I wish I could have interested the doctor. I know that I would be a good patient. The doctor does not think I have what it takes. After my brother's rejection, the doctor will not come to the forge again. I will not have another opportunity to interest the doctor. My brother has spoiled the doctor's visit. The doctor's previous visit was much better. The doctor spoke movingly and my brother behaved appropriately, in a way that the doctor said would make our father proud.
Our father must not have known he was suffering from a long illness. Every day he worked in the forge. He turned the iron and my brother struck the iron with the sledge. My brother lifted the sledge high. He struck the iron in just the right place. Our father's leather apron fit my brother perfectly. Our father turned the iron. He hammered. He plunged the iron in the tub. He never tired. Until my brother, no blacksmith had ever surpassed our father. I pumped the bellows. I swept the floor. I went into town for the meat and the bread. Our father had a huge appetite. Only my brother can eat as much as my father. I always put the meat on the dishes for our father and my brother. Now that I am my brother's striker my brother says I need to eat meat. I need to fill my dish with meat. Otherwise I will not grow. I will not improve as a striker and my brother's work will suffer.
For dinner I fill my dish with meat. I eat the dish of meat. My brother refills his dish. He refills my dish. My brother thinks I have what it takes to be his striker. I am eating meat and soon I will be able to lift the sledge easily. I will lift the sledge high. My brother and I eat the meat without speaking. I cannot speak. The meat is piling up in my throat. The cavity inside my body is filled with meat, but there is more meat on my dish. There is no room in my cavity, but I cannot leave meat on my dish. I take all of the meat from my dish and put it in my mouth. I swallow. Some of the meat remains in my mouth.
My brother sleeps in the bed where our father slept. I sleep in the bed where my brother slept. I store the pallet where I used to sleep beneath my brother's bed, which is now the bed where I sleep. As soon as I lie down the meat begins to push out of my cavity. More and more of the meat comes up from my throat to fill my mouth. Luckily I vomit without noise. I vomit on the floor beside the bed. I reach beneath the bed and grab a corner of the pallet. I pull the pallet over the vomit and slide the pallet back beneath the bed. The vomit slides beneath the bed with the pallet. The pallet is on top of the vomit and the vomit cannot be seen. I am good at hiding the vomit. Not a trace remains on the floor. It is a job well done. I hope I am still holding some of the meat inside. I did my best to finish the meat. I finished the meat. I hope I did not waste all of the meat that I worked so hard to finish. It was a mistake to lie down. If I had remained standing up the meat piled in my throat would have weighed on the meat lower down in my cavity. I should have used the weight of the meat, like my brother says I need to use the weight of the sledge. I am too tired not to lie down after dinner. Maybe I can sleep sitting on the floor with my back against the wall. When I am bigger I will be able to hold more meat. I need to hold the meat inside in order to grow. Next time I will use the weight of the meat to my advantage.
4
Now that I am my brother's striker, there is no helper to pump the bellows and sweep the floors. There is no helper to go into town for the meat and the bread. My brother says he will hire a helper. Until my brother hires a helper, I must perform the old tasks. I am glad I must perform the old tasks. It is too tiring to face my brother across the anvil with the sledge for hours and hours. The pains in my elbows make the tears come to my eyes. Sometimes the tears go down my face. My brother does not say anything. He taps with the hammer and I strike with the sledge. I am grateful he does not comment on the tears on my face. I doubt my brother ever struck the iron with tears on his face. If a customer appeared at the double doors I would be ashamed. The customer might mistake me for my brother's son and I know this mistake would not make my brother proud. No customer appears.
While my brother forges hoes, I go into town for the meat and the bread. I walk along the wharves. I admire the civil ensigns flying from the ships. Two small children are playing mumblety-peg on a stretch of mud. Once I would have wanted to join them but now I am my brother's striker. Our father is dead and I have smoked a cigar. I do not want to join the children. The children beckon for me to play. The blade of their knife is broken. It does not stick in the mud no matter how skillfully they make their throws. I tell the children I have no time for games. I will repair their knife if they bring it to the forge. The children do not believe me. They say I have forfeited the game. They are still the champions of the wharves. They mock me as I walk away. I am looking for the doctor's office. I cannot remember which office is the doctor's office. I remember it is not far from the wharves. Every office in the town looks alike. The façades are identical. North of the wharves is the industrial section of the town. The biggest building is the drapery. The drapery is thriving. In the lot behind the drapery, men load crates onto lorries to take to the wharves. I watch the men load the crates. All of the men are smoking cigars as they work. The men see me watching and shout to me. They offer me a job loading crates. The drapery is thriving. There are too many crates for the men to load onto the lorries. They are behind schedule. I tell the men that I already have a job. I am the striker from the forge on the hill. The men seem impressed. The biggest man offers me a cigar. I am thankful that I already know how to smoke cigars. I smoke the cigar easily. The men drop a crate and it breaks open. Uniforms spill from the crate. The drapery produces uniforms for the soldiers. There are many soldiers stationed along the coast and the draper is a rich man. He pays his manager the highest salary of all the managers in the town. The manager makes sure that the uniforms do not vary from one another in any way except for the sizes. The drapery produces excellent uniforms between which no variations can be detected. When the men drop the crates and the uniforms spill onto the dirty lot, the manager's work is ruined. The fouled uniforms are unfit for the soldiers. The men get down on their knees to pick up the uniforms. The manager appears and begins to abuse the men for their stupidity. I walk away out of consideration for the men. I finish my cigar in front of the drapery.
Even though the drapery is thriving, the paint has peeled from the façade of the drapery. The sign is illegible. The manager cannot be blamed for the outside condition of the drapery. In the town, paint peels immediately. Salts draw moisture from the wood and the moisture pushes the paint off the boards. The manager will have the drapery repainted soon. My brother told me that our mother painted the boards alongside the windows of our house. He can remember that the boards looked bright, although he cannot remember what kind of bright. He remembers bright like a summer sky, which means they might have been yellow or blue. I cannot remember the bright boards. The paint peeled. There are no traces of paint on the boards. The forge is on the hill above the bay, but the salts travel in the air. The salts pushed the paint off the boards.