Batya thought of the ledger, still hiding in Moskowitz’s office. She peeked at it when coming to collect the newspaper and steal discarded documents from the wastebasket. As long as Sergio seemed to be following up on his end of the bargain, she would save her last bargaining chip. In the meantime, he was excited about the competition coming up in a few weeks, recounting past such events, and there was genuine delight in his voice when he spoke about the judges’ surprise when watching an unknown perform so well. If Batya was apprehensive about performing in front of a crowd, the upside was that the rehearsals had taken her out of the house and away from the string of men.

Ulmann was planning a trip to Montevideo to take special orders and sell his excess inventory. “You could have come with me,” he said, making no attempt to hide his irritation. “Am I to understand that you prefer having many clients over being my one true companion?” His voice was uncharacteristically incensed. “Or are you waiting for a higher bidder?”

“That’s not it. I—I—”

He cut her off. “I’m sure that you’ve received offers such as mine before and you’ll receive more in the future, what with all these men around you.” He dropped his face into his hands, and his tone softened. “Am I a fool to hope that you’ll give up all your admirers?”

Batya was touched that he believed his offer wasn’t a once-in-a-lifetime chance for her. “I want to live with you,” she responded, “but also I am very close to my family. I promised to bring them out of Russia. My mother, may her soul rest in peace, is watching me while I let my sisters and their families down—”

“Your sisters have families? How many people are you talking about?”

“Nine. But five are children; they don’t eat much—”

“Nine? And where would you put up nine people? You want that our little apartment should be a home to nine more people?”

“They can all live in one room.” They did in the shtetl, and many families were similarly crowded in many sections of Buenos Aires.

“This is Barrio Norte, not the slums of San Telmo or Once.” Ulmann’s tone was indignant. “Who will feed these nine people? Me? And don’t these children need schooling, and clothes and doctors—as if I don’t have three of my own to worry about?” He shook his head in exasperation.

“They could go live in one of the new colonies,” Batya said.

“With five children? How many strong men are among your four adults?”

One strong and one feeble. She looked at her fingers and said nothing. Her heart ached at the thought of having to forgo mothering Vida—or give up Ulmann.