Another Governess / The Least Blacksmith: A Diptych

Chapter 20

150 JOANNA RUOCCO I think that it is morning when I hear my brother coming toward me. He is ready to begin work in the forge. I open my eyes and it is very dark. I smell the salty thickness of the fog, the fog that hides the moon and the stars. It is not morning. My back is stiff and wet. There is moisture on my face, moisture from the air. My brother wipes my face with his hands. He pushes my hair. I close my eyes. I feel my brother lift my head. He puts my head on his leg. He is sitting up beside me, watching the dark fog, while I sleep against his leg. I want to tell my brother to lie back, that we can both sleep on the grass before the forge, but I cannot move my mouth. I cannot move my head or my arms. My body is very heavy but my brother is strong enough to bear my weight. He keeps pushing my hair, and the pressure of the fog is warmer, and the droplets that run on my body do not itch or tickle anymore. I let them run over me. 20 151 THE LEAST BLACKSMITH The next time I open my eyes, it is morning. I sit up. Everything is dim, but there is a paleness at the edges, coming evenly from all directions. The fog is hanging just above the hill, thin and moon-colored, holding the same kind of light. My brother is sitting next to me. I look past him through the double doors of the forge, into the darkness of the forge. It is morning. We must begin work at the forge. My body is stiff from sleeping on the grass but I am ready to face my brother across the anvil. I remember that I am not my brother’s striker. There is a boy in the bed in the house. He is waiting for my brother to wake him, to call him to his place at the anvil. I say my brother’s name and he turns his face. I see his dark face in the light that comes from the fog. I pull the talisman from beneath my shirt. My brother’s face darkens as he examines the misshapen iron. I untie the apron string and hold the talisman in my hand. It is a lump. No blacksmith would ever have forged such a lump. I throw the talisman away from the forge, down the hill. It is impossible to see where it lands through the fog. I give my brother the apron string and I open my pants. My hands are too small. They are not getting enough blood. There may be a blockage or there may be too much blood going somewhere else. The doctor said there was no blockage. Too much blood is going somewhere else. I get up on my knees. I show my brother where the blood goes, how the blood goes too quickly away from my hands. My brother looks at the apron string in his hands. He does not look at me. I move closer. I lower my pants. My brother twists the apron string through his fingers. I take my brother’s fingers and I move them toward me. The apron string drops and I drape it again through his fingers. I put his hand on me. When I let go, his hand falls away. He does not look at me. It is too hard to tie the knot myself, to pull it tight. I need my brother’s 152 JOANNA RUOCCO help. How I can be my brother’s striker if he refuses to do the thing that I need? There is moisture on my brother’s face. His fingers are clumsy. The apron string burns then slackens. It falls on the grass. My brother has never failed to perform a task. He loops the apron string around me. The ends hang loose. My brother’s hands dangle at his sides. He touches me but he does not tighten the strings. I feel the blood that follows his touch. I do not need my brother’s touch. I need my brother to twist the strings tight. I need him to cut off the blood. He cannot fail to do this thing for me. It is good to have a brother for a...