Joanna Ruocco - Another Governess / The Least Blacksmith - A Diptych

Ships are moored in the bay. My brother points to the flags that fly from the gaffs. He tells me the flags are called “civil ensigns.” The ships are merchant ships from foreign countries. Foreigners are taking an interest in the town. More businesses in the town are thriving and my brother tells me that when a certain number of businesses thrive in a town, opinions of the town are revised. The town is considered a good risk for investors. Each townsperson benefits from investment in his town. My brother says that people in a prosperous town take pride in their work and that their work is held to a higher standard. My brother has not been blacksmith for very long, but his work can be held to the highest standard. He finished our father's final job alone. He has surpassed our father. My brother will not disappoint the foreigners. He deserves to be blacksmith in a prosperous town.

In the morning my brother wakes me. I follow him from the house to the forge. I face my brother across the anvil. I did not expect to be my brother's striker. When my brother taps with his hammer, I have to remind myself that I am his striker before I strike with the sledge. My brother is unhappy. I am too slow. I do not always strike where he has indicated. I am grateful that my brother does not have a new job to finish. My slowness would be much worse for my brother if a customer were waiting on my brother's work. My brother wants me to practice with the nail rods. My arms are tired. It takes me five strikes to head each nail. Time after time my brother throws my nails in the scrap pile. My brother calls me to the anvil. He holds the iron on the anvil. He taps. I look at the iron. The anvil is mounted too high. The grips on the tools are too wide. I strike blows where my brother taps. My brother says I can stop. A man has appeared at the double doors. It is the doctor. He carries a packet of papers. They must contain the findings from his new equipment. Our father has yielded such a thick packet of papers. I should not have expected anything less from our father. I try to see if my brother is proud of the papers our father yielded. My brother does not look at me. He is approaching the doctor at the double doors. The doctor gives the packet to my brother. My brother's fingers mark the white pages. He looks at the doctor. The doctor explains that our father had been suffering from a long illness. It is a blessing that our father's suffering is over. A sudden death is a wonderful thing when a man is suffering from a long illness. It is more tragic when a sick man dies slowly from a long illness, or when a healthy man dies suddenly. The doctor wants us to know this was not the case with our father. The doctor thinks my brother does not look well. He offers to run tests on my brother at his office. My brother does not like to leave the forge. He says no to the doctor. I would not have said no to the doctor. The doctor has taken an interest in my brother. My brother is big and strong but unwell. He is exactly what the doctor wants in a patient. My brother does not have time to be a patient. He is rude to the doctor. He throws the packet of papers on the hearth. The doctor's eyes shine as he watches the papers burn on the hearth. His mouth trembles. I am surprised that my brother is so rude. He has assumed responsibility for the forge too young. The responsibility is changing him. My brother turns his back on the doctor. I do not want to defy my brother. I turn my back on the doctor. When I look again the doctor is gone.

I wish I could have interested the doctor. I know that I would be a good patient. The doctor does not think I have what it takes. After my brother's rejection, the doctor will not come to the forge again. I will not have another opportunity to interest the doctor. My brother has spoiled the doctor's visit. The doctor's previous visit was much better. The doctor spoke movingly and my brother behaved appropriately, in a way that the doctor said would make our father proud.

Our father must not have known he was suffering from a long illness. Every day he worked in the forge. He turned the iron and my brother struck the iron with the sledge. My brother lifted the sledge high. He struck the iron in just the right place. Our father's leather apron fit my brother perfectly. Our father turned the iron. He hammered. He plunged the iron in the tub. He never tired. Until my brother, no blacksmith had ever surpassed our father. I pumped the bellows. I swept the floor. I went into town for the meat and the bread. Our father had a huge appetite. Only my brother can eat as much as my father. I always put the meat on the dishes for our father and my brother. Now that I am my brother's striker my brother says I need to eat meat. I need to fill my dish with meat. Otherwise I will not grow. I will not improve as a striker and my brother's work will suffer.

For dinner I fill my dish with meat. I eat the dish of meat. My brother refills his dish. He refills my dish. My brother thinks I have what it takes to be his striker. I am eating meat and soon I will be able to lift the sledge easily. I will lift the sledge high. My brother and I eat the meat without speaking. I cannot speak. The meat is piling up in my throat. The cavity inside my body is filled with meat, but there is more meat on my dish. There is no room in my cavity, but I cannot leave meat on my dish. I take all of the meat from my dish and put it in my mouth. I swallow. Some of the meat remains in my mouth.

My brother sleeps in the bed where our father slept. I sleep in the bed where my brother slept. I store the pallet where I used to sleep beneath my brother's bed, which is now the bed where I sleep. As soon as I lie down the meat begins to push out of my cavity. More and more of the meat comes up from my throat to fill my mouth. Luckily I vomit without noise. I vomit on the floor beside the bed. I reach beneath the bed and grab a corner of the pallet. I pull the pallet over the vomit and slide the pallet back beneath the bed. The vomit slides beneath the bed with the pallet. The pallet is on top of the vomit and the vomit cannot be seen. I am good at hiding the vomit. Not a trace remains on the floor. It is a job well done. I hope I am still holding some of the meat inside. I did my best to finish the meat. I finished the meat. I hope I did not waste all of the meat that I worked so hard to finish. It was a mistake to lie down. If I had remained standing up the meat piled in my throat would have weighed on the meat lower down in my cavity. I should have used the weight of the meat, like my brother says I need to use the weight of the sledge. I am too tired not to lie down after dinner. Maybe I can sleep sitting on the floor with my back against the wall. When I am bigger I will be able to hold more meat. I need to hold the meat inside in order to grow. Next time I will use the weight of the meat to my advantage.

Now that I am my brother's striker, there is no helper to pump the bellows and sweep the floors. There is no helper to go into town for the meat and the bread. My brother says he will hire a helper. Until my brother hires a helper, I must perform the old tasks. I am glad I must perform the old tasks. It is too tiring to face my brother across the anvil with the sledge for hours and hours. The pains in my elbows make the tears come to my eyes. Sometimes the tears go down my face. My brother does not say anything. He taps with the hammer and I strike with the sledge. I am grateful he does not comment on the tears on my face. I doubt my brother ever struck the iron with tears on his face. If a customer appeared at the double doors I would be ashamed. The customer might mistake me for my brother's son and I know this mistake would not make my brother proud. No customer appears.