Mr. Arimont’s House

Fiction

Evelyn Gilman

Within Mr. Arimont’s house, everyone had a different job. The cook and the baker shared a single kitchen. There was a washerman and a dryerman who went out to clean clothes and set them out on the clothesline. There were sweepers and dusters, steepers and grinders, catchers and exterminators. There were even separate positions for shoe shiners and shoe tyers. All the people in Mr. Arimont’s house were perfectly content because they were all equally important to the running of the estate, but my biased opinion was that the best position was undoubtedly my own, the fire stoker.

I had my own position in between the hearth and the wood, with four square tiles of space. My hands were calloused, and I viewed them with pride, as I nurtured the flame which brought warmth to the house. The wood carrier would come every morning with haste. We would greet each other like so:

“Good morning, Wood Carrier, is it a splendid day?”

“Good morning, Fire Stoker! It is, indeed!”

No matter the weather, the wood carrier would come, and each and every time answer the same. He would drop the wood down inside the metal frame and pat his hands clean before leaving once again. There was no telling where he’d gone once he left, but it didn’t really matter all that much to me.

I stoked the fire with passion and breath, watching the flames burn bright before dimming. The temperature of the house was to remain the same, so I took great care in how much wood I would add. The weight of the logs was measured with precision, as well as the wetness and dryness. I would turn to my left, and pick up a log, and turn to my right, and stoke.

Near midday I greeted the sweeper. He was sent to sweep away the old ashes. I would greet him like so:

“Good afternoon, Sweeper! Is there more ash today?”

“Good afternoon, Stoker! Not anymore than yesterday!”

His response always made me puff up with pride as my passion for the flame was acknowledged. He would sweep the ash into the dustpan with caution, as he wasn’t supposed to sweep outside of the lines. His tiles went on into the next room, but mine were set by the fire. I never wondered about the other rooms, but I’m sure that they weren’t as grand as mine.

During the evening, I’d get so much company. The counter would come and count all the wood so the wood carrier would know how much wood he should bring, and the cat would come to curl up by the fire--staying in her respective tiles, of course. I would greet the counter like so:

“Good evening, Counter! How much wood have you counted?”

“Good evening, Stoker! The same number as yesterday!”

I would smile to myself and clap my calloused hands, as I was clearly the best at my job. He would count in his head and touch his chin in contemplation before turning and leaving without comment. I watched as he disappeared through the large wooden doors, the golden knockers reflecting the fire.

The cat would come a little after the counter, and her steps were quieter than the ash hitting quartz floor. She would curl her spine and tuck her knees to her chest as she snored lightly in the heat. I would watch closely as her breathing slowed, and her paws stretched to the edge of her square.

Another day with everything just as Mr. Arimont liked it.

I don’t really remember what role I had had before being the stoker of the fire. The days of being burned and a bumbling mess seem like they never existed at all. I had long since mastered my position, to the point where it became my nature. That’s why I didn’t understand when they brought in a second.

He came shortly after the cat had slinked off, following diligently behind the announcer, who had been unfamiliar to me at the time. I asked him his name first, and greeted him like so:

“Good morning, Announcer! What have you come to announce?”

“Good morning, Stoker! I have brought your assistant, upon Mr. Arimont’s request.”

The squishy-faced boy behind the announcer seemed to wilt under my gaze, stumbling to introduce himself in words that couldn’t be understood. I was caught quite off guard by the news, as I hadn’t asked for help with my position. Even if I had, this boy did not indicate that he would be helpful. Then again, who was I to question Mr. Arimont’s authority?

The announcer had left shortly after, leaving the fidgety person in my care. I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of tiles because my tiles were the only ones that could access both the wood pile and the fire pit. I decided to ask the boy:

“Which tiles have you been given?” His wide eyes looked at me blankly.

“What? I haven’t been given any tiles.”

How preposterous, how was this boy supposed to assist me if he was not given any instruction? I decided to be generous, and give him a square of my own, the one in the back closest to the wood pile. If nothing else, he could lean to his left, pick up a log, lean to his right, hand me the log, and I’ll stoke. I explained this to him in great detail.

“Alright, hand me a log, so I may stoke the fire.”

He examined the wood pile for a brief moment, and handed me the first log at the very top of the pile.

How ignorant of him! He had not even bothered to check the weight or the wetness of the log before offering it to me.

“You have not considered the quality of the wood. If I had added this log to the fire, the entire house would have been engulfed in flames!”

His eyes widened as I shook the log in his face. He seemed to recognize the importance of his mistake as his eyes watered and lips trembled. Bringing a pudgy hand up to take the wood back, he placed it quickly within the metal frame. Then he turned to me, frazzled, with his head hung in well-deserved shame.

“I.. I’m sorry! I had no idea that something so serious would happen.”

I could tell from his reaction that he had learned his lesson. Perhaps he could eventually overcome his insufficiencies and become a decent helper. However, I couldn’t help but snicker to myself. How naive it was to trust the words of someone you have never known.

“The house would not have been engulfed in flames. I had said so in order to test you. If you are to be the log hander, you need to realize the importance of your job. Do you understand?”

He seemed to freeze for a second, face marked with surprise, before nodding hesitantly. Satisfied, I explained to him the criteria of a good log. The wet logs were not to be added because they caused too much smoke. They were to be moved underneath the rest of the logs in order to give them time to dry. The cleanly cut logs went on the bottom, and the more organically shaped ones on top. Any twigs or leaves should be removed before the log is added to the fire; they are unsightly.

I glanced at his expression from time to time; his eyes seemed perpetually widened. They were sure to dry out by the end of the day, perhaps he would even shed tears. That didn’t matter much to me, however, as long as his hand could still hand me the wood, everything would be just fine. He turned back to the wood and considered it closely. His head tilted in thought. He pulled a log from further down, the rest of them tumbled down to fill the empty space. He turned his log over a few times in his hand, and gave it to me after much consideration. I repeated the motion a few times before turning to my left and stoking the fire. His face lit up at my action.

We worked in tandem for a little while before the wood carrier made his wonderful appearance. He marched in with a stack of wood in his arms and set them down within the metal frame. I greeted him like so:

“Good morning, Wood carrier! Isn’t it a splendid day?”

“Good morning, Fire Stokers! It is, indeed!”

I froze at his words, for there was no fire stoker but I, before realizing that he must have been speaking to the boy.

“Oh no, Wood Carrier. The only fire stoker is me. This boy is my new log hander.” He puzzled over my words. “I was told that this boy would be your replacement. Therefore, he is a fire stoker as well.”

What an absurd idea! This boy was nothing when compared to me. Surely, he must be mistaken. My face and hands grew hot as I asked:

“Who told you such nonsense?! I truly must know!” “Mr. Arimont had told me, of course.”

He turned on his heel, completely unfazed, and made his way out of the room.

Then I turned to the traitorous boy, who looked at me in fear. Suddenly I launched myself at him, fists ready, and wrestled him down to the floor. He squeaked and squawked as I swung for his head, just barely missing the metal rods of the frame. He pushed me off and bucked his legs, but I kept trying to reach his face. I could not name a stronger desire than the one I had to pull the skin off his cheeks.

I grabbed at his neck and he came alive. He stole a log from the pile and hit me just under my ribs. I sputtered and gasped as he pushed me away to scuttle across the floor, rubbing his neck and cheeks. We both panted for a good long time. I let my bare stomach rest on a cold tile, recovering from the blow. When I turned to observe the boy, he was already on his feet. The pain had extinguished my anger, but I still hardened my gaze.

“I didn’t know that I was sent as a replacement!” His voice was hoarse from stress. He stood wobbling like a foal as he made his way over, making sure to keep the wood in his trembling hands. His words should’ve softened my heart, but they didn’t. I stood and faced him, eyeing his weapon. I decided that it would be best not to antagonize him at this time.

He pleaded, “I really didn’t know. I swear! I never even wanted to become a fire stoker. It was Mr. Arimot’s will, not mine.”

I didn’t doubt his words. He was young and stupid; he did not seem like the type who would wish to work at all. Nonetheless, or perhaps even more so, his existence was a nuisance to me.

“Come back to your square. You will be punished if anyone sees you.”

His shoulders dropped in relief, and he inched closer to his square. He was still alert, but he seemed to believe my words fairly easily. He went to drop the wood back into the pile, but I stopped him.

“Would you like to try it? Stoking the fire, I mean.”

He looked at me once again with those wide eyes, perfectly round. I imagined what would happen if he opened them too wide, his eyelids and lashes would retreat into the back of his concave sockets, letting the balls roll forward unobstructed.

We switched places, and I watched as he brought the log he had used against me up towards the fire. He pulled back to look at me once the deed was done, debating on whether he’d have to run away again or not. I wouldn’t chase him away, not actively.

I took my place once more as the stoker, and we worked in silence for a bit until he picked up a log and flinched. He had pricked his finger on a loose sliver of wood, holding his hand up for observation. I have never committed such a careless action, but I offered to look for him anyway. He placed his pudgy hand in mine, and I looked at it closely. It was so different from my own. My hands were weathered from their labors, and the ends of my nails were black from the soot and coal. His hands were smooth and his nails were clean, cut into perfect little rectangles. The sight of them made the bile in my stomach boil, and it gave me some kind of pleasure to see his pillowy hands soiled with a brilliant drop of blood that beaded at the top of his longest finger. On impulse, I jabbed my finger into the skin, directly onto the glob. He pulled away with a hiss, and I watched as the red joined the soot underneath my nail.

“We don’t have time for this. If you are to be the next fire stoker, then you should be able to handle any wounds that come with the territory.”

The sweeper had come midday, just as he usually did. I gritted my teeth as he addressed the young man as he would a fire stoker, like myself. The boy absolutely wouldn’t make it as a fire stoker, there was no doubt in my mind. He was decent at stoking technique–wise, nearly everyone could manage that. His problem came from his seemingly inherent meekness. As he said, he didn’t want to become a fire stoker, and it showed. It’s possible that his passions would grow over time, but he wasn’t going to be here long enough for that. I’d have to get rid of him quickly because I didn’t know when the boy was expected to take over, and I’d be forced to resign. My thoughts were interrupted by said boy, who did not speak often.

“Have you ever met him? Mr. Arimont, I mean.”

I dusted my hands off on my pants. “No, I have never met him. Why do you ask?”

The boy looked down bashfully, he opened his mouth for a brief moment before closing it once more. I could feel my patience slipping every second longer he took to answer my question.

“I just feel like it’s odd that everyone worships him even though they’ve never met him.”

I couldn’t help but scoff at his remark. It was a childish notion, to believe something to be less important just because you can’t see it. While it’s true that Mr. Arimont had never spoken to me personally, he had given me this position. I think. I ought to be grateful for my place within his estate, and for my position by the fire.

The boy pressed to explain himself once I had gone silent. “I just mean, like, maybe there are better things to do outside of the estate? I just wish there was some way to know what’s out there.”

His condition was a dire one, undoubtedly caused by an innocent mind. It’s understandable for someone like him to have questions such as this, but in Mr. Arimont’s estate, there was no need for someone like him. I had never wondered about the outside, but I was more than willing to play pretend for a minute or two if it would expel him from my sight.

“I…might know of a way.” He gasped, “...You do?”

I didn’t have to look to know his eyes were widened and locked onto me. Because of what I planned to do, I could not face him.

“There is a room upstairs that has…uhh...” I looked around quickly, and my eyes landed briefly on the wood pile, “a tree.”

He scrunched his nose at me, in clear disbelief at my words. It truly shows how naive he is that he believes I’d help him at all. To sell it further, I placed my hand on the back of my neck in mock thought.

“Yes, a tree. With large branches. These are so large, in fact, that they extend past the bounds of the estate, over the fence.”

I could see him from my peripheral vision, leaning in with interest. “When did you see the tree? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave your tiles?”

Ah, a good question.

“It’s how I arrived at Mr. Arimont’s estate to begin with. I was a young man, much like yourself, and I climbed in through the open window using the tree.”

He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand. I used his silence to stoke the fire, fidgeting with the log as I carried from the right to the left. If this didn’t work, then I wasn’t quite sure what else to do. I didn’t want to have an active part in his removal, and I didn’t want to risk my position either. This story was so insane that surely they wouldn’t believe the boy if he were to point fingers at me; I was a very rational person.

“Do you think…that’s how I got here too?”

“Mhm, most definitely. It’s how all of us get here.” I hadn’t stopped stoking to respond, the motions had been helping with my nerves. The boy’s hand gripped the corner of the mantle, trying to steady himself from the oncoming wave of revelations.

“Do you think I’d be able to get up there without being caught?”

I smirked. “Of course, you should definitely make the trip.”

 “Could you come with me?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. I have a bruise on my stomach now; I would only slow you down if I went.”

His eyebrows furrowed in pity at the mention of my bruise. “I’m sorry for…that.”

His apology was unexpected, but it was appreciated. It would have been more polite if he had expressed his regrets a little sooner, but it was better than nothing. The bruise might come in handy if I need any proof to show Mr. Arimont that this boy is unfit for the position of fire stoker. A fire stoker should be even-tempered, after all.

“I guess I could try going tomorrow before the wood carrier comes.”

I couldn’t help but cry out at his suggestion. “No! You actually need to go tonight.”

He met my eyes, indicating that he was listening thoughtfully.

“Why do I have to go tonight?”

“...Because the tree is only accessible tonight. It will be dead by tomorrow morning.” “Dead?!”

“Yes, dead!”

He seemed to grow panicked at this information, his gaze diverted back and forth between me and the giant mahogany doors, as if deciding whether or not to make a run for it. That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for honestly. The sooner he gets caught, the better.

“You should go tonight after the counter comes to count all the wood, then you can make it back in time for the wood carrier.”

He agreed to the plan instantly. Already spewing nonsense about how excited he was to see the “real world.” I hoped that he would be placed on the other side of the estate after this, I didn’t want him to come looking for me. I spent my last few hours with him stoking the fire, and it helped to distract my mind, even though I was already very comfortable with what I was doing and had no wonder about the outside.

The counter had come in like an omen, and I held my breath during our casual encounter. The longer the boy stayed, the more the room seemed to close in on itself. I felt my fire-singed neck hairs standing on end as the boy was preparing to leave.

“I’ll come back before the counter, and I’ll tell you what I find.”

Despite his proud words, he was practically vibrating with nerves. For once, I felt that I could relate to the halfwit. I wouldn’t want to leave my tiles either.

He made his first step quickly; it actually surprised me a little bit, but the closer he got to the doors the more hesitant he got. He turned to look at me once more before heading out the door. I wasn’t aware that I was holding my breath until my lungs were begging to be emptied.

The cat came in shortly after, curling her spine and tucking her knees to her chest as she snored lightly. I continued to stoke the fire with ease, attempting to erase the day from my mind. The fire was warm and inviting, but the smell of smoke made me slightly nauseous.

It must’ve been a few hours before morning that I heard the fast paced pats of feet on the floor. To my surprise, the boy ran past the doors and bolted straight for me. I screamed in horror, for surely he came for revenge. The chaos caused the cat to jump and I grabbed her scruff and before I knew it I was flinging her with all my might at the boy. He screeched as the cat grappled onto his clothes and immediately pushed her off before she could do more damage. She scampered away with her hackles up, and the boy looked at me gawking.

“Listen–”

I held my hands out before he could say anything else, “I can explain everything!”

He came up to me and grabbed my arm quickly, glancing over his shoulder with worry.

“We don’t have time for an explanation. If we want to cross over! We have to leave now!”

“What are you talking about?”

He huffed at me in exasperation before trying to tug at my arm again. “The tree! I found it, and it was just as you described. Its arms reach far over the bounds of the estate. You said it yourself, we only have ‘till morning, so we need to leave right now.”

What? I yanked my arm away from his grip, his smooth skin doing nothing to keep me.

“That is not possible because I made it all up! You are a liar, and you will not trick me into following!”

He stared at me blankly for a few seconds before his expression converted to confusion.

“No, I saw the tree. It was a giant oak tree! Its roots were the size of the mantle, and its leaves were the size of tiles. Its bark was more fragrant than the smoke from the fire, and it was undulating with life from the breeze outside. I swear it was real!” His arms waved around excitedly as he explained his experience that couldn’t have existed. The tree was just a story! It was a ploy to get him out, and even if there was a tree, I would not know of it. All of my memories were contained to this room and there was no reason for me to know about anything else. This had to be some nefarious plot, some scheme to pull me away from my hearth.

“I’m not going with you, you absolute nincompoop!”

He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “I’m escaping either way. If you don’t want to come with me, then I’ll go on my own.”

He turned swiftly and bolted out of the room, leaving me behind. I watched as he went, and I waited afterwards for any sign that this was all his shenanigans. Eventually, I heard steps from outside, and assumed that he had come back; I had prepped a speech with the intention to scold, but he was not the one to walk through the door.

“Good morning, Fire Stoker! Isn’t it a splendid day?”

“Good morning, Wood Carrier. It is, indeed.”