The Janissary Tree

She fished inside the bag and brought out a book with paper covers.

She held it up between her two hands and let Yashim read the title, emblazoned in red.

“Pere Goriot,” he read. “By Honore de Balzac.”

“There.” She held it out. “Quite disgusting, I’m afraid.”

“What makes you give it to me?”

“They say it’s all the rage in Paris. I’ve read it now, and it’s all about corruption, deceit, greed, lies.”

She patted the cover of the book and held it out to Yashim.

“Sometimes, you know, I am so glad I never got to see France.”