken up and knew his child was growing already. She kept it from him for as long as she could and instead managed it with the warmth of the other women she worked with. They had known instantly; from the colour of her skin they said. When Harry did find out, he stormed off and worked for nearly seventy two hours straight at the recycling plant, until he was dragged up the stairs by his co-workers after collapsing from exhaustion. For a long time he and Katharine worked their routine, pretending that nothing was different until the pregnancy was unavoidably visible. Towards the end of the term Harry disappeared for fourteen days and nights and Katharine wept through each one.
When he returned, Harry wore a long shirt and trousers carrying on his back a bag for the coming of the baby. Katharine was so distracted by the cloth and soap, an agreement for purified water, that she took a long time to notice the black line around the base of Harry's neck. When she did it froze her and she looked him in the eye, at the loss of colour there. Frantically she clawed the clothes off Harry and pulled them away to reveal his taught body and the black lines all over it. They formed rings around his arms legs, waist, torso. There was a circle on his chest above where his heart would be and other demarcations over the other organs in his body. Next to each thin line was a neat serial number denoting the owner of that particular part of his body.
“Labatouche won't allow three people in this room.” Harry's voice cracked slightly. He held Katharine tightly to him and felt the warmth of her swollen belly.

One day Harry did not come back. He had refused to tell Katharine when it would be and each day since the one he had portioned off his body she had clung to him on his departure and return. When Katharine opened the door to a visitors knock she was met by a stubby man wearing a flat cap and holding a clipboard, who nodded grimly when he saw her pregnancy and tear streaked face.
“Got an agreement for you Miss, from mister Labatouche.”
Katharine took the offered clipboard and read slowly the details of Harry's arrangement for her and the baby.
“Seems you've done quite well for a long while, your husband managed to lay out something special for you and the little one to be. Sign there please.”
Katharine signed her name but couldn't accept the little man's optimism.
“Of course, Labatouche always did like Harry.” The little man rocked back on his heels in affirmation of his own statement.
“Prime bit of muscle like that!” The little man grinned around shattered teeth. Katharine thought she was going to be sick.
“Of course, he'll like him a whole lot better now!” And the little man doffed his cap and rolled down the corridor away from the door.