Letters from Blackwell Island Pt. 02

Well, I wasn't going to stop him! Mrs. Opuni finalised the Hurley and Sliotar design with Patrick before copying it onto a piece of transfer paper.

"How long will it take?" Patrick asked her with evident nervousness.

"Not long," the Kahunapule replied. "Ten minutes or so. But if you want me to pause for a little while if it gets too much for you, just let me know."

"Right, well here goes nothing, I guess," Patrick said with a long and deep breath.

"Just lean over the Māka'u Papa there and stick your bottom out for me a little," Mrs. Opuni instructed him.

"Like this?" Patrick asked her as he assumed the position.

"That's perfect," she replied as she picked up the piece of transfer paper with Patrick's design on it. "All you need to do is hold nice and still for me."

She placed the transfer paper on Patrick's left buttock - the traditional place where men had their Ohana Māka'u's applied - and then used a spray bottle to spray water over the area. The water caused the transfer paper to break down, leaving the design behind on his bare bottom and ready to be inked on permanently.

"I'll try my best," Patrick replied.

Once Mrs. Opuni was satisfied with the rough outline of Patrick's tattoo she picked up the little pot of ink and dipped the tattooing needle into it and loaded it with ink. Lastly, she picked up the little mallet used for tapping the needle against the skin, and asked Patrick if he was ready.

"As I ever will be, I guess," was his reply.

"Okay, now I suggest you brace yourself, because I'm afraid this is going to hurt," Mrs. Opuni said as she placed the needle so that it was just making contact with the soft gluteal skin of Patrick's left buttock.

She used the little mallet to give the needle what I could best describe as the very, very, gentlest of taps.

"Arrgghh! Holy feckin' Jaysus!" Patrick exclaimed. "Fuck me, that stings!"

I guess it must've done, for him to have blasphemed like that!

Undaunted by my husband's pained cries and some colourful Gaelic expletives, the old Kahunapule went on with her centuries old practice.

"Arrgghh! Naofa focáil!"

It didn't take much thought on my part to translate his words - I'm far from fluent in my husband's native tongue, but I know "holy fuck" when I hear it!

There he was, a normally strong and confident example of Irish masculinity, being reduced to pained tears as the elderly priestess gradually inked the design onto his buttock. And this was just the first of the two tattoos he would be receiving - he would have to go through it all over again for the second one. It certainly made me doubly glad that I only had to go through it once!

But despite his very obvious discomfort, Patrick stoically stood his ground and after ten minutes or so, after stopping every now and then to dab away the excess ink and the small amount of blood that seeped from his skin, Mrs. Opuni announced that she had completed the first of Patrick's two Ohana Māka'u's - never had I seen anyone sigh with relief with such gratitude before! She held a mirror so that Patrick could see the design now permanently inked onto his behind.

"What do you think?" Mrs. Opuni asked.

"Sure it hurt to feckin' buggery," he replied as he looked at the reflection in the mirror. "But I gotta say it looks pretty good!"

The priestess used some clear film to dress his punctured skin and held it in place with some clear surgical tape - the tattooing technique may have been ancient, but the sterile equipment and attention to hygiene were most definitely twenty-first century.

"I think we'll do your wife's marking next," Mrs. Opuni announced once she'd finished applying Patrick's dressing. "Give you a chance to rest a while before I do your second one."

Patrick didn't protest in the slightest, and lifted himself up and off the tattooing table.

"You probably won't want to sit down for a while though!" the old Kahunapule chuckled.

So, now it was my turn. I girded my loins and leant myself across the Māka'u Papa that Patrick had just vacated - I could feel his lingering warmth there as I laid my torso over it. One thing that Patrick and I had agreed to, was that because I intended to write up the experience for my next magazine article he would take some photos of the elderly priestess applying my tattoo, but in retrospect I wished I hadn't. Far from being the normally strong and stoic twenty-first century woman I thought I was, as Mrs. Opuni tapped the ink-laden needle into my skin I instead looked like a screaming little girl! It was, and I'm not exaggerating here, easily the most painful thing I'd ever experienced!

Fortunately, Patrick managed to get a couple of shots where I merely looked as though I was experiencing mild discomfort instead of searing pain, so that there would at least be one photo to accompany the article where I didn't look as though I was being tortured!

Finally, after what felt like an age, Mrs. Opuni announced that she was finished. I vowed to myself at that moment, that it would be my last ever tattoo! Poor Patrick on the other hand, was about to have to go through it all over again.

* * * * * *

Later that evening as we both nursed our very sore behinds, Patrick and I laid on our bed watching TV. Obviously, it goes without saying that we were laid on our fronts! It was just some trashy romantic comedy that Patrick had acquiesced into watching with me, even though I knew he'd have preferred to watch one of his favourite documentary shows instead. He is definitely a sweetie like that - he knew that I was hurting and at that moment in time needed some "comfort telly". Of course, I couldn't ignore the fact that if anything, he would be in even more pain than I was - after all, I'd only had one tattoo - he had had two. But then I guess he was just doing the chivalrous thing and I was quite happy to let him.

"So, I guess this makes us proper islanders then?" Patrick said as he looked at the newly inked design on my bare bum.

"Kind of, I guess," was my reply. "But as good as, I suppose. Of course, we won't be proper islanders unless we get permanent residency, like Angela and Toby."

At that moment I found myself confronted by a dilemma - should I mention what would be expected of him should we seek permanent residency? In the end I decided it ought to wait for another time - we'd both been through enough for one day.

* * * * * *

Coming up in Part Three, Allie and Patrick continue their new life on Blackwell Island and make even more new friends among the islanders as Allie's monthly column goes from strength to strength.

Watch this space!