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She hugged him, but he did not return the gesture. He didn’t want consolation. It was his anger, and he wanted to own it. He needed to, because he knew that from that anger something new might grow. Something more effective than a pointless petition.
In the days since, Lev has given it much thought—all his thought, really—and has come to a conclusion. What he needs is a new approach that depends on no one but himself. He’s done relying on the help of others, because others are too likely to disappoint. He must, once and for all, take matters into his own hands.
So he examines himself in the mirror, searching for a new resolve, even deeper than before. The things written on Lev’s face are too complex to read. But he knows he can simplify them.
He reaches down to the counter and picks up the pair of scissors he brought into the bathroom. Without hesitation, he shears off his ponytail, dropping it to the ground. What remains is a ragged straggly blond mop. Then he grabs a lock of hair as close to the roots as he can get, and he shears it off. Then he grabs another lock, doing it again and again, until the floor is covered with hair, and his head looks like a hayfield that has just been reaped.
Again Kele bangs on the door.
“Lev, I gotta get in!”
“Soon,” Lev tells Kele. “I’ll be done soon.”
Lev puts down the scissors and lathers up the short, uneven stubble on his head. Then he picks up a razor.
• • •
These days it’s mostly young Arápache men planning to leave the Rez that get themselves tattoos. Those who have decided to go out into a larger world but want to take with them a permanent reminder of where they came from. A symbol that they can display with pride.
There are only a few tattoo artists on the Rez, and only one with real talent. The rest are more paint-by-numbers types. Lev visits Jase Taza, the talented one. He waits outside the shop until the last of Jase’s customers leaves.
Jase looks him over as he enters, not sure whether to be troubled or amused. “You’re the Tashi’nes’ foster-fugitive, aren’t you? The one who caught that parts pirate, right?” he says.
Lev shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear? I’m not a foster-fugitive anymore. I’m a full member of the tribe.”
“Glad to hear it.” Then he points to Lev’s shaved head. “What happened to your hair?”
“It became unnecessary,” Lev tells him. It’s the answer he gave the Tashi’nes, and anyone else who asks. His shaved head had troubled Elina, as he knew it would, but she allowed him his choice.
“What can I do for you?” asks Jase.
Lev presents him several pages and explains what he wants. Jase looks the pages over, then looks at Lev dubiously. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
Jase looks at the pages over and over. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Positive.”
“This much ink, all at once?”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to hurt. A lot.”
Lev has already considered that. “It should hurt,” he says. “It needs to hurt, or it doesn’t mean anything.”
Jase looks around his shop, pointing to his many original designs. “How about a nice eagle, or a bear instead? You’re not Arápache-born, so you can choose your own spirit animal. Mountain lions look good in ink.”
“I already have a spirit animal, and it’s not what I want. I want this.” He points to the pages in Jase’s hand.
“It will take many hours over many days.”
“That’s fine.”
“And you’ll have to pay me for my time—I don’t come cheap.”
“I’ll pay whatever it costs.” The Tashi’nes gave Lev spending money, enough to last a while. It’s more than enough to pay Jase for his talent and his time. After that, he won’t need Arápache currency, because it’s no good off of the Rez.
