Literary Fiction
Painted Eyes
Originally Published by Grim & Gilded
Tua Zhang only accepted cash payments, paid in full. The thick stack of Yuan felt like rocks weighing down my pockets. Bookings were scheduled back to back, located in the darkest back alley of Dandong. I was to arrive at 4:00 pm, or my appointment would be terminated, never to be booked again.
My flight had taken fifteen hours, and I was jetlagged as hell, causing me to nearly miss my scheduled arrival time at the drop point.
Arriving at the address I had been given, I stood outside the vegetable vendor's market stall, contemplating what to do next. Tua Zhang changed locations daily, making her business untraceable. I couldn’t ask just anyone for help.
While stepping under the shadowed awning, a croaking voice called out to me.
“Jìnlái, come in.”
My eyes adjusted to the dim light of the hazy yellow lanterns, and I found the patron of the store kneeling in the back corner on a crate of rice. A person of indeterminate gender, but great age, they beckoned me forward. They leaned an elbow against the large stack of bulk produce beside them and fixed their yellow eyes upon me.
“Wǒmen de chǎnpǐn shì quánshì zuì xīnxiān de,” they said.
Our produce is the freshest in the city.
“I would like to see your newest stock,” I responded, reciting the password.
They nodded and raised a hand to sweep my eyes to a curtain the same color as the wall connecting to the closed stall next door.
I handed them a handful of Yuan from my pocket as I passed, “ Děngdài, Děngdài,” they said, grabbing my shirt sleeve.
A ripe red pomegranate was placed into my hand, the skin tensing with the supple perfection of ripeness.
“Xièxiè,” I said, bowing my head.
I entered through the curtain, and the haze of the shop cleared. The studio was black, the walls, the closed curtains, and the ceiling. Only the large chair in the center of the room was reflected in soft white light, illuminating the artist and her customer upon it.
The buzzing drone of the tattoo gun paused as a bell tinkled upon my entry.
“Take a seat, I will be with you in a moment,” Tua Zhang spoke, turned towards her work.
The buzzing of the artist’s paintbrush resumed.
I sat in the chair nearest the door and looked up into the eyes of the man seated upon the tattooist’s seat. His eyes were triumphant and wide, as though he was speaking to me as an old friend. Look! I have a tattoo from one of the greatest artist’s in the world, and you don’t!
I didn’t like him. I looked away and scanned the room.
“It is done,” she said with finality, standing back from the man.
I could now see the tattoo, and I wondered how many long hours he had been sitting in that chair. The red dragon ran across his shoulder and roared on his chest, above his heart. Its scales shimmered, and puffs of fire and smoke drifted from its nostrils. It eyes were vacant and white, showing his pale skin underneath.
His fingers drifted to the detail my eyes had settled on.
“No, no it’s not done!” He yelled, shocking the silence.
He jabbed the eyes aggressively, “Fill them now. Or else, you get nothing from me.”
I could not see Tua Zhang’s face, but her shoulders dropped.
“I warned you,” She said with a shrug.
The tattoo gun whizzed to life once more and with a flash she painted the dragon’s eyes. Her hands paused one moment before the final pupil, and she colored it in with a fire burning inside the dragon’s wise old soul.
“Perfect,” The stranger growled in a low voice.
Tua Zhang threw back her stool and quickly retreated several steps from the spotlit exhibition.
For a moment, each set of eyes in the room widened in confusion. Including the painted dragon upon the man’s chest.
“Wait-”
The dragon wasted no time. It burst forth from the man’s chest in a shower of fire, blood, and skin. As the human fell, the dragon rose up and unfurled its wings wide with a thunderous roar.
“We will have to reschedule,” Tua Zhang said to me.
