The old man called Smith Allan came from my neighborhood. He drew his greatest pride and livelihood from his livestock that produced a comparatively higher amount of milk than other local cows despite neither being high-breed nor dairy. Sometimes he would drive them up the hill as he sung praises to the gods for the wealth he had amassed. Within the locality, owning a few herds of cattle with low-quality meat and little milk production earned people respect from the many who could not afford such gifts. In fact, the trend with which the locals revered possession such as livestock made me bear such a little perception of fortunes that I often wondered the essence of working so hard in school.
On this particular day, this old man trotted the narrow path leading to the ranches in distant hills to graze his cattle. I could only vividly hear his sharp voice slightly filtered through the dense bushlands that engaged our homestead. I could comprehend that Smiths message contained a potentially wrong message. One thing that mesmerized and interested me in equal measure about Smiths life is how he would explain his predicaments to his fellow old men. This day, I followed his grimy voice which sounded to disappear in the woods. Fortunately, I traced him to the fields where I could see him from a distance trying to recount episodes that seemed to have occurred a short while ago but had psychologically affected him. I first dismissed Smith thinking that his age could have made him sound grieved even if he was merely expressing joy for the cattle. Then came Captain Rodrigues who greeted him slightly and interrupted his shaky singing. He removed his cigar and began to smoke. Just then, Smith too removed his wineskin and started partaking of his alcohol. My father had confided in me that Smith and Rodrigues were close friends before each of them took different paths. "Hey my long lost friend, why are you here just sitting gazing into this space under this bright sun with an unhappy face? Smith enquired. I think this was just a trigger to cajole Smith into talking since it was clear that he was tending to his cattle which he greatly endeared. The old farmer nodded his head in an apparent apprehension then replied Rodrigues, "Some things you can't explain." At this point, I shuddered thinking that something disheartening might have happened to Smith that had devastated his conditions that afternoon. Rodrigues too thought just like me. The blowing wind could bring to my eardrum exactly the words of the tow friends conversation.
Smith asked, "So what happened. Is it horrible? Verily, this morning I decided to do my routine work of milking one of the cows. Unfortunately, it lifted the legs and knocked down the milk when it was almost full. I was surprised that hit was not something as grave as I had expected it to be. Rodrigues continued his questioning, But that's not so bad." However, the farmer responded, "Some things you just can't explain. When asked what he did in repose to the poured milk, Smith said that he tied the left leg that had kicked the basket and returned to milking. Funnily, the man reiterated that when the milk was about to fill the bucket, again the cow knocked it using its right leg forcing him to tie it too. When he continued with his milking again, the cow knocked the bucket down and poured out all the milk therein. Smith laughed in a deafening sound and said, "Again?" Smith retorted, "Some things you just can't explain."
The farmer continued with his narration, I returned to my milking again and it kicked it again using its tail. What did you do this time now I did not have any more ropes to use in tying the cows tail, so I decided to use my belt to tie it up. I am stunned at how foolish I had become to listen to such a false story. How could just an ordinary cow produce a significant amount of milk? I was so attracted to the story that I never took the time to analyze it in details and realize its open lies. The man continued Some things you just can't explain." Rodrigues seemed so much more carried along with Smiths narration even more than myself. He continued to ask What happened after you tied the tail using your belt too to tie the tail of the cow? He replied, Some things are just difficult to explain, I found my trousers down. It is was only after the old man finished his long but interesting story that I realized it is hard to explain that the old man just wanted someone who would keep him company in the fields while he grazed. The cows were already well fed, and it was time for taking them back home. The old man turned to Rodrigues and then to the direction I was sitting and shouted out, Thank you for your company. I feared the wild animals here. I am glad my story attracted you. Rodrigues looked disappointed, and I felt fooled as we moved back home.
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