| Muller | Hitchhiking Vietnam
Page 230 |
The weather was unseasonably sunny and cast a ruddy tone over the near-naked children that flocked the fields. They used their parents' tools as props and handled them with such ease that I felt like I had stumbled into a munchkin universe, where pint-sized farmers hacked the earth with absurdly elongated hoes, and tiny girls swung giant infants onto their slender but capable backs. A five-year-old plowman in need of a buffalo slung a rope instead around his little brother and called him to task. Together they dragged a hoe around the field, the child-buffalo snorting and tossing pretend horns while its owner bellowed out commands and kept a steady hand upon the reins.
