The audience was expecting, in silence, the court's sentence. "Death Penalty!"
All eyes focused on the accused. What they were thinking of was not known. Then they all focused on the offish woman in black velvet dress to the right of the first row, for she was leaning forward with her two hands held in the direction of the accused shouting, "Oh, my son!"
The gentleman beside her, in an expensive black suit, tried to pull back his emotion to such a degree as to distort his face, stood up and drew the lady down.
The two policemen approached the accused, who was quite young and inexperienced, just eighteen years of age, but took a devil-care-for attitude. That aggressively inexperienced bearing made the gray-haired, middle-aged people present softly shake their heads in compassion rather than hate. He made a sharp turn, as jerkily as a soldier, stepping out of the bar. His glance stopped on the couple in black. The seemingly insane woman's low-voiced "Oh, my son!" and half-stretched arms together with the man's painful look or the expensive black color of the suit made the accused knit his brows. In only a few seconds, he turned his heels to step in between the policemen.
At that moment, an elderly woman with a curved back from the audience came shivering to him. She was wearing a rustic, shabby, wrinkled shirt with stains on the flaps. Pushing off a policeman, she embraced the accused prisoner's shoulders. Being short, she had to pull his neck down and her trembling hands ran all through his face, even over his eyes which had to half close. Her hands left on his face some dirty smears. He bowed and stayed still as if in repentance.
Two drops ran out of his eyes while he stammered, "My grandma… I love… you, grandma."
The two policemen hesitated for a moment then angrily pushed him on as if under pressure of duty, the woman was being frustrated. The accused stopped short but was pushed more roughly. Suddenly, from nowhere plunged up a real big collie. It made a sound and threshed itself onto the accused and busily rubbed its black long muzzle onto his face and neck. He slightly slanted against the "flesh mass" in turmoil.
His hands embraced its neck, on which still hung a chain section. With his face beaming he looked innocent, he smiled. The dog let out its long tongue, wet and pink, licked his beautiful white teeth. He stood still, still.
"Lucky!" sounded an authoritative loud voice.
The dog stopped short, dropped off his body looking in the direction of the voice.
It stiffened to realize it was its owner, the man in the black suit.
- Đinh Quang Hòa