Who said?

When I was born, I was one-legged, and my father screamed at me. When I turned five, though, my father tore off his leg dramatically, in front of everyone. Here's my leg, he said. Use it well. I said, I don't want your charity, and threw the leg away. It landed near the fireplace; the maid servant, whose name is not important, used it to stoke the fire.

After that, I grew up. When I was sixteen I chose my first girlfriend, whom my father adored. He said, look after him well, he's my one-legged son. She dumped me then and there because she had thought that I'd had both my legs intact. See, my father said, this is what happens. Can I have your other leg now, father? He said, Perhaps.

Later, I became twenty-five. By then my father had already become thirty-six. He had only a year left to live. Father, I said. Now that you have only a year left to live, you will consider? No, who said? he asked, spittle trailing down the corner of his mouth. I have more than a year and three months to live. Besides, your stepsisters also need legs. What will become of them if I give you everything I have? Then, he wiped the rest of his spittle on my face and said, here, take this. I give you this.

I sold my body unsuccessfully for many days after that. No one would pay to sleep with me, because I was disfigured. Besides, I didn't have any money. One person was willing, then she asked me: Do you have any money? I said, no, I don't have money, I need money. She walked away in a hurry.

Unfortunately, I died before my father. It was a rainy day, and he had forgotten to dye his hair. He said, there goes a one-legged man. I wanted to say to him, you should have given me that last leg. But I didn't, alas, because I was dead.