conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for a story with the title 'Blood on the Forge'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Blood on the Forge
  Naked to the waist, they worked hard, cleaning a big ladle for relining. The air was stifling. When Melody raised his lips upward to search the thin air he could see Big Mat high above. Pushing up his glasses, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He could see the liquid steel hitting the sides of the test spoon, scattering in clouds of white stars over Mat's gloved hands. Even to his hazed eyes, Mat's muscles sang. His own muscles did not sing. They grew weak and cried for long, slow movement. He could not stop them from twitching. It was not the heat and work alone—the rhythms of the machinery played through his body—the stripper, knocking the hardened steel loose from the molds. He couldn't hear it. It would have been a relief to hear it. He felt it inside himself—the heavy rhythm of the piston that used only a stroke to a mold. That rhythm in his body was like pounding out those ingots with a blow of his fist. And he was tired. Twenty-four hours had to pass before he could stagger away to the bunkhouse. Only a thought kept him on the job: next week end he would pleasure himself in Mex Town while some other bastard was baking on the long shift.
  In the shanties Mexican women sell themselves for a dollar. Over green corn whisky, Melody meets fourteen-year-old Anna and falls in love.
  On their own, without one another, the brothers are lost. Melody's music hardens; Chinatown is bewildered that the bond between his brothers has been mysteriously broken. Big Mat has always had Melody to help him to make sense of his feelings. Deprived of his brother's organizing presence, he ends up under arrest in a nearby town, having beaten both Anna and a man he wrongly accuses of being her lover. It will take a devastating accident, an explosion in a blast furnace that kills fourteen men and blinds Chinatown, to bring the brothers together again. "Steel just had to get somebody that day." Afterward, they are together, but Chinatown is a shade of his former self, his injuries are no honor, and his accident has destroyed Big Mat's confidence. "His brokenness was his adjustment." Big Mat takes to walking in the ruined hills, restless, fatigued. Melody fails in his attempt to recreate the harmony of their shared past; Anna takes care of Chinatown, but rejects both Melody and Big Mat. Meanwhile, the town has changed and they have scarcely noticed how hostile once-friendly foreign workers have become. Even in the intense summer heat, no Slav families sit on the porches.
  Whites attack black workers, calling up in the Moss boys a deep fear of white mobs that has its roots in their Southern history. But blacks get promoted when there is union trouble:
  For a man who had so lately worked from dawn to dark in the fields twelve hours and the long shift were not killing. For a man who had ended each year in debt any wage at all was a wonderful thing. For a man who had known no personal liberties even the iron hand of the mills was an advancement.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Blood on the Forge
  Naked to the waist, they worked hard, cleaning a big ladle for relining. The air was stifling. When Melody raised his lips upward to search the thin air he could see Big Mat high above. Pushing up his glasses, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He could see the liquid steel hitting the sides of the test spoon, scattering in clouds of white stars over Mat's gloved hands. Even to his hazed eyes, Mat's muscles sang. His own muscles did not sing. They grew weak and cried for long, slow movement. He could not stop them from twitching. It was not the heat and work alone—the rhythms of the machinery played through his body—the stripper, knocking the hardened steel loose from the molds. He couldn't hear it. It would have been a relief to hear it. He felt it inside himself—the heavy rhythm of the piston that used only a stroke to a mold. That rhythm in his body was like pounding out those ingots with a blow of his fist. And he was tired. Twenty-four hours had to pass before he could stagger away to the bunkhouse. Only a thought kept him on the job: next week end he would pleasure himself in Mex Town while some other bastard was baking on the long shift.
  In the shanties Mexican women sell themselves for a dollar. Over green corn whisky, Melody meets fourteen-year-old Anna and falls in love.
  On their own, without one another, the brothers are lost. Melody's music hardens; Chinatown is bewildered that the bond between his brothers has been mysteriously broken. Big Mat has always had Melody to help him to make sense of his feelings. Deprived of his brother's organizing presence, he ends up under arrest in a nearby town, having beaten both Anna and a man he wrongly accuses of being her lover. It will take a devastating accident, an explosion in a blast furnace that kills fourteen men and blinds Chinatown, to bring the brothers together again. "Steel just had to get somebody that day." Afterward, they are together, but Chinatown is a shade of his former self, his injuries are no honor, and his accident has destroyed Big Mat's confidence. "His brokenness was his adjustment." Big Mat takes to walking in the ruined hills, restless, fatigued. Melody fails in his attempt to recreate the harmony of their shared past; Anna takes care of Chinatown, but rejects both Melody and Big Mat. Meanwhile, the town has changed and they have scarcely noticed how hostile once-friendly foreign workers have become. Even in the intense summer heat, no Slav families sit on the porches.
  Whites attack black workers, calling up in the Moss boys a deep fear of white mobs that has its roots in their Southern history. But blacks get promoted when there is union trouble:
  For a man who had so lately worked from dawn to dark in the fields twelve hours and the long shift were not killing. For a man who had ended each year in debt any wage at all was a wonderful thing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'Yet he was tired of his own noise after three days'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Yet he was tired of his own noise after three days. He was tired of it but he couldn't help wanting to play. For the first time he thought it was a bad thing to have to play only the music inside him. He began to wish that his right hand were smashed so never again would he be able to hold a pick.
  On the morning of the fourth day he went to the superintendent's office. He had decided to ask for a transfer. The superintendent was a busy man; the interview was short and to the point.
  He had not expected to be transferred immediately. He had merely expected the superintendent to keep the request in mind. But Melody was lucky. A man was needed at the blast furnances. The superintendent gave him a slip of paper to pass on to the boss of number-six stoves.
  Melody went straight to the lockers. He wanted to say good-by to his old gang before they left for the pit. They laughed and gave him advice as they struggled into their clothes. He looked around for Zanski.
  It was good to know that Zanski was still alive. But he was through in the mills. That was something to make a man cry a little. It would be a relief to cry for somebody other than himself. Yet instead of crying Melody smiled. Now the old hunky could sit in his courtyard and watch his kids and his kids' kids go to work in the mills.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They took seats in the smoking car. Melody did not look out of the window. He looked at the black man in the seat across from them. That man wore an old khaki uniform and a wrinkled overseas cap. Under that cap an elastic band held two black patches over the soldier's eyes. Melody looked from the soldier to Chinatown. Two blind men facing one another, not knowing.
  They talked along many of the long miles to Pittsburgh. Finally they were friendly enough for Chinatown to ask:
  The sound was real to the soldier. For him it was beating regularly, like the bass in a band, faint and traveling slowly on the breeze, long drawn out, as though too heavy a load to be carried on the wind. To him it was like a big drum somewhere in the valley. He did not know that the drum had stopped beating months ago. He would always hear a drum.
  Chinatown strained his ears. They had become very good ears since his eyes had gone. He strained so hard that he heard the guns. Their noise came over the rumble of the train.
  Melody watched the nod. He looked at the two blind men closely. Their heads cocked to one side, listening for sounds that didn't exist. They were twins.