ABSTRACT
But Vinh had not reckoned with the abnormal sluggishness of the water buffalo. Admittedly, it was an old, old beast-a scrawny thing, weaker than the other fourteen buffalo belonging to their February 3 agricultural cooperative, but a water buffalo balking at the plow or harrow-that was unacceptable behavior. So Vinh made maximum use of the bamboo whip, lashing at the beast's ash gray skin while blustering and shouting himself hoarse. The torrid sun had him sweating profusely, and his eyes were blurry. Under his feet, the paddy slosh that had been baking since daybreak was scorching hot. And the water buffalo kept plodding on his way ever so slowly and wearily. Vinh could hear its labored breathing through the gaping mouth dribbling saliva and froth. Its entire skeleton jutted against wrinkled skin, and he could count every rib.
