Batya felt the air thickening with tension. Any moment, before someone came to get her, Sergio would ask for the ledger, and she would have to tell him where to retrieve it in a few days when Rafael returned. If the silent man who was checking the traffic outside their cabin was one of Moskowitz’s goons, he would break her bones for the deception.

Sergio took a few items of clothing from his bag and laid them on the seat next to Batya. “Change into these.” He rose to turn his back to her.

She fingered the unfamiliar clothes. “What are they?”

“A gaucho’s outfit.”

Her anxiety was assuaged at the safety precautions. She quickly pulled on the dark trousers—the first pair she’d ever worn—and removed her skirt. Her white shirt fit under the short leather vest, though it failed to hide the bulge of her breasts. She tied the red scarf around her neck, then glanced at the filth of the wide-brimmed brown felt hat. Gathering up her mane of hair, she tucked it into the hat’s cavity.

When she sat down again, she saw that Sergio had tied a similar scarf around his neck, smeared a dark substance on his already tanned skin to make himself look dirty, and put on a similarly old hat.

Passengers passed in the corridor, and Batya could hear the thumping of valises in the cabins to the right and left. Porters called out, men gave orders, and women fussed over their broods and packages. Once in a while Sergio glanced through the glass at the goings-on or stepped into the corridor to check the platform, clearly alert to some danger.

“Sergio—” Batya began, but he raised his hand to hush her. She pressed her back to the seat. The last time she had been on a train, she was grieving the separation from her family, ashamed of her rape, and fearful of the unknown future. That old dread now felt like drinking milk that had gone sour. She was tired of being afraid.

The minutes stretched. Batya fidgeted in her seat. She would have liked to watch the platform to see for herself if someone was pursuing her, but her window faced away from it, onto other tracks and trains. She closed her eyes and willed her heartbeat to slow down.

The conductor passed through the corridor, calling out, “All aboard! All aboard!”

The tall man withdrew tickets from his pocket and fanned them out to count. Six, Batya noticed. He had bought the whole cabin, just as Moskowitz had once done. He handed them to Sergio, took the dress bag, nodded an acknowledgment to Batya, and closed the door behind him as he left.