Another Governess / The Least Blacksmith: A Diptych

Chapter 6

104 JOANNA RUOCCO I retrace my steps to the bakery but I make a mistake. I do not remember this intersection. I choose a street. The streets by the wharves are narrow and winding. I end up back by the bay. Now I am farther from the forge than I was when I followed the doctor to his office. I pass the muddy stretch on the edge of the bay. The knife with the broken blade is lying on the mud. All around the knife the mud is deeply gouged. There must have been a great struggle on the mud, a struggle for the knife. I slide the knife into the bag with the bread. I examine a dead fish on the mud. If its scales were bright I would pry off the scales with the broken blade of the knife, but the scales are dull. I leave the knife in the bag. Something moves by the hull of an overturned boat. A soldier is crouching by the overturned boat. He gestures. I cannot interpret the gesture of the soldier. The gesture must be a command. I hurry to the soldier. I have never seen a soldier crouched by a boat in the mud. The 6 105 THE LEAST BLACKSMITH soldier stands as I approach. His hair and beard are very long, and his uniform is all one piece. I realize the soldier is a monk from the peninsula. The monks from the peninsula make their uniforms out of cloth from the drapery, the same cloth that is cut into the uniforms for the soldiers. Unlike the uniforms of the soldiers, the uniforms of the monks are not cut into shirts and trousers. Their uniforms are all one piece. A soldier would never wear a uniform that was all one piece. Soldiers need uniforms that are two pieces, shirts and trousers. Now that I know that the soldier is a monk, I do not have to obey his gesture. I can walk away. I hope that I was not seen obeying the monk’s gesture. The wharves have emptied, but someone could be watching from an office window or from the high deck of a ship. As I turn to walk away from the monk, I notice he is wearing an iron talisman. The talisman looks familiar. I ask the monk about the talisman, but he shakes his head. He is a monk who does not speak. The monk rummages in his sack. He puts a jar of gooseberry jam in my hand. He holds out his hand. I put the jar back in his hand. The monk continues to hold out his hand with the jar balanced on his palm. Even though I look down at the mud, I can tell that the monk is looking at me. I begin to walk away from the monk. From behind, I hear a high, thin sound. The sound is high enough to make a pain in my ear. I turn. The monk’s arm is straight out, the jar balanced on his hand. The monk is screaming. He has not opened his mouth to scream, or he is screaming with his mouth open to a slit that is hidden by his beard. I go and take the jar from the monk. The monk screams louder. He lifts the empty hand to my face. His fingers are curled. I see the long cracked nails with dirt in the cracks. The nails come close to my mouth. The monk screams louder and louder. Someone will think I am 106 JOANNA RUOCCO abusing the monk. I put the last of my brother’s money in the monk’s hand. The monk closes his hand around the money. The scream stops. I can still feel air coming out of the monk. The monk is forcing air from his lungs with no sound. I back away. The monk does not move. He looks at me, with his eyes stretched open wide and his mouth hidden by his beard. He lowers his closed hand to his side. I am so late that I run up the hill. The clanging from the forge is very loud. My brother is working hard. I go into our house. Nothing has moved. My brother did not break for lunch. Two chairs are pushed out from the table. Our father’s ledgers are piled at one end of the table...