own as he mumbled a prayer under his breath。
The red trucks entered the playing field； rode toward one end in twin clouds of dust； sunlight reflecting off their hubcaps。 A third truck met them at the end of the field。 This one s cab was filled with something and I suddenly understood the purpose of those two holes behind the goalposts。 They unloaded the third truck。 The crowd murmured in anticipation。
Do you want to stay？ Farid said gravely。
No； I said。 I had never in my life wanted to be away from a place as badly as I did now。 But we have to stay。
Two Talibs with Kalashnikovs slung across their shoulders helped the blindfolded man from the first truck and two others helped the burqa…clad woman。 The woman s knees buckled under her and she slumped to the ground。 The soldiers pulled her up and she slumped again。 When they tried to lift her again； she screamed and kicked。 I will never； as long as I draw breath； forget the sound of that scream。 It was the cry of a wild animal trying to pry its mangled leg free from the bear trap。 Two more Talibs joined in and helped force her into one of the chest…deep holes。 The blindfolded man； on the other hand； quietly allowed them to lower him into the hole dug for him。 Now only the accused pair s torsos protruded from the ground。
A chubby； white…bearded cleric dressed in gray garments stood near the goalposts and cleared his throat into a handheld microphone。 Behind him the woman in the hole was still screaming。 He recited a lengthy prayer from the Koran； his nasal voice undulating through the sudden hush of the stadium s crowd。 I remem bered
something Baba had said to me a long time ago： Piss on the beards of all those self…righteous monkeys。 They do nothing but thumb their rosaries and recite a book written in a tongue they don t even understand。 God help us all if Afghanistan ever falls into their hands。
When the prayer was done； the cleric cleared his throat。 Brothers and sisters！ he called； speaking in Farsi； his voice booming through the stadium。 We are here today to carry out Shari a。 We are here today to carry out justice。 We are here today because the will of Allah and the word of the Prophet Muham mad； peace be upon him； are alive and well here in Afghanistan； our beloved homeland。 We listen to what God says and we obey because we are nothing but humble； powerless creatures before God s greatness。 And what does God say？ I ask you！ WHAT DOES GOD SAY？ God says that every sinner must be punished in a manner befitting his sin。 Those are not my words； nor the words of my brothers。 Those are the words of GOD！ He pointed with his free hand to the sky。 My head was pounding and the sun felt much too hot。
Every sinner must be punished in a manner befitting his sin！ the cleric repeated into the mike； lowering his voice； enunciating each word slowly； dramatically。 And what manner of punishment； brothers and sisters； befits the adulterer？ How shall we punish those who dishonor the sanctity of marriage？ How shall we deal with those who spit in the face of God？ How shall we answer those who throw stones at the windows of God s house？ WE SHALL THROW THE STONES BACK！ He shut off the microphone。 A low…pitched murmur spread through the crowd。
Next to me； Farid was shaking his head。 And they call themselves Muslims； he whispered。
Then a tall； broad…shouldered man stepped out of the pickup truck。 The sight of him drew cheers from a few spectators。 This time； no one was struck with a whip for cheering too loudly。 The tall man s sparkling white garment glimmered in the afternoon sun。 The hem of his loose shirt fluttered in the breeze； his arms spread like those of Jesus on the cross。 He greeted the crowd by turning slowly in a full circle。 When he faced our section； I saw he was wearing dark round sunglasses like the ones John Lennon wore。
That must be our man； Farid said。
The tall Talib with the black sunglasses walked to the pile of stones they had unloaded from the third truck。 He picked up a rock and showed it to the crowd。 The noise fell； replaced by a buzzing sound that rippled through the stadium。 I looked around me and saw that everyone was tsk ing。 The Talib； looking absurdly like a baseball pitcher on the mound； hurled the stone at the blindfolded man in the hole。 It struck the side of his head。 The woman screamed again。 The crowd made a startled OH！ sound。 I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands。 The spectators OH！ rhymed with each flinging of the stone； and that went on for a while。 When they stopped； I asked Farid if it was over。 He said no。 I guessed the people s throats had tired。 I don t know how much longer I sat with my face in my hands。 I know that I reopened my eyes when I heard people around me asking； Mord？ Mord？ Is he dead？
The man in the hole was now a mangled mess of blood and shredded rags。 His head slumped forward； chin on chest。 The Talib in the John Lennon sunglasses was looking down at another man squatting next to the hole； tossing a rock up and down in his
hand。 The squatting man had one end of a stethoscope to his ears and the other pressed on the chest of the man in the hole。 He removed the stethoscope from his ears and shook his head no at the Talib in the sunglasses。 The crowd moaned。
John Lennon walked back to the mound。
When it was all over； when the bloodied corpses had been unceremoniously tossed into the backs of red pickup trucks……separate ones……a few men with shovels hurriedly filled the holes。 One of them made a passing attempt at covering up the large blood stains by kicking dirt over them。 A few minutes later； the teams took the field。 Second half was unde