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Justice by Sadeq Chubak translated by
copyright © 1998, 2004
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A doroshkai1 horse had fallen into a wide stream. His foreleg shin and a kneecap had been smashed. It could clearly be seen that the shinbone of one of the forelegs was broken under the hennaed skin and had bled. The kneecap of the other foreleg was entirely severed from its joint, and was dangling from several veins and sinews which still had not given up their loyalty. The hoof of one foreleg--the one which had broken at the shin--had turned outwards. A polished, worn-out shoe stuck with three nails, was visible.
Except for the immediate areas around the body of the horse where its warmth had melted the ice, the water in the stream had frozen. The beast's whole body had fallen in a pool of blood-stained muddy water. He took quick, short breaths. The wings of his nostrils opened and shut. Half of his tongue protruded through his locked teeth. Bloody foam visibly covered around his mouth. His mane on the forehead provoked one's sense of sorrow. Two street cleaners and a passing-through laborer who wore fatigues that did not have an insignia and a service cap without a sun visor, were trying to pull him out of the stream.
One of the street cleaners with strongly hennaed hands said, "I'll get his tail; each of you hold onto one hind leg and in one go we will hoist him up. Then, since the animal will not be able to bear the pain, and cannot put his forelegs on the ground, he will quickly spring up. Then, quickly, you let go of its legs and I will relinquish the tail. He definitely can stand on three legs! That foreleg is not broken much. Chickens stand on two legs; why can't he stand on three legs?"
A gentleman who had a brown leather case under his arm and wore colored glasses said, "How can you pull out the animal like this? Several of you should cooperate, lift its whole body up and put it down on the sidewalk"
One of the onlookers who was holding to a child's hand complained, "This wretched animal will never make a horse for its owner. It should be finished with a bullet."
Then he turned to a feeble policeman who was standing at the edge of the sidewalk eating beetroots, and said, "Officer, you have a pistol, why don't you put him out of his misery? The poor beast is really suffering."
The policeman, his cheek puffed out with beetroot, derisively replied, "You've got to be kidding! First of all, bullets are not for horses; they are for thieves. Secondly, let us assume that I did put him out of his misery, as you put it; let us also assume that there will be no questions about it on Resurrection Day; what should I answer the government? They will ask me for the bullet, won't they?"
A turbanned mullah,2 on whose shoulder there was a worn-out sheepskin, said, "Come on now, the beast is all right. It is not fair to kill him. He will recover tomorrow. A hazel size lump of wax will save him."
A new arrival, an onlooker who had a newspaper in his hand, asked, "What's up?"
A man smoking a pipe said, "Well, sir, I don't live around here. I'm just passing through."
The beetseller at the corner, while using a handleless knife to peel some beetroot for his customer, replied, "Nothing's up. A car has hit him. He has foundered. The poor thing has lain in the water since midnight and has been fighting death ever since. No one cares for him. Can one call this..." Then he interrupted himself and said to a customer, "One rial3." Then he yelled, "Need no coupon for this sugar! One riala sir4."
Again that same gentleman who had a newspaper in his hand asked, "So, no one claims him now?"
A robust man who looked like a driver and who was wearing a leather jacket with a green scarf around his neck answered, "Of course he has a claimant. Can things be without an owner? Its skin alone is worth fifteen tuman5 at least. His doroshkai driver was here a short while ago. I think he went to put his doroshkai away and then come back."
The little boy whose hand was in that man's hand raised his head and asked, "Daddy, how could he take his doroshkai? Isn't his horse dead?"
A well-dressed gentleman who wore glasses asked, "Are only his forelegs smashed?"
The robust man who looked like a driver and wore a green scarf around his neck answered, "His doroshkai driver said his ribs are smashed, too."
Thin puffs of steam came out of the nostrils of the horse. Steam rose from his entire body. You could see his ribs under his skin. Traces of five muddy fingers had dried on his rump. There was mud on his neck as well as some other parts of his body. There was a twitch in some parts of his skin. His body was shaking violently. He was not moaning at all. There were no traces of supplication in his calm posture. He had the posture of a healthy horse watching the people with tearless wide eyes.
1945