Free Snow by Orhan Pamuk Page B

or someone else he knew. But even though the building was teeming with teahouses and barbershops, he couldn’t find a single place with a telephone.
    Still searching, he went into an establishment whose door read THE SOCIETY OF ANIMAL ENTHUSIASTS. There was a telephone here but someone was using it. And by now he was no longer sure he wanted to make a call after all. Going through the half-open door on the other side of the front office, he found a hall whose walls were decorated with pictures of roosters; in the middle of the hall was a small fighting ring. Suddenly Ka realized he was in love with Ipek. And realizing that this love would determine the rest of his life, he was filled with dread.
    Among the rich animal enthusiasts who enjoyed cockfights, there was one man who would remember very well how Ka came into the hall that day, sat down on one of the empty benches in the viewing area, and appeared to lose himself in thought. He drank a glass of tea as he read the list of sporting rules posted in big letters on the wall: 
No rooster touched without permission of its owner.
    A rooster that goes down 3 times in a row and doesn’t peck its beak will be declared a loser.
    Owners may take 3 minutes to treat a wounded spur and 1 minute to dress a broken claw.
    In the event a rooster falls down and his rival steps on his neck, the fallen rooster will be brought back to his feet and the fight will continue.
    In the event of electricity outage there will be a 15-minute time-out, by which time—if power is not restored—the match will be canceled.
    When he left the Society of Animal Enthusiasts at a quarter past two, Ka was trying to figure out how he might induce Ipek to escape with him from Kars. The lights were out now in the old lawyer Muzaffer Bey’s People’s Party office, which Ka now noticed was only three doors down from Muhtar’s Prosperity Party—separated by the Friends’ Teahouse and the Green Tailor. So much had happened to Ka since his visit to the lawyer that morning that, even as he entered the branch headquarters of the Prosperity Party, Ka could scarcely believe he was back on the same floor.
    Ka had not seen Muhtar for twelve years. After embracing him and kissing him on both cheeks, Ka noticed that he now had a large belly and his hair was thinning and turning gray, but this was more or less what Ka had expected. Even in university days, there had been nothing special about Muhtar. Now, as then, one of those cigarettes he chain-smoked was hanging from the corner of his mouth.
    “They’ve killed the director of the Institute of Education,” Ka said.
    “He didn’t die; they just said so on the radio,” said Muhtar. “How do you know this?”
    “He was sitting at the other end of the place Ipek called you from,” said Ka. “The New Life Pastry Shop.” He told Muhtar what they’d seen.
    “Have you called the police?” asked Muhtar. “What did you do next?”
    Ka told him that Ipek had gone back to the hotel and he had come straight here.
    “There are only five days until the election, and everyone knows we’re going to win, so the state is knitting a sock to pull over our heads. It’s prepared to say anything to bring us down,” said Muhtar. “All across Turkey, our support of the covered girls is the key expression of our political vision. Now someone’s tried to assassinate the wretch who refused to let those girls past the entrance of the Institute of Education, and a man who was at the scene of the crime comes straight to our party headquarters without even stopping to call the police.” Muhtar paused to compose himself and then added, with some delicacy, “I’d appreciate it if you called the police right now. Please tell them everything.” He passed him the receiver as a proud host might offer a refreshment. Once Ka had taken it, Muhtar looked up and dialed the number.
    “I’ve already met the assistant chief of police. His name’s Kasım Bey,” Ka