The Journal of Dora Damage Read Online Free PDF Page B

hands of an apprentice, a journeyman, and a – a – a – a woman !’
    One thing that could always be said in Peter’s favour was that he wore an apron alongside his mechanics.
    He lifted himself out of his chair with a grimace, and started slowly to pace the floor. ‘They cannot, Dora,’ he finally admitted,
     his voice low. ‘We tried today – we have been trying for weeks, in the afternoons, when you are gone – but they have not the
     skill. Jack has the strength for forwarding, but he is young and green. Sven is almost as fine a finisher as myself, but .
     . . well, Sven . . . he . . .’
    The room felt chilly, and I noticed that the fire was low again. I wondered if Peter would find it rude if I tended to it
     while he was talking.
    ‘Besides . . .’ After a pause, he started speaking again, and his voice was even quieter, ‘. . . he is leaving us. Sven has
     seen the writing on the wall. He is too good for me now. He is off to Zaehnsdorf’s, for twenty-five shillings a week. I offered
     him eighteen, and he spat on the floor. Damn that German. He spat on my floor!’
    He sucked on his pipe and realised with distaste that it had gone out, so he manoeuvred himself painfully towards the hearth
     to rescue the spent lucifer from the stone. The fat, round ends of his fingers could scarcely grasp the slender piece of wood;
     his finger-nails, which might have given him some purchase, were buried deep in his flesh. I crouched down next to him and
     picked up the lucifer, placed it in the embers, then waited for it to ignite. We transferred it arduously from my fingers
     to his; I at least had to give him the dignity of lighting his own pipe.
    Once it was lit, he could not stand up again. He could not lean on his hands to push himself up, or grasp anything to help
     him. I stood behind him for several moments, looking at his dishevelled head bobbing up and down, and listening to the puffs
     and groans. Suddenly my hands decided for me what to do, and did something my head would never have allowed. They slid into
     his armpits, and dragged him, with one sharp heave, to his feet.
    I could not tell who was more surprised; the touch was a shock to us both, but Peter looked more startled by my strength.
     Perhaps he had never noticed how much I had to carry our long-limbed daughter around, or even that she was no longer a baby.
     It was as if he did not know that muscles could be made strong through the labours of housework or factory work, muscles that
     could rise up and crush the languid, unmuscled rulers of their sex. Did they not have to work an eighteen-hour day and more,
     and tumble into bed at the end of it, too tired even to dream?
    ‘What is to be done?’ I ventured, softly, as if I could compensate for the hardness of my body and regain some semblance of
     femininity.
    ‘What is there to do?’ he railed back at me, still reeling from my touch.
    Hire another journeyman, I wanted to say, angry at his anger. Is not this the obvious answer? But of course I stayed silent,
     and returned to the dying fire to draw up some heat into the room, embarrassed at what my hands had just done.
    When he next spoke, his voice was solemn. ‘We have not many books left to go into leather. We are not getting many more in.
     The booksellers are losing faith in Damage’s Bookbinders. Herzina’s won’t buy from us. Chancellors have given up on us. Barker
     & Bobbs likewise won’t touch us. Diprose is our only new lead, Charles Diprose. He has a fine line in medical textbooks, anatomies
     and so forth. There’s no point my going to see him now, but I’ve heard he supports the unions.’
    After a pause I said quietly, ‘We could move.’
    To any sensible person it would not have seemed too outrageous an idea. North towards the river or south towards the factories,
     it would have been less salubrious, but the drop in our rent would have been substantial. But so too, of course, would have
     been the drop in our status.