“Loyalty to family,” he repeated now. “It’s the foundation of being Jewish. It means sacrificing one’s happiness for the sake of the others to whom one is related.” He sighed, and his free hand covered his face. “But I’m so miserable.”

“You’re here, now, with me,” she whispered, her hand moving downward. “I’m your friend.”

At the end of the hour, Freda knocked on the door to indicate that Ulmann’s time was up. Batya rose slowly so not to rouse him as he rested under the light cover. He opened his eyes to a slit, smiled at Batya, and motioned toward his jacket on the chair. “Another hour, although God knows I should watch my spending.”

Batya took money out of the pocket, opened the door a crack, and exchanged it for a second token. When she returned to the bed, Ulmann bent toward his pants on the floor and fished out a booklet so thin it was folded in half.

“I want to read you a poem that tells how I feel about my life,” he said, leafing through the pages.

She snuggled up to him so she could read the printed Yiddish words without revealing her secret.

“It’s by a poetess named Pessi Hirschfeld-Pomerantz.”

His voice became melodious:

Sun, O sun!

I’d like to wander

in the open fields

and drink up the light

all day, so my eyes

would radiate

your light, your warmth.

Between narrow walls

my eyes look dull.

Between narrow walls

I speak angrily to people—

the path they walk

seems too confining for me.

“It’s beautiful.” She planted a kiss on his chest. He kissed her head in return, then raised her face so their lips met.

“As beautiful as you are.” He rose toward his jacket. “I’d like to ask your advice about something.” He took out a small notebook with drawings. “Some pieces I’m designing. As a woman of the world you must know what other women want.”

Doubting her ability to judge what jewelry virtuous women wanted, Batya bent toward his notebook as he turned the pages. The drawings, some with splashes of color marking a precious stone or the brightness of a diamond, were exquisite. “You are truly an artist,” she said, and brought his hand to her lips. “I didn’t know these fingers were as skilled with a pencil as without it.” Then she pointed to some images. “The leaf on this ring might snag on clothes, and for this choker, maybe you could add a couple more rubies on each side of the medallion?”

“Thank you. Great ideas.” He let out a laugh, the anguish that had accompanied his arrival clearly gone. It pleased her to have made him happy.