Hammurabi
By:
Aadel M Al-Mahdy
“Hail
Hammurabi! He who is the first man who carved a strict, but fair code of laws
on a stone in a public place for everyone to read” he soliloquized and then
released muffled scream driven by thoughts racing in his head. “Good
Heavens! I don’t feel well...I am dizzy... what is happening?” holding his head
in hands, he whispered.
He
looked at the symbolic depiction of justice that was on the marble-covered facade of the jurisdiction supreme court. The blindfolded woman seemed to be standing
upside down and dancing crazily while fading away; the scales in her hand likewise. He strove to gather his strength. The court cloak, carried
on his arm, felt heavier and its black color looked uglier. He flung it into
the Euphrates and slowly dragged him self home.
To
avoid the road leading to the butcher in his jelly-like district, he swerved and
followed a different route. Opposite his bombs-stricken residence, his eyes
fell on a post-war fat cat in the company of his parasitical entourage. They
all plunged into the value of an American automatic-geared fortune and heedlessly
zoomed away. A passer-by, who had to jump out of their way, spat on the ground
in disgust.
He
entered a partially damaged building and climbed up to the beneath. While lolling
his tongue with fatigue, he knocked gently on the door. The door opened revealing
the exhausted body of his wife whose eyes were shiny and hair unkempt. “Did you
get the money?” not noticing her husband’s miserable condition, his wife leaned
forward and whispered to him, fear depicted on her face that she might have disturbed their sleeping hungry
kids. “No!” he answered; worries depicted on his face. “Why?” she asked, her
voice alarmed. “I went to see him, but…” he hesitantly but in a solemn voice
answered. “But what?” she interrupted; her voice sounding inquisitively louder.
“I found him dead” he answered; his voice shaking. “Who died?” she wondered
hitting her chest with her hand. He covered his face with his left hand to hide
his tear-brimming eyes, and tried hard to have a firmer grip on his shaking
body and said, “Hammurabi”; his quivering voice sounded coarser than sea-salt. Perplexed,
his wife’s mouth gaped, but he gently pushed her aside and walked in to the
room where his sick child slept.
“Dad,
am I going to die?” his sick son asked. He quickly hugged him tightly and while
firmly kissing him on the cheeks, he said, “No, I hope not, my son. I hope another Hammurabi will dawn on us soon”
The
End
