Chapter Nine
She wanted to wipe the triumphant sneer off his face. Sheikh Daud was sitting at a table at the end of the room. They'd re-arranged the space, which was once a dining area, to turn it into a makeshift courtroom. Faria wore her shackles. They'd also forced her to crouch in the center of the room, locked inside a barred animal cage. It was clear they wanted to reinforce her helplessness. The ragged burqa was in an even worse state, torn and fastened with baling twine, and her body ached and burned from the constant beatings. She knew today would be the last day of her life.
Lord Jesus, I'm not frightened to die, but please protect Greg from these animals.
"Court will come to order."
The clerk, a short, obese man with flakes of dandruff spilling from his stained turban glared at the crowd. There was room for perhaps a hundred people, but almost three hundred ghouls had packed inside to watch the proceedings. Hundreds more, thousands more, waited outside. Children stood by, ready to take them news of the verdict and sentence. As if it were ever in any doubt. The room settled to a tense silence.
"Our beloved Imam, Sheikh Habib Daud, will open the proceedings."
Daud's sneer had gone. He'd replaced it with a serious and concerned look, the Islamic academic, out to impress the crowd with his knowledge of religious matters; and his neutral approach to proper justice, Islamic justice. He stared at her, and then at the crowd, pausing for effect. After a few seconds, his tongue flicked out, and he spoke.
"The prisoner has committed the most heinous crime of blasphemy against our beloved Prophet, blessing upon his name. After the verdict, the Mutaween will take her to the place of execution. Her escort will bury her legs in a hole in the ground, and then we will invite the faithful to stone her until she is dead. This is according to the word of the holy book." The crowd murmured, but he silenced them and glared at Faria. "How do you plead?"
She felt an icy calm descend over her. There was no way out. She would die this day. He waited for her answer, and it was then she noticed the blue burqa on the table in front of Daud. She realized they'd want to make certain she wore proper Islamic costume for her execution. The Prophet would not want them to kill unless she wore correct Islamic dress. It meant none of the men who stoned her would see her face. To do so would be indecent, until the rocks tore away her veil. All they would see then was her face, stained red with her blood.
"How do you plead?" he repeated, his voice irritated, "Speak, woman."
I would dearly like to tell them of the joy of Christian beliefs before they kill me, but it would implicate Greg. My husband, you must leave this town, leave this country and go far away. In the meantime, I will try to protect you from these butchers before they murder me. There may be a way.
His sigh was loud. "For the last time, how do you plead?"
She smiled back at him, a smile that was calm and unafraid. "Why?"
His eyebrows arched in puzzlement. "Why? What do you mean, why?"
"Why would I plead? What difference would it make?"
"We have to establish your guilt or innocence."
"Why?"
"It is the way. Are you guilty or not?"
"Of blasphemy?"
"Of course, that is why we're here."
"You have already decided, Sheikh Daud, so why ask me?"
His face was red with anger. "I will enter a plea of not guilty." He nodded at another Imam, the prosecutor. There was no defense counsel. "Proceed."
The man gave her an evil glance. She was sure he was staring through the rents in her robe at her tits. Then again, perhaps it was more to do with his face. He had a pronounced squint and a harelip. It would be hard to imagine him summoning a pleasant expression. She followed his eyes and realized she'd been right the first time. He was looking at her tits.
"I have a witness who testifies to having seen you and another man enter a known and illegal Christian place of worship. He says he followed you inside, and you engaged in the Christian communion."
She waited.
"Is this true?"
She gave it a long pause for effect. The crowd held their breath. "Yes."
He was staring down at his papers, but his head came up, astonished at the admission. "You admit it?"
"Yes, of course I do. Why not? It is the truth."
"The truth." He smiled crookedly. He was on a roll. This was going well, "The man who entered this place with you; is he a local man?"
This time her reply was immediate. "Yes, he is."
"Tell us the name of this man."
Another pause for effect, and she did her best to look sincere. "First, I must explain, I've been in a relationship with this man for some time." The prosecutor nodded, his face smug and satisfied. They all knew the name of the man. All they wanted was for her to say it, "You see, we weren't married. Well, not to each other."
People murmured with astonishment. The blasphemer was admitting to adultery, a crime punishable by stoning to death. The prosecutor looked puzzled, as if he wondered whether she could be stoned to death twice. He frowned. "Are you saying you never married this man?"
"That is correct. He was already married, as was I, so we committed adultery."
"You've been committing adultery all this time? It is terrible sin."
"Yes."
His face adopted a grave expression, as much as was possible with his deformity. He still looked like the victim of a violent mugging. "You must tell us his name. Swear to it in the name of the Prophet, blessed be his name."
This time, she paused for longer. She wanted to make sure the courtroom was silent, so they'd miss nothing.
Why shouldn't I say the name? If I’m going to die, I may as well take him with me.
They waited. Daud ran out of patience and hammered his gavel on the table. "The defendant will answer!"
She gave him a long, hard look. It was a look of grief and sorrow. As if they'd forced her to betray her lover. The courtroom buzzed with speculation as they hung on her words. This was what they came for, the thrill, the anticipation, and the lascivious secrets. Her eyes flashed with cold fury, and Daud looked puzzled. They were not the eyes of a beaten woman.
"On my honor, this is my dying declaration. I know I will die this day, and what I say I attest to by my death. I wanted to break with this man, but he threatened to have me put to death if I did so. I swear the man's name is...Habib Daud."
The astonished silence was like a tangible thing, a creature that lived, something with substance, a stench of corruption. People didn't breathe, didn't make a sound. Then they erupted. Men shouting for blood, although it wasn't clear whose blood they wanted. Daud again banged his gavel on the table.
"She lies! The sentence is death by stoning. The execution will take place at midday. Silence!"
He may as well have tried to stop the sun rising in the sky. People clamored, counter accusations flew, and amidst the near-riot; two jailers dragged Faria out of the cage, held her by her manacled arms, and hustled her away. One of them had the blue burqa over his arm.
"Where are you taking me?" she shouted over the din.
"To the condemned cell."
She was watching Daud make a hasty exit out of the rear door. She'd die a terrible death, but at least she'd protected Greg. At the same time, she'd delivered a mighty blow to Sheikh Daud. One from which he may never recover. They dragged her through a fetid alleyway and knocked on the oak and iron door of the jail. A peephole opened, an eye looked out, and then the main door swung wide. They dragged her inside past rows of occupied cells, tossing her into a tiny chamber that was little more than a meter square. One of them tossed her the burqa.
"Put it on. Do not insult the Prophet at your execution."
"If I don't?"
He sneered. "In that case we will use smaller stones. You will take a long, long time to die."
He stepped out, and the door slammed shut. She looked around the tiny cell, dark, dank walls of rough stone, nothing more. No chair, not even a toilet bucket,
not that she'd need one. She would only be here a short time. She decided to don the blue burqa, to spare herself hours more agony. It would be terrible enough as it was. They would be sure to keep her alive for at least a half hour, perhaps even more.
She pulled the garment on, and it completely covered her head, all the way down to her ankles. She only had limited vision through the mesh screen. She felt disgust at the enforced humiliation inflicted on her and suffered by so many women. She wanted to pull it back off, to stamp the symbol of female Afghan bondage into the dust and filth of the floor. But it wouldn't help her. She crouched on the floor, unable to sit properly in her cramped confines, and waited. Forcing back the tears, trying to send her mind elsewhere before she cracked and went crazy. At least she'd die knowing how she'd protected her husband, and fired a poisonous dart into the belly of Sheikh Daud.