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THE SHORT STORIES OF ZAKARIA TAMER The carriage passed through a number of streets, eventually coming to a wide street lined with stone buildings on both sides. Before it could get part way down the street, a policeman blocked its way. Abu Mustafa yelled a long-drawn-out “hish” at the horse. The policeman said: “Don’t you know that carriages are not allowed on this street?” Abu Mustafa replied: “I know.” “Then what are you doing here?” “My horse, look at him. My horse is worn out. If I took the other street, then I would be asking too much from him.” The horse felt deep sympathy. The policeman said: “Carriages are not allowed on this street. Only cars and pedestrians.” Abu Mustafa said: “I know.” He licked his lips and continued, saying: “The horse is tired. If he dies, my livelihood is stopped. I will starve to death, and so will my children. I have four children.” “Go back, and I won’t punish you for breaking the system and the law.” “I have four sons who eat rocks,” Abu Mustafa said, getting down from the carriage. He let out a short, dry laugh that was like a small, violent knife. He said: “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t fear for my children, I fear for their mother.” Curious, the policeman asked: “Why do you fear for her?” The trees were green along the sides of the street. Blue vastness stretched across the sky. And Abu Mustafa replied: “I fear that my children will eat their mother if they are starving. Their teeth are monsters.” A car passed at high speed so the policeman blew his whistle, but the car did not stop. The policeman was able to read the license plate number before it disappeared, he wrote it on a page in his notebook, and then – his face swollen with anger – he turned to Abu Mustafa and said: “Now, go back.” “Please let me pass, just this once.” The policeman said sternly: “Did you hear me? Go back.” “Just this once.” “Go back. The law is the law. No use in pleading.” “My horse is tired.” “Go back now.” “May God keep you, for your mother’s sake.” “God, do not keep me! I do not make the law. I do what I am com- 52 BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015
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THE POLICEMAN AND THE HORSE manded to do, and you must obey these commands.” Abu Mustafa said nothing. He imagined the law to be a massive creature with thousands of hands: the law commands the policeman, so the policeman obeys; the policeman commands Abu Mustafa, and Abu Mustafa must obey all commands. Abu Mustafa stood there for a few moments, until the policeman yelled: “Go back. If you do not go back now, you will regret it.” Abu Mustafa turned toward the carriage. But the horse’s anger had become explosive: with all of its might, berserk, it charged forward. The policeman saw the carriage coming at him, he tried to jump onto the sidewalk, but did not make it. The horse crashed into him, throwing him onto the ground on his back. The horse’s hooves crushed the policeman’s chest, then the wheels of the carriage ran over him, becoming red with blood. The horse was surprised to see that his owner was not happy, that he was panicked and morose, and that he then took off running, fleeing. A moment later people came running and circled the carriage. Their eyes shone fear mixed with hidden desire, as if the crushed policeman was the body of a beautiful woman. The people did not leave until policemen arrived, who then set out to catch the murderer. The judge was just; he sent the horse to a major stockyard. It seemed to the horse that this must be what was left of the prairie. The horse stood there in the yard and he was happy – on his way to the stockyard he had travelled through wide streets that he had never been permitted to use before. But his bliss did not last long because soon he was hanging by his neck. TRANSLATED BY CLAYTON CLARK From the collection Al-Ra’d (The Thunder), 1970 BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015 53

THE SHORT STORIES OF ZAKARIA TAMER

The carriage passed through a number of streets, eventually coming to a wide street lined with stone buildings on both sides. Before it could get part way down the street, a policeman blocked its way. Abu Mustafa yelled a long-drawn-out “hish” at the horse.

The policeman said: “Don’t you know that carriages are not allowed on this street?”

Abu Mustafa replied: “I know.” “Then what are you doing here?” “My horse, look at him. My horse is worn out. If I took the other street, then I would be asking too much from him.”

The horse felt deep sympathy. The policeman said: “Carriages are not allowed on this street. Only cars and pedestrians.”

Abu Mustafa said: “I know.” He licked his lips and continued, saying: “The horse is tired. If he dies, my livelihood is stopped. I will starve to death, and so will my children. I have four children.”

“Go back, and I won’t punish you for breaking the system and the law.”

“I have four sons who eat rocks,” Abu Mustafa said, getting down from the carriage. He let out a short, dry laugh that was like a small, violent knife. He said: “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t fear for my children, I fear for their mother.”

Curious, the policeman asked: “Why do you fear for her?” The trees were green along the sides of the street. Blue vastness stretched across the sky. And Abu Mustafa replied: “I fear that my children will eat their mother if they are starving. Their teeth are monsters.”

A car passed at high speed so the policeman blew his whistle, but the car did not stop. The policeman was able to read the license plate number before it disappeared, he wrote it on a page in his notebook, and then – his face swollen with anger – he turned to Abu Mustafa and said: “Now, go back.”

“Please let me pass, just this once.” The policeman said sternly: “Did you hear me? Go back.” “Just this once.” “Go back. The law is the law. No use in pleading.” “My horse is tired.” “Go back now.” “May God keep you, for your mother’s sake.” “God, do not keep me! I do not make the law. I do what I am com-

52 BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015

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