She stepped into the foyer, climbed up the first flight of wide steps, and knocked on the double door. A secretary dressed in a black mourning skirt and a lace-adorned black blouse opened the door. A pair of spectacles hung from her neck by a gold chain.

The woman’s smile faded, and she glared at Batya. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to see Señor Farbstein,” Batya replied, using her most polite tone.

“He won’t see the likes of you.” The secretary pushed the door to slam it.

Batya stuck her foot in the threshold. “Please.” She clasped her hands in supplication. “Please—”

“Go away.”

“I beg you—”

“Leave, or I’ll call the police.”

Batya lowered her head and took two steps back. If the police came, her visit to this office would be reported to Moskowitz. She turned and walked down the stairs.

There was no place to hide while she lingered across the street, desperate to catch Señor Farbstein when he left the building for his midday meal at home. Men gawked; women sneered at her and fluttered their elegant fans as if she emitted a putrid smell. Batya shrank under their gaze, yet was certain that their husbands visited prostitutes. It had become a cultural norm, a common pastime that penetrated deep into Argentine society.

The clock in the nearby church marked the passing of the quarter hour. With the fourth strike of the clock, Batya threw a last look up at the building and its many windows, wishing she knew which one was Señor Farbstein’s.

After picking up Freda’s ointment at the apothecary, Batya ambled back to the house, swaying her hips, and was rewarded when a pleasant young man followed her inside.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Batya waited two months after sending her second secret letter with Rafael, then checked with him every two weeks before his brother collected him for a home visit. Each time she reminded him to take a stroll to the local post office and inquire about a letter for her, yet he must tell no one. After Rafael’s return, even when rain poured for hours and she’d find him huddled under his canvas-covered cart, she made sure to go over, forever concerned that he might not remember what she had asked him to do or, if a letter had arrived, keep it secret. God, please watch over Rafael. So much of her life was at the mercy of a person with a limited brain.