Damn! What wicked creatures men are! Don’t you agree?
Say the evil things we do, and tell me it isn’t true!... Look, I’ll never forget a case I saw, that stuck in my memory and will remain there until I die… Like the sore on a mule’s back.
It was at the Lagoões estate, owned by the Silva family, very political people, always involved in elections and the intricacies of voter qualifications.
There was a stream about ten blocks away from the estate house; that was the family’s bathing spot. There was a point, with a sarandi forest, and then a strong bend, like a crescent moon, where the sands piled up forming a low area: the bank was on the other side.
The vegetation there seemed to be planted on purpose: it was almost purely guabiroba and cherry, araçá and guabiju; in season, the ground was filled with fruit: it was a delight!
You see… the stream wasn’t far away; the family could easily walk there, but they always went there by ox cart, pulled by a pair of very tame oxen, driven by one of the ladies and guided with a branch by one of the children.
Those oxen were as patient as could be. One was called Dourado, a dun-colored one; the other, Cabiúna, was black, with a white ear on the lasso side, and a stripe on its dewlap.
They were so accustomed to that routine that, in the early morning, when the family started getting ready after breakfast—when the kids jumped out into the yard, still chewing on a piece of bread, and the maids appeared with towels, and finally the ladies—when they called for the ox cart, the oxen would’ve already have been standing by the yoke for a long time, calmly chewing their cud, waiting to pull the cart.
Years went by, always with the same routine.
When winter arrived, the oxen were released into the field, and they grazed in a well-sheltered corner behind the houses. Sometimes, on a warmer sunny day, they would appear nearby, as if inquiring whether it was warm enough for the family to bathe at the stream. And as soon as the children spotted them, they’d run and shout in a joyful commotion for the animals.
“Look at Dourado! Look at Cabiúna! Moo!... Moo!”
And the rascals would always dig out a corn cob or a piece of pumpkin to feed the oxen, whit their shiny, saliva-covered lips, and the animals would start chewing, very leisurely, at the view of the smiling children.
But you see… As time went by, those children grew up into young men and women, got married, and started their own families, and as it happened, there were always ladies, maids, and little ones for the old oxen to carry to the stream for a bath.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
One day, by the end of summer, Dourado was found dead in the morning, very swollen and stiff: he had been bitten by a snake.
So Cabiúna was left alone; since he was very close to the other, he stayed near him for a few days, grazing, lying down, and chewing his cud. Sometimes he would stretch his head toward the dead one and let out a bellow… I think the ox bellowed out of longing for his companion, and was calling him, as in the old days, to graze together, to drink together, to pull the cart together…
“What do you think!... Animals understand each other… they have their language!”
When Cabiúna got too close to the other and sniffed the foul smell, the vultures would scatter away, smeared with rotten blood, sometimes half-choking, vomiting pieces of carrion… Cursed creatures, those dark ones!
Well, since Cabiúna was left alone, they had to find another pair of oxen to pull the cart, and the old ox just stayed around. He began to lose weight… just like a sorrowful person who liked to be alone, so Cabiúna went into the woods, perhaps out of sorrow too…
One hot sunny day, he appeared again in the yard.
It caused quite a stir among the children.
“Look at Cabiúna! Cabiúna! Moo! Cabiúna! Moo!...”
The ladies came to the door, now married and mothers, who had been taken by Cabiúna so many times when they were children; the boys, now grown young men, also came, and everyone said:
“Look, there’s Cabiúna! Moo! Moo!...”
Then, one of them noticed how skinny the ox was; another agreed; someone else said he wouldn’t survive the first cold winds of May; and the conversation went on, one of them, who was very practical, suggested that it would be better to kill that ox, with thick scabs on his horns, who would never fatten up again, and would likely die stuck in some muddy creek… and that would be a sure loss, with all the hide wasted…
So, they called for a farmhand to bring a lasso; and he came. In no time, the man threw a half-hitch around Cabiúna; the ox followed like a dog…
The old ox cart was nearby, old and a bit rickety, with its yoke resting on a stick.
The farmhand drew his knife, and with one stroke buried it up to the hilt in the old ox’s jugular; when he pulled out his hand, it was already covered in the frothy blood from the heart…
There was a little silence among all the people.
The old ox, feeling the pain from the wound, perhaps thought of it as a punishment, some cruel jab from not being in his place yet—believe me!—: as blood spurted out in gushes, with his breath now rattling, staggering, the old ox took a few more steps, leaned his body against the cart, and placed his head right in the spot where the yoke would go, between the two yoke bows… and he stayed there, ready, waiting for the farmhand to close the latch and pass the reins over his white ear…
And then he kneeled… and fell… and died…
The dogs began to lick the blood off the grass… one lifted its leg and peed on it… and while the farmhand sharpened his knife to butcher the ox, a chubby, light-skinned little boy with curly hair, who was eating a piece of bread, approached the dead ox and placed the slice in his mouth, tapped his horn, and said in his childish talk:
“Take it, Tabiúna! Eat… I don’t want more, Tabiúna!...”
And the innocent boy laughed, looking at the adults, who were standing there, silent—those devils—probably feeling remorse for the cruelty against the old ox, who had carried them all so many times to the joy of the bath by the stream, and the guabiroba, the araçá, the cherries, the guabiju!
See, how disgraceful they are; so wealthy… and all for the paltry hide of the old ox!...
Bah!... Men are truly wicked creatures!