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Authors: Joanna Ruocco
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one in the nursery. I breathe hard. I breathe louder than the Master. I can't hear him breathe. I can't hear him speak. I touch a page of the book. I put my eye on the page, the wet of my eye on the page. The eyelid twitches. It twitches on the page. My eye burns. It leaks fluid. Fluid runs on my face. It runs on the page. I put my mouth on the page. I flatten my mouth on the page. I flatten my nose on the page. I breathe hard. I suck the page. I pull the page between my lips. It pulls against my teeth, against my tongue. I wet the page. I smell the fluids on the page. I smell the page. It has a taste. It has a smell. The Master breathes a word. Is this the word? I can't hear him. The page comes apart in my mouth. I gag. Is this the word? Is this the word? Is this the word? Yes, it is the word. My mouth knows the word. It is the word that the Master intends for me. It is mine.
THE LEAST BLACKSMITH
1
My brother the blacksmith must hire a striker. My brother is a young man. Some day he may have a son. It is best for a blacksmith to have a son for a striker. When the blacksmith retires, the striker takes over the forge. The striker carries on the good name of the forge. His name is the same as his father's, and so his name is the same as the name of the forge.
My brother the blacksmith was our father's striker. Our father tapped with his hammer and my brother struck the iron. Our father was very happy with my brother. My brother never made mistakes. He always struck exactly where our father wanted. Our father said that he had been right to give my brother his name. He said that my brother would surpass him as blacksmith. Our father had plans to expand and modernize the forge. My brother would be the blacksmith in a large, modern forge. He could not help but surpass our father. Our father had surpassed his father and his father had not made a single improvement to the forge. Our father had done better work than his father with the same tools. My brother would do better work than our father with better tools. Our father did not make any improvements to the forge.
One moment our father was tapping the iron with his hammer, standing up, facing my brother across the anvil. He jerked the hand that held the hammer. He tapped his chest with the hammer. My brother struck our father's chest with the sledge. He struck exactly where our father had indicated. Our father's eyes closed. His mouth opened. He turned a quarter-turn. He fell across the hearth. My brother sent me to town to fetch the doctor. The doctor is a thin but purposeful man. He came with me right away. I was afraid that I was leading the doctor to the wrong place. The ground vibrates when you approach the forge. You can hear the clanging of hammer and sledge. The ground did not vibrate. I heard nothing. As the doctor and I came up the hill, I could see the forge. It looked like the forge, but it could not be the forge. That soundless building could not be the forge. The double doors of the forge stood open. There was our father on the floor of the forge. The doctor was surprised to see that our father's face was burned. He took our father's wrist between his fingers. He held our father's wrist. He laid our father's hand on his chest exactly where our father tapped with the hammer and my brother struck with the sledge. The doctor sat back on his heels. He lit a cigar. For a time the doctor did not say anything. My brother and I watched the doctor's lips pull at the cigar. There was no sound in the forge. The doctor smiled. The cigar did not fall because the doctor held the cigar with his teeth. He removed the cigar from his mouth and extinguished the coal with his fingers. He worked the end of the cigar through our father's fingers. Our father held the extinguished cigar on his chest.
The doctor stood and addressed my brother He said that he had been friends with our father when they were small boys. Our father and the doctor played mumblety-peg on the wharves.
THE LEAST BLACKSMITH
1
My brother the blacksmith must hire a striker. My brother is a young man. Some day he may have a son. It is best for a blacksmith to have a son for a striker. When the blacksmith retires, the striker takes over the forge. The striker carries on the good name of the forge. His name is the same as his father's, and so his name is the same as the name of the forge.
My brother the blacksmith was our father's striker. Our father tapped with his hammer and my brother struck the iron. Our father was very happy with my brother. My brother never made mistakes. He always struck exactly where our father wanted. Our father said that he had been right to give my brother his name. He said that my brother would surpass him as blacksmith. Our father had plans to expand and modernize the forge. My brother would be the blacksmith in a large, modern forge. He could not help but surpass our father. Our father had surpassed his father and his father had not made a single improvement to the forge. Our father had done better work than his father with the same tools. My brother would do better work than our father with better tools. Our father did not make any improvements to the forge.
One moment our father was tapping the iron with his hammer, standing up, facing my brother across the anvil. He jerked the hand that held the hammer. He tapped his chest with the hammer. My brother struck our father's chest with the sledge. He struck exactly where our father had indicated. Our father's eyes closed. His mouth opened. He turned a quarter-turn. He fell across the hearth. My brother sent me to town to fetch the doctor. The doctor is a thin but purposeful man. He came with me right away. I was afraid that I was leading the doctor to the wrong place. The ground vibrates when you approach the forge. You can hear the clanging of hammer and sledge. The ground did not vibrate. I heard nothing. As the doctor and I came up the hill, I could see the forge. It looked like the forge, but it could not be the forge. That soundless building could not be the forge. The double doors of the forge stood open. There was our father on the floor of the forge. The doctor was surprised to see that our father's face was burned. He took our father's wrist between his fingers. He held our father's wrist. He laid our father's hand on his chest exactly where our father tapped with the hammer and my brother struck with the sledge. The doctor sat back on his heels. He lit a cigar. For a time the doctor did not say anything. My brother and I watched the doctor's lips pull at the cigar. There was no sound in the forge. The doctor smiled. The cigar did not fall because the doctor held the cigar with his teeth. He removed the cigar from his mouth and extinguished the coal with his fingers. He worked the end of the cigar through our father's fingers. Our father held the extinguished cigar on his chest.
The doctor stood and addressed my brother He said that he had been friends with our father when they were small boys. Our father and the doctor played mumblety-peg on the wharves.
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