Another Governess / The Least Blacksmith: A Diptych by Joanna Ruocco Read Free Book Online Page B

shoulders. She slid. The Master pushed on his belly through the apples. Her back slid through the apples. The Master lifted his hand. He hit her head with an apple. He hit her head with a rock. The rock was brown like the apples. It was long and brown. It was a stick. The Master hit her head with a stick. He beat her head with a stick. He jerked against her. He beat with a stick. Black fluid darkened her head, it darkened her hair. Her body dripped with rain. Her body dried in the sun. She thinned in the sun. She withered.

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    Put fat on the opening. Rub the fat with your hand. Rub the fat hard with your hand, with the palm of your hand. Slip inside. Slip the boot hook inside. Pull from inside the opening. That is how things are born, even in a grand house. With fat and an opening. With a hand or a hook. The children listen. They have knocked over the chairs. They have knocked over the rocking horse. Tamworth leans on the neck of the horse on the carpet. The wooden runners of the horse press into her thighs. She is very fat. She is fat and round. Her breasts are fat and round. They strain the seams of her gray dress. No one has taught them about the fat and the hook. In a grand house, the Mistress births hard. She dies. She dies with blood in the bed. The pigs do not die. The cows do not die. The Mistress dies. In a grand house, she dies. I rubbed the fat with my hand. I dug through the dried deposits with my hand. I dug fast. I pushed with my hand. I pushed in the hook. I hooked. I pulled hard. The hot air filled my mouth. I gagged. I pulled. The sweat ran down my arms and ran down the handle of the hook. The opening spilled. It opened farther and spilled. Brown dung spilled in the fluid. My feet slid. I braced against heaving. I was pressed against the wall. My wrist cracked. I screamed. I could not pull with the hand. I took the other hand and I pulled. My shoulder made a sound. My shoulder cracked. I pulled harder. I slid and the weight of my body pulled down. It pulled down. It pulled down. I lay down flat on the dung. I lay down flat on the fluid. My neck itched with straw. My arms burned. My shoulder burned. The opening spilled and I brought it toward me. It moved toward me. I felt the blows, the hard blows, in my stomach and thighs and it moved against me, wet and hard. The deposits and dung went thick in my mouth so I was very quiet. I did not scream. My mouth leaked. It bubbled. I did not scream. Tamworth listens to the lesson. Her mouth is open. Her mouth is dry. It does not leak. She licks her teeth to moisten the deposits. She wiggles. She is ready for a lesson. There is no hook in the nursery. The hooks are in the kitchen. Meat hangs on the hooks. I will take the meat from the hooks. I will carry the meat to the moat. I will put the green meat on the moat. The meat will not sink. The moat is thick. There is a thick skin on the moat. It ripples. Beneath the meat, curds. Beneath the meat, scraps. Black flies cover the meat. White flies cover the meat. They take the shape of the meat. Little wings on the meat. Sacks bump the meat from the below. Spot fills the sacks. I have seen him fill sacks. He drops sacks in the moat. Things move in the sacks. No, I will not go to the moat. I will not put meat in the moat. Meat should hang. In the kitchen, it dangles. It grows scabs. It grows wings. I will cut the meat from the hooks. I will tie the meat to the beam. It will dangle. I will take the old fat from the can. I will take the old fat. I will take honey. I will take hooks. I will bring the hooks to the nursery. The children have only learned one lesson. Who taught them the lesson? She did not teach them. She taught them globes. She taught them geology. They wrote names in the book. They wrote figures in the book. They counted dogs. Many dogs fit in a sack. Many small dogs. There are many steps to the kitchen. There are many steps to the tower. From the tower, the dogs look small. The Master looks small. They watch