Snow by Orhan Pamuk

joining a mosque, becoming part of a community. Nevertheless, Ka was still disappointed that Muhtar could talk so much about his group without once mentioning God or his own private faith. He despised Muhtar for it. But as he pressed his forehead against the window, he said something altogether different.
    “Muhtar, if I started to believe in God, you would be disappointed, and I think you’d despise me.”
    “Why?”
    “The idea of a solitary westernized individual whose faith in God is private is very threatening to you. An atheist who belongs to a community is far easier for you to trust than a solitary man who believes in God. For you, a solitary man is far more wretched and sinful than a nonbeliever.”
    “I am a solitary man,” said Muhtar.
    The fact that he could say these words with such sincerity and conviction filled Ka with rancor and pity. It seemed to him that darkness had given them both a certain drunken confidence. “I know I’m not going to be one, but say I did become the sort of believer who prays five times a day. Why would that disturb you? Perhaps because you can embrace your religion and your community only if godless secularists like me are overseeing business and government affairs. A man can’t pray to his heart’s content in this country unless he can depend on the efficiency of the atheist who’s an expert at managing the West and the other aspects of worldly business.”
    “But you’re not one of those godless businessmen. I can take you to see His Excellency the Sheikh whenever you like.”
    “I think our friendly policemen have arrived!” said Ka.
    Through the icy window they saw two plainclothes cops struggling to get out of a patrol car parked just below, at the entrance to the arcade.
    “I’m going to ask a favor now,” said Muhtar. “In a moment these men are going to come upstairs and take us off to the station. They won’t arrest you, they’ll just take your statement and let you go. You can go back to your hotel, and in the evening Turgut Bey will invite you to dinner and you’ll join him at his table. Of course his devoted daughters will be there too. So what I’d like is for you to say the following to Ipek. Are you listening to me? Tell Ipek that I want to marry her again! It was a mistake for me to ask her to cover herself in accordance with Islamic law. Tell her I’m through acting like a jealous provincial husband and that I’m shamed and sorry for the pressures I put on her during our marriage!”
    “Haven’t you already said these things to her?” 
    “I have, but I got nowhere. It’s possible that she didn’t believe me, seeing as I’m the district head of the Prosperity Party. But you’re a different sort of man; you’ve come all the way from Istanbul, all the way from Germany even. If you tell her, she’ll believe it.”
    “Seeing as you’re the district head of the Prosperity Party, isn’t it going to cause you political difficulties if your wife isn’t covering herself ?”
    “With God’s permission I’m going to win the election in four days’ time and become the mayor,” said Muhtar. “But it’s far more important to me that you tell Ipek how sorry I am; I’ll probably still be behind bars. Brother, could you do this for me?”
    Ka had a moment of indecision. Then he said, “Yes, I will.”
    Muhtar embraced Ka and kissed him on both cheeks. Ka felt a mixture of pity and revulsion; he despised himself for not being pure and openhearted like Muhtar.
    “And I’d be very grateful if you would take this poem to Istanbul and deliver it by hand to Fahir,” said Muhtar. “It’s the one I just mentioned to you, its title is ‘The Staircase.’ ”
    Ka was just putting the poem into his pocket when three plainclothes policemen entered the darkened room; two were carrying huge flashlights. They were capable and efficient and it was clear from their demeanor that they knew exactly what Ka was doing there with Muhtar; it was clear