Tales of the Unexpected

picture of me?’
    ‘A nude study,’ the boy said. ‘It is an agreeable idea.’
    ‘Not nude,’ the girl said.
    ‘It is an enormous idea,’ Drioli said.
    ‘It’s a damn crazy idea,’ the girl said.
    ‘It is in any event an idea,’ the boy said. ‘It is an idea that calls for a celebration.’
    They emptied another bottle among them. Then the boy said, ‘It is no good. I could not possibly manage the tattoo. Instead, I will paint this picture on your back and you will have it with your so long as you do not take a bath and wash it off. If you never take a bath again in your life then you will have it always, as long as you live.’
    ‘No,’ Drioli said.
    ‘Yes – and on the day that you decide to take a bath I will know that you do not any longer value my picture. It will be a test of your admiration for my art.’
    ‘I do not like the idea,’ the girl said. ‘His admiration for your art is so great that he would be unclean for many years. Let us have the tattoo. But not nude.’
    ‘Then just the head,’ Drioli said.
    ‘I could not manage it.’
    ‘It is immensely simple. I will undertake to teach you in two minutes. You will see. I shall go now and fetch the instruments. The needles and the inks. I have inks of many different colours – as many different colours as you have paints, and far more beautiful…’
    ‘It is impossible.’
    ‘I have many inks. Have I not many different colours of inks, Josie?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You will see,’ Drioli said. ‘I will go now and fetch them.’ He got up from his chair and walked unsteadily, but with determination, out of the room.
    In half an hour Drioli was back. ‘I have brought everything,’ he cried, waving a brown suitcase. ‘All the necessities of the tattooist are here in this bag.’
    He placed the bag on the table, opened it, and laid out the electric needles and the small bottles of coloured inks. He plugged in the electric needle, then he took the instrument in his hand and pressed a switch. It made a buzzing sound and the quarter inch of needle that projected from the end of it began to vibrate swiftly up and down. He threw off his jacket and rolled up his left sleeve. ‘Now look. Watch me and I will show you how easy it is. I will make a design on my arm, here.’
    His forearm was already covered with blue markings, but he selected a small clear patch of skin upon which to demonstrate.
    ‘First, I choose my ink – let us use ordinary blue – and I dip the point of the needle in the ink… so… and I hold the needle up straight and I run it lightly over the surface of the skin… like this… and with the little motor and the electricity, the needle jumps up and down and punctures the skin and the ink goes in and there you are. See how easy it is… see how I draw a picture of a greyhound here upon my arm…’
    The boy was intrigued. ‘Now let
me
practice a little – on your arm.’
    With the buzzing needle he began to draw blue lines upon Drioli’s arm. ‘It is simple,’ he said. ‘It is like drawing with pen and ink. There is no difference except that it is slower.’
    ‘There is nothing to it. Are you ready? Shall we begin?’
    ‘At once.’
    ‘The model!’ cried Drioli. ‘Come on, Josie!’ He was in a bustle of enthusiasm now, tottering around the room arranging everything, like a child preparing for some exciting game. ‘Where will you have her? Where shall she stand?’
    ‘Let her be standing there, by my dressing-table. Let her be brushing her hair. I will paint her with her hair down over her shoulders and her brushing it.’
    ‘Tremendous. You are a genius.’
    Reluctantly, the girl walked over and stood by the dressing-table, carrying her glass of wine with her.
    Drioli pulled off his shirt and stepped out of his trousers. He retained only his underpants and his socks and shoes, and he stood there swaying gently from side to side, his small body firm, white-skinned, almost hairless. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I am the canvas. Where will you place your canvas?’
    ‘As always, upon the easel.’
    ‘Don’t be crazy. I am the canvas.’
    ‘Then place yourself upon the easel. That is where you belong.’
    ‘How can I?’
    ‘Are you the canvas or are you not the canvas?’
    ‘I am the canvas. Already I begin to feel like a canvas.’
    ‘Then place yourself upon the easel. There should be no difficulty.’
    ‘Truly, it is not possible.’
    ‘Then sit on the chair. Sit back to front, then you can lean