Snow (7 page)

“Let’s tell the police,” said Ka, even as he remembered that once upon a time, when he was a left-wing student, such an idea would have been unthinkable.

“There’s no need; they’ll find out anyway. They probably know about it already. The branch headquarters of the Prosperity Party is on the second floor there.” Ipek pointed at the entrance to the market. “Tell Muhtar what you’ve seen, so he won’t be surprised when MIT pulls him in. And there’s something else I have to tell you: Muhtar wants to marry me again, so watch what you say.”

I Hope I’m Not Taking Too Much of Your Time?

the first and last conversation between the murderer and his  victim

When, in full view of Ka and Ipek, the tiny man in the New Life Pastry Shop shot him in the head and the chest, the director of the Institute of Education was wearing a concealed tape recorder. The device—an imported Grundig—had been secured to his chest with duct tape by the diligent agents of the Kars branch of MIT, the national intelligence agency. The director had received a number of threats after barring covered girls from the classroom. When the civil security agents who keep track of fundamentalist activities confirmed that these threats were serious, the Kars branch decided it was time to offer the potential victim some protection. But the director did not wish to have an agent lumber-ing like a bear after him. Although he identified himself with the secular political camp, he believed in fate as much as any other religious man. He preferred to record the death threats, with a view to having the guilty parties arrested later. He had stepped into the New Life Pastry Shop on a whim, to have one of those walnut-filled crescent pastries he loved so much. When he saw a stranger approach, he switched on the tape recorder, as was now his practice in all such situations. The device took two bullets—not enough to save his life—but the tapes survived intact. Years later, I was able to acquire a transcript from the director’s widow, her eyes still not dry, and his daughter, who by then had become a famous model.

—Hello, sir. Do you recognize me?

—No, I’m afraid I don’t.

—That’s what I thought you’d say, sir. Because we haven’t ever met. I did try to come and see you last night and then again this morning. Yesterday the police turned me away from the school doors. This morning I managed to get inside, but your secretary wouldn’t let me see you. I wanted to catch you before you went into class. That’s when you saw me. Do you remember me now, sir?

—No, I don’t.

—Are you saying you don’t remember me, or are you saying you don’t remember seeing me?

—What did you want to see me about?

—To tell you the truth, I’d like to talk to you for hours, even days, about everything under the sun. You’re an eminent, enlightened, educated man. Sadly, I myself was not able to pursue my studies. But there’s one subject I know backward and forward, and that’s the subject I was hoping to discuss with you. I’m sorry, sir. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time?

—Not at all.

—Excuse me, sir, do you mind if I sit down? We have a great deal of ground to cover.

—Please. Be my guest.

(The sound of someone pulling out a chair.)

—I see you’re eating a pastry with walnuts. We have lots of walnut trees in Tokat. Have you ever been to Tokat?

—I’m sorry to say I haven’t.

—I’m so sorry to hear that, sir. If you ever do come to visit, you must stay with me. I’ve spent my whole life in Tokat, all thirty-six years. Tokat is very beautiful. Turkey is very beautiful too. But it’s such a shame that we know so little about our own country, that we can’t find it in our hearts to love our own kind. Instead we admire those who show our country disrespect and betray its people. I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question, sir. You’re not an atheist, are you?

—No, I’m not.

—People say you are, but I myself would find it hard to believe that a man of your education would—God forbid—deny God’s existence. But you’re not a Jew either, are you?

—No, I’m not.

—You’re a Muslim?

—Yes. Glory be to God, I am.

—You’re smiling, sir. I’d like to ask you to take my question seriously and answer it properly. Because I’ve traveled all the way from Tokat in the dead of winter just to hear you answer it.

—How did you come to hear of me in Tokat?

—There has been nothing in the Istanbul papers, sir, about your decision to deny schooling to girls who cover their heads as dictated by their religion and the Holy Koran. All those papers care about are scandals involving fashion models. But in beautiful Tokat we have a Muslim radio station called Flag that keeps us informed about the injustices perpetrated on the faithful in every corner of the country.

—I could never do an injustice to a believer. I too fear God.

—It took me two days to get here, sir, two days on snowy, stormy roads. While I was sitting on that bus I thought of no one but you, and believe me, I knew all along that you were going to tell me you feared God. And here’s the question I imagined asking you next, sir. With all due respect, Professor Nuri Yılmaz, if you fear God, if you believe that the Holy Koran is the word of God, let’s hear your views on the beautiful thirty-first verse of the chapter entitled Heavenly Light.

—Yes, it’s true. This verse states very clearly that women should cover their heads and even their faces.

—Congratulations, sir! That’s a good straight answer. And now, with your permission, sir, I’d like to ask you something else. How can you reconcile God’s command with this decision to ban covered girls from the classroom?

—We live in a secular state. It’s the secular state that has banned covered girls, from schools as well as classrooms.

—Excuse me, sir. May I ask you a question? Can a law imposed by the state cancel out God’s law?

—That’s a very good question. But in a secular state these matters are separate.

—That’s another good straight answer, sir. May I kiss your hand? Please, sir, don’t be afraid. Give me your hand. Give me your hand and watch how lovingly I kiss it. Oh, God be praised. Thank you. Now you know how much respect I have for you. May I ask you another question, sir?

—Please. Go right ahead.

—My question is this, sir. Does the word
secular
mean
godless
?

—No.

—In that case, how can you explain why the state is banning so many girls from the classroom in the name of secularism, when all they are doing is obeying the laws of their religion?

—Honestly, my son. Arguing about such things will get you nowhere. They argue about it day and night on Istanbul television, and where does it get us? The girls are still refusing to take off their head scarves and the state is still barring them from the classroom.

—In that case, sir, may I ask you another question? I beg your pardon, but when I think about these poor hardworking girls of ours—who have been denied an education, who are so polite and so hardworking and who have bowed their heads to God-only-knows how many decrees already—the question I cannot help asking is, How does all this fit in with what our constitution says about educational and religious freedom? Please, sir, tell me. Isn’t your conscience bothering you?

—If those girls were as obedient as you say they are, they’d have taken off their head scarves. What’s your name, my son? Where do you live? What sort of work do you do?

—I work at the Happy Friends Teahouse, which is just next door to Tokat’s famous Mothlight Hamam. I’m in charge of the stoves and the teapots. My name’s not important. I listen to Flag radio all day long. Every once in a while I’ll get really upset about something I’ve heard, about an injustice done to a believer. And because I live in a democracy, because I happen to be a free man who can do as he pleases, I sometimes end up getting on a bus and traveling to the other end of Turkey to track down the perpetrator, wherever he is, and have it out with him face-to-face. So please, sir, answer my question. What’s more important, a decree from Ankara or a decree from God?

—This discussion is going nowhere, son. What hotel are you staying at?

—What, are you thinking of turning me in to the police? Don’t be afraid of me, sir. I don’t belong to any religious organizations. I despise terrorism. I believe in the love of God and the free exchange of ideas. That’s why I never end a free exchange of ideas by hitting anyone, even though I have a quick temper. All I want is for you to answer this question. So please excuse me, sir, but when you think about the cruel way you treated those poor girls in front of your institute—when you remember that these girls were only obeying the word of God as set out so clearly in the Confederate Tribe and Heavenly Light chapters of the Holy Koran—doesn’t your conscience trouble you at all?

—My son, the Koran also says that thieves should have their hands chopped off, but the state doesn’t do that. Why aren’t you opposing this?

—That’s an excellent answer, sir. Allow me to kiss your hand. But how can you equate the hand of a thief with the honor of our women? According to statistics released by the American Black Muslim professor Marvin King, the incidence of rape in Islamic countries where women cover themselves is so low as to be nonexistent and harassment is virtually unheard of. This is because a woman who has covered herself is making a statement. Through her choice of clothing, she is saying, Don’t harass me. So please, sir, may I ask you a question? Do we really want to push our covered women to the margins of society by denying them the right to an education? If we continue to worship women who take off their head scarves (and just about everything else too), don’t we run the risk of degrading them as we have seen so many women in Europe degraded in the wake of the sexual revolution? And if we succeed in degrading our women, aren’t we also running the risk of—pardon my language—turning ourselves into pimps?

—I’ve finished my pastry, son. I’m afraid I have to leave.

—Stay in your seat, sir. Stay in your seat and I won’t have to use this. Do you see what this is, sir?

—Yes. It’s a gun.

—That’s right, sir. I hope you don’t mind. I came a long way to see you. I’m not stupid. It crossed my mind that you might refuse to hear me out. That’s why I took precautions.

—What’s your name, son?

—Vahit Süzme. Salim Fesmekân. Really, sir, what difference does it make? I’m the nameless defender of nameless heroes who have suffered untold wrongs while seeking to uphold their religious beliefs in a society that is in thrall to secular materialism. I’m not a member of any organization. I respect human rights and I oppose the use of violence. That’s why I’m putting my gun in my pocket. That’s why all I want from you is an answer to my question.

—Fine.

—Then let us go back to the beginning, sir. Let’s remember what you did to these girls whose upbringing took so many years of loving care. Who were the apples of their parents’ eyes. Who were so very, very intelligent. Who worked so hard at their studies. Who were all at the top of the class. When the order came from Ankara, you set about denying their existence. If one of them wrote her name down on the attendance sheet, you erased it—just because she was wearing a head scarf. If seven girls sat down with their teacher, you pretended that the one wearing the head scarf wasn’t there, and you’d order six teas. Do you know what you did to these girls? You made them cry. But it didn’t stop there. Soon there was another directive from Ankara, and after that you barred them from their classrooms. You threw them out into the corridors, and then you banned them from the corridors and threw them out into the street. And then, when a handful of these heroines gathered trembling at the doors of the school to make their concerns known, you picked up the phone and called the police.

—We’re not the ones who called the police.

—I know you’re afraid of the gun in my pocket. But please, sir, don’t lie. The night after you had those girls dragged off and arrested, did your conscience let you sleep? That’s my question.

—Of course, the real question is how much suffering we’ve caused our womenfolk by turning head scarves into symbols and using women as pawns in a political game.

—How can you call it a game, sir? When that girl who had to choose between her honor and her education—what a pity—sank into a depression and killed herself, was that a game?

—You’re very upset, my boy. But has it never occurred to you that foreign powers might be behind all this? Don’t you see how they might have politicized the head-scarf issue so that they can turn Turkey into a weak and divided nation?

—If you’d let those girls back into your school, sir, there would be no head-scarf issue.

—Is it really my decision? These orders come from Ankara. My own wife wears a head scarf.

—Stop sucking up to me. Answer the question I just asked you.

—Which question was that?

—Is your conscience bothering you?

—My child, I’m a father too. Of course I feel sorry for those girls.

—Look. I’m very good at holding myself back. But once I blow my fuse, it’s all over. When I was in prison, I once beat up a man just because he forgot to cover his mouth when he yawned. Oh, yes, I made men of all of them in there. I cured every man in that prison wing of all his bad habits. I even got them praying. So stop trying to squirm out of this. Let’s hear an answer to my question. What did I just say?

—What
did
you say, son? Lower that gun.

—I didn’t ask you if you have a daughter but if you’re sorry.

—Pardon me, son. What did you ask?

—Don’t think you have to butter me up, just because you’re afraid of the gun. Just remember what I asked you.
(Silence.)
 

—What did you ask me?

—I asked you if your conscience was troubling you, infidel!

—Of course it’s troubling me.

—Then why do you persist? Is it because you have no shame?

—My son, I’m a teacher. I’m old enough to be your father. Is it written in the Koran that you should point guns at your elders and insult them?

—Don’t you dare let the word
Koran
pass your lips. Do you hear? And stop looking over your shoulder like you’re asking for help. If you shout for help I won’t hesitate. I’ll shoot. Is that clear?