Abstract:
The sharp cry of a baby jolted Old Gwangtim from his sleep-wake state in which he had been for hours. He rose slowly to a sitting position and listened. A second cry came. It was sharper than the first, and then a third; sharper still. He staggered out of his sleeping hut and met Nimfa who was returning from the backyard, where Mamya had just delivered herself of the baby.
