Orhan Pamuk - The Museum Of Innocence

“With those returns it seems idiotic to put money into an ordinary business. To think if I’d given Kastelli the money I’ve sunk into Meltem, I’d have doubled my investment by now and avoided these headaches.”

Whenever I remember that conversation we had among the crowd at Fuaye, it seems to me as empty and meaningless as it did that day. But then as now I did not blame the general idiocy-or more politely, the general unreflectiveness-of the world in which my story takes place, but rather I imputed a sad want of seriousness, which could never trouble me unduly, and more typically moved me to laugh, to embrace it with pride.

“Is Meltem really not making money?”

I’d said this without intending a dig, but Zaim took offense.

“It’s all riding on Papatya-what else can we do?” he said. “I just hope she doesn’t embarrass us. I’ve arranged for her to sing Meltem’s jingle accompanied by the Silver Leaves at Mehmet and Nurcihan’s wedding. All the press will be there at the Hilton.”

I fell silent for a moment. I had heard absolutely nothing about Mehmet and Nurcihan’s impending wedding at the Hilton, and I was crushed.

“I know you won’t be coming,” said Zaim. “But I figured you’d have heard about it by now.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Oh, there were endless discussions. As you might have guessed, Sibel doesn’t want to see you: ‘If he’s going to be there, I’m not coming’ is what she said. And after all, Sibel is Nurcihan’s best friend. She’s even the one who introduced Nurcihan to Mehmet, don’t forget.”

“I’m a good friend of Mehmet’s,” I said. “You could also say that I had as much to do with introducing them.”

“Don’t make too much of this-it will only upset you.”

“Why do Sibel’s feelings take precedence?” I said, knowing even as I spoke that I had no right.

“Look, my friend, everyone sees Sibel as a woman wronged,” said Zaim. “You got engaged to her, and after living with her in a Bosphoru s yali , and sharing the same bed, you abandoned her. For the longest time there was talk of nothing else, and you’d have thought they were speaking of some evil djinn the way mothers discussed the scandal with their daughters. Sibel really did not mind, but everyone felt very sorry for her all the same, and naturally they were very angry at you. You can’t be indignant that they’re on Sibel’s side now.”

“I’m not indignant,” I said indignantly.

We downed our rakıs and began to eat our fish, and it was the first time Zaim and I had eaten a meal at Fuaye and fallen silent. I listened to the waiter’s hurried footsteps, the steady crackle of laughter and conversation, the clatter of knives and forks. I angrily vowed never to come back, even as I thought how much I loved this place, and how I had no other world.

Zaim said that he wanted to buy a speedboat that summer but that before doing so he needed to find a suitable outboard motor, though there were none to be found in the stores in Karaköy.

“That’s enough, now. Stop looking so glum,” he said suddenly. “Nobody should get this upset over missing a wedding at the Hilton. I’m sure you’ve been to one?”

“My friends have turned their backs on me because of Sibel-I don’t like that.”

“No one’s turned their back on you.”

“Fine, but what if the decision had been up to you? What would you have done?”

“What decision?” said Zaim, in a way that seemed disingenuous. “Oh, now I see what you mean. Of course, I would have wanted you to come. You and I always have such fun at weddings.”

“This is not about fun; it’s something much deeper.”

“Sibel is very lovely; she’s a very special girl,” said Zaim. “You broke her heart. Not only that-in front of everyone, you put her in a very precarious situation. Instead of pulling a long face and glaring at me, why don’t you just accept what you did, Kemal? Take it on the chin and then it will be much easier for you to return to your real life, and before you know it, all this will be forgotten.”

“So you consider me guilty, too?” I said. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I began to regret persevering in this, but I couldn’t help myself. “If we insist virginity is still so important how can we pretend we’re modern and European? Let’s be honest with ourselves, at least.”

“Everyone is honest about this… Your mistake was imposing your view on someone else. It might not be important to you, or to me. But it goes without saying that in this country a young woman’s virginity is of the utmost importance to her, no matter how modern and European she is.”

“You said Sibel didn’t care…”

“Even if Sibel didn’t care, society did,” said Zaim. “I’m sure you didn’t care either, but when White Carnation wrote those awful lies about you, everyone was talking. And even though you say you don’t care, now you’re upset about it-am I right?”

I decided that Zaim was choosing his words-expressions like “your real life”-just to inflame me. Two could play at that game, I thought, yet a voice inside me still counseled prudence, reminding me that I might regret something said in fury after two glasses of raki , but unfortunately I was angry, too.

“Actually, my dear Zaim,” I said, quite superciliously, “this plan of yours to get Papatya to sing the Meltem jingle with the Silver Leaves at the Hilton-it really is rather crass. What makes you think it would work?”

“Come on, don’t goad me. We’re about to sign a contract, for goodness’ sake. You don’t have to take your anger out on me.”

“It’s going to look pretty coarse…”

“Well, if that’s what you think, don’t worry. We chose Papatya for that very reason-because she’s coarse,” Zaim said with assurance. I thought he was going to tell me that her coarseness had become marketable thanks to the film I’d produced, but Zaim was a good man; such a thing would never cross his mind. He merely preempted further discussion by saying he and his associates would find a way to manage Papatya. “But let me speak to you as a friend,” he said. “Kemal, my friend, those people didn’t turn their backs on you; you turned your back on them.”

“Now how did I do that?”

“By turning in on yourself, and taking no joy or interest in our world. I know you believe you went your own way, in pursuit of something deep and meaningful. You followed your heart; you made a stand. Don’t be angry with us…”

“Might it be something simpler than that? The sex was so good that I became obsessed… That’s what love is like. Maybe you’re the one finding some deep meaning in all this, something projected from your own world. Actually, our love has nothing to do with you and yours!”

Those last words came out of my mouth of their own accord. Suddenly I felt as if Zaim was regarding me from a great distance; he had already given up on me a long time ago, and was only now accepting that he couldn’t be alone with me anymore. As he listened to me he was thinking not of me, but of what he would tell his friends. I could read his absence in his face now. And because Zaim was an intelligent man such signals as I had just given were not lost on him, and I could tell that he was angry at me in return. And so the distance was perceptible from either perspective: Suddenly I, too, was seeing Zaim, and my entire past, from a point very far away.

“You’re a man of real feeling,” said Zaim. “That is one of the things I cherish about you.”

“What does Mehmet say about all this?”

“You know how much he cares about you. But he’s happy with Nurcihan in a way beyond anyone else’s understanding. He’s walking on air, and he doesn’t want anything-any trouble-to bring him down.”