I am talking with Milica and Benjamin Pahović about their youth within sight of Motovun. She was born in San Bartolo to the east, and he in Rakotole to the south. I am fascinated with their stories about village life. Soon enough we focus on cattle, the greatest mobile wealth of a peasant family. The daily needs of cows, oxen, and bulls were entrusted to the youngest children. At some point Benjamin starts waxing poetic about oxen that pulled ploughs and carts. Much of village life would have been impossible without them. Benjamin gets up, climbs on a table in his restaurant, and takes down a model cart that perches on a stone ledge above the main entrance. He explains what every part of the cart was for, and what it was called, but he always returns to the oxen. One went to the right, the other to the left, and this is how they were called. The right ox was always the bigger and the cleverer one. “One day both of our oxen got killed by lightning,” he remembers with a quick frown. “It was right under the Motovun hill, on Kanal, where there was a monthly cattle fair.” His father was lucky not to be right next to them when the storm suddenly started. “He was paying for something in a nearby building, and someone ran up to him to tell him about the calamity.” “When was that?” I jump in. “That was about this time of year in 1968,” Benjamin answers without a moment’s hesitation. “Gosh,” I exclaim, “that was only forty years ago!” Benjamin nods, laughs, and slams his thighs with both hands. “Back then,” I shake my head, “we lived in parallel universes.” And we still do, it goes without saying.