第1部分(第3/6 頁)

　young　doctor；　himself　a　patient；　in　a　bare　room；　nearing　the　end　of　a　losing　battle　against　leukaemia。

Next　to　him；　his　wife：　younger　still；　looking　like　a　school…girl；　except　for　the　fact　that　she　is　nine　months　pregnant。　They　are　waiting；　as　they　have　been　waiting　these　last　seven　months；　for　life；　for　death。　Which　will　arrive　first？　Will　he　ever　see　this　child；　their　third？

The　following　day；　she　doesn’t　arrive　as　usual。　Instead　there　is　a　telephone　call　from　his　colleague　in　the　maternity　unit。　“Congr…atulations！　You　have　a　daughter。”

Nobody　knew　where　he　found　the　strength　to　get　up　from　his　death…bed。　He　surprised　them　all　as　he　entered　the　room；　where　his　wife　was　nursing　the　new…born。

He　took　the　baby　in　his　arms；　and　for　a　short　while　they　were　together；　the　three　of　them；　united　by　a　sheer；　ephemeral　joy。

“Will　you　call　her　Ann？”　he　said；　handing　her　back。　“Ann　Margareta　Maria。”　He　knew　he　would　never　see　his　daughter　again。　This　was　the　moment　he’d　been　holding　on　for。

The　baptism　took　place　the　day　after　his　funeral。　They　gave　her　the　names　he　had　requested。

Such　was　my　entry　to　life；　the　heritage　I　carry。　He　was　my　father。　And　I　was　his　last…born　child。

I　found　my　neighbour　in　tears　by　her　cattle…shed。　She　looked　tired　and　dishevelled；　her　clothes　were　stained　with　mud　and　blood。

“We　lost　the　calf；”　she　wept　in　answer　to　my　question。　“A　fine　bull　calf。　Everything　was　perfect。　The　little　hooves；　tail；　ears；　teeth　and　all。”

Are　calves　born　with　teeth？　I　asked　myself　but　I　didn’t　say　so。　I　sympathised　with　her　sadness；　having　once　shed　a　few　tears　myself　over　a　Charolais　calf　still…born　for　no　better　reason　than　the　vet　being　out　of　reach。　I　remember　the　sight　of　the　strong　muscular　body　in