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

The champion's knife is changed when I pull it from between the bed mat and frame. It is not a knife at all. It is a broken file. There is no cutting edge on the file. I am certain the champion's knife was a knife. It has changed. My brother must have taken the champion's knife and replaced it with a broken file. I should be able to make the file into the champion's knife. I have never been in the forge without my brother or our father. I like the way the fire smells, strong and unwell. I grind both sides of the file. I put the file in the fire. When the file is red, I take the file from the fire. I drop it in the tub. Maybe I should have bent the file over the horn of the anvil and hammered the file. The file is not shaped exactly like a knife. It is better than a knife because it does not have a handle. I will carve and paint the handle for the champion's knife. I will paint the handle yellow or blue.

Standing at the double doors of the forge, I see the doctor coming up the hill. The doctor moves quickly as though he is in a great hurry. The doctor is thin but he moves quickly. Doctors must be thin and quick. They are summoned in the early morning or late at night and they always respond quickly to the summons. The doctor is busier and busier in town. The town is prosperous and the doctor's practice is thriving. I remember leading the doctor to the forge. I remember following the doctor through the streets between the bakery and the doctor's office. I had difficulty keeping up. The doctor was almost running, his black doctor's bag in one hand, the white baker's bag of seeded rolls in the other.

The doctor's face is beaded with sweat. There is no shade on the hill and the path is steep. The doctor comes right up to the double doors. He wipes his face with a white cloth from his vest pocket. He is looking for my brother. He peers around me into the forge. The ground does not vibrate, the air does not vibrate, no sounds come from the forge, but the doctor expects to see my brother. He does not know my brother at all. Even using his medical equipment, the doctor will never know anything about my brother if he does not know to listen as he approaches the forge.

When I tell the doctor that my brother has gone to town to buy iron, the doctor shakes his head. My brother should not go to town without making an appointment to see the doctor. If my brother made an appointment, he could buy iron and also stop by the doctor's office for tests. Even though the doctor is thriving and has expanded his practice by opening a new office in the foreign district, he would most like to have my brother for a patient. Only then would he feel challenged, as though he were growing as a doctor. A doctor wants the best possible patients. That is how a doctor grows. The doctor lowers his voice so I step closer to the doctor. I cough. The doctor laughs. He has been cleaning his medical equipment with a powerful solvent. He tells me that the smell of the solvent makes some people cough. He sniffs at his wrists, nodding to indicate that he detects the smell of the solvent. I am happy that I am sensitive to the doctor's solvent and that the doctor has confirmed my sensitivity. He is looking at me with bright eyes. I cough again. My sensitivity is of interest to the doctor.

The doctor sets his black doctor's bag on the ground and opens the golden clasp. He takes a newspaper clipping from his bag. He has clipped our father's obituary for my brother. The doctor waves away my thanks as he hands me the clipping. I want the doctor to know that I will not burn the clipping on the hearth. I blow on the clipping with my lips to remove any powders and I press the clipping flat on my chest and smooth its creases. What else can I do to show the doctor that I cherish his clipping? The doctor does not seem satisfied. He paces just outside the double doors of the forge. He links his hands behind his back. I am impressed by the doctor's pacing. The sun is strong but he paces quickly. Sweat beads on the doctor's face. If the doctor will wait until sundown my brother will return from the town. I am certain he will bring the meat and the bread and we can prepare dinner for the doctor. I will give the doctor my portion. If the doctor takes an interest in me, it will not matter what I eat. I will become the doctor's patient. I will grow more quickly under his care.

The doctor cannot be persuaded to wait until sundown. He is disappointed in my brother. He is disappointed that my brother did not come to his office for the memorial service. It would have been right for my brother to hear the doctor eulogize our father. At the memorial service, the doctor said many kind things about our father. He shared anecdotes about our father that my brother should have heard. He talked about playing mumblety-peg with our father, about how our father always threw the knife skillfully. Every time the blade stuck deep in the mud. Our father was impressive to the woman the doctor loved. Our father took the woman from the doctor because he thought it would be amusing to have the woman. After our father made love to the woman the doctor could not satisfy her. No man could satisfy the woman but our father.

I want to know the physical details about the woman but I do not want to interrupt the doctor. The doctor talks on and on. He never pauses. He already knows everything he wants to say because he said it once before, at the memorial service. Finally I interrupt the doctor. I do not ask about the woman. I ask the doctor if he can help me to grow. I tell the doctor that I eat meat. I work hard in the forge. Nothing has improved me. My hands are still too small to grip the sledge efficiently. The doctor examines my hands. I have never been examined by a doctor. The doctor's hands are very cool and smooth. The doctor says my hands are not getting enough blood. There may be a blockage or there may be too much blood going somewhere else. He asks me if I masturbate. I know what the doctor means. I feel the blood move suddenly in my neck and face. I shake my head like I do not understand. It is believable that I do not understand. No one has ever said that word to me before, but I understand the word. I see the doctor's thin lips shape the word and I understand. I shake my head. The doctor comes closer. This time I do not cough. I hold my breath. The doctor squeezes me through my pants. He taps me through my pants with the tips of his fingers. He bends so that his ear, cheek, and jaw press against the front of my pants. I rest my weight against the doorframe but the doctor straightens up and takes me by the shoulders. I am almost as tall as the doctor. I must be stronger than the doctor, but I cannot break his grip on my shoulders. The doctor makes me stand up, supporting my own weight. He reaches into his black bag and takes out a jar. He smears the contents on his hands. He tells me to lower my pants. I lower my pants. The doctor tells me to walk into the forge and I turn and walk very slowly so I do not trip in my pants. I hear the doctor's brisk steps behind me then I feel him behind me. He pinches my wrists with his fingers and lifts my arms away from my sides. He puts my hands on the anvil. He moves his arm back and forth between my legs until I set my feet far apart. It is hotter by the anvil. The fire I made in the hearth is too big. Smoke makes my eyes tear. The fire is unwell. The air smells strong. I look at my small hands on the anvil. Sweat rolls down the insides of my arms. It is hard to breathe the smoke. I breathe. The doctor says there is no blockage.

When my brother returns from town, he does not have the meat or the bread for dinner. I am lying on the grass outside of the forge. I prop myself up on my elbow when I hear my brother call. He calls to me. I see my brother's empty hands, dirty and big, hanging by his sides. I do not call back to my brother. I do not ask about the meat or the bread. I have never seen my brother look so defeated. His big hands are trembling. It is strange to look at my brother standing up in his clothing without the leather apron. Across the anvil, my brother stands with the leather apron hanging down in one brown piece. It covers his shirt and trousers. As my brother approaches, I look at his shirt and trousers. The two fabrics meet along a line that crosses my brother's abdomen. My brother's abdomen is a slab with light and dark fabrics dividing it in two. He sits down beside me on the grass. He does not want to tell me his news, then he tells me his news.