Tom
The cow is heard before she is seen. It has been years since I dealt with anything like this.
After Daddy’s accident, the bull was sold along with all the cows.
Now, I’ve to put on a brave face and pretend I know exactly what I’m at.
At a time like this, there would be nothing worse than to ask for help.
‘Bill, are ye well? Thanks for coming down.’
Frances McCarthy says, as Cathal leads us into the barn. Bill nods at him.
‘I’ve the apprentice here.’
The men laugh at me, and so, immediately, I laugh with them. Although really, I suppose that I am Bill’s apprentice. Not in any trade in particular, just in how to be a man. How to be Bill. It isn’t a bad thing to learn.
Calving isn’t the gruesome thing I remember it being.
For a reason that I cannot name, the mention of calving made me anticipate mass panic, the men racing around the barn as the straw rapidly took the colour of thick, dark blood.
This is nowhere near as dramatic as a human birth.
The cow is getting on fine without us here.
I feel totally unnecessary. What a horrible way to feel.
Even Bill might be unnecessary here. But then, the cow cries out.
A particular note that I have heard only once before.
It is the sound of pure, undiluted pain.
Is it stupid that just the thought of her could bring me to tears?