Lila was more shocked than she should have been to learn that the village had a tattoo artist.
Roberto worked with the steady precision of someone who knew that what he produced would outlive him in a basement space beneath the old barbershop that had been converted with unexpected attention to cleanliness and artistry. Only when they were choosing tomatoes at the weekly market did Maria bring it up, speaking with the casual pride of someone whose nephew had discovered his calling in an unlikely place, did she learn this.
"Roberto, he makes the beautiful artwork," Maria had said, holding up a particularly perfect specimen for Lila's inspection. "On the skin, you know? Very modern, very clean. The young people come from Roma, from Firenze, just for his work."
Lila had nodded politely, f
