"Amos, you’re an ox!" The donkey lifts its head, briefly looks at the boy, and then lowers it again to nibble at the chewed-up clump of grass. “Move your bones, we’ve been stuck here for an hour!” Dušan jerks the rope wrapped around his wrist and takes a step forward. In the next second, he’s on the ground. The animal bumps into him several times with its hard forehead before returning to its clump of grass. “You stupid idiot! Beastly beast!” the boy rages, brushing gravel from his scraped palms. The rope has dug into his fingers, and his nails tingle with blood. There’s blood on his elbow too. It spreads into the wrinkles, mapping his dirty skin with thin, ragged capillaries. Dušan pulls his elbow to his face, sticks out his tongue, trying to reach the wound with its tip. It doesn’t work. He spits into his other hand, wipes the blood on his palm, and stands up. “What do you think, smart aleck? That I’m going to stand here and watch you eat?” The donkey yanks up a stalk of plantain, slides it between its soft, moving lips and teeth, and looks ahead. Without a hint of malice. In its eyes is a holy light, as if it were standing in a Bethlehem stable, warming the Baby Jesus with its breath. “Stop staring and come on,” the boy tries again. In a coaxing tone. He even smiles to show goodwill. “You have to come with me, you’re mine now. My inheritance, understand?”