I told you。
For the boy？
For the boy。
Farid shifted on the ground。 It s hard to believe。
Sometimes I myself can hardly believe I m here。
No。。。 What I mean to ask is why that boy？ You e all the way from America for。。。 a Shi a？
That killed all the laughter in me。 And the sleep。 I am tired； I said。 Let s just get some sleep。
Farid s snoring soon echoed through the empty room。 I stayed awake； hands crossed on my chest； staring into the starlit night through the broken window； and thinking that maybe what people said about Afghanistan was true。 Maybe it was a hopeless place。
A BUSTLING CROWD was filling Ghazi Stadium when we walked through the entrance tunnels。 Thousands of people milled about the tightly packed concrete terraces。 Children played in the aisles and chased each other up and down the steps。 The scent of garbanzo beans in spicy sauce hung in the air； mixed with the smell of dung and sweat。 Farid and I walked past street peddlers selling cigarettes； pine nuts； and biscuits。
A scrawny boy in a tweed jacket grabbed my elbow and spoke into my ear。 Asked me if I wanted to buy some sexy pictures。
Very sexy； Agha； he said； his alert eyes darting side to side…… reminding me of a girl who； a few years earlier； had tried to sell me crack in the Tenderloin district in San Francisco。 The kid peeled one side of his jacket open and gave me a fleeting glance of his sexy pictures： postcards of Hindi movies showing
doe…eyed sultry actresses； fully dressed； in the arms of their leading men。 So sexy； he repeated。
Nay； thanks； I said； pushing past him。
He gets caught； they ll give him a flogging that will waken his father in the grave； Farid muttered。
There was no assigned seating； of course。 No one to show us politely to our section； aisle； row； and seat。 There never had been； even in the old days of the monarchy。 We found a decent spot to sit； just left of midfield； though it took some shoving and elbowing on Farid s part。
I remembered how green the playing field grass had been in the 70s when Baba used to bring me to soccer games here。 Now the pitch was a mess。 There were holes and craters everywhere； most notably a pair of deep holes in the ground behind the southend goalposts。 And there was no grass at all； just dirt。 When the two teams finally took the field……all wearing long pants despite the heat……and play began； it became difficult to follow the ball in the clouds of dust kicked up by the players。 Young； whip…toting Talibs roamed the aisles； striking anyone who cheered too loudly。
They brought them out shortly after the halftime whistle blew。 A pair of dusty red pickup trucks； like the ones I d seen around town since I d arrived； rode into the stadium through the gates。 The crowd rose to its feet。 A woman dressed in a green burqa sat in the cab of one truck； a blindfolded man in the other。 The trucks drove around the track； slowly； as if to let the crowd get a long look。 It had the desired effect： People craned their necks； pointed； stood on tiptoes。 Next to me； Farid s Adam s apple bobbed up and down 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。