The potato piroshki were fluffy as clouds, accompanied by a rich blend of onions, mushrooms, and carrots boiled with tiny green leaves. A second glass of red wine made it taste even better. Drinking wine was like eating chocolate, Batya decided, but more acute: it made her sight clearer, the gilded room brighter. The disgrace of her recent wrongdoing melted away.

After the main course, Grabovsky seemed in no rush to leave. His stomach looked even larger than before. He motioned to the waiter to refill Batya’s glass, leaned back, and ordered cognac and coffee for himself. He lit a cigar. Its bluish smoke made Batya cough but didn’t distract her from the whipped chocolate over white meringue that materialized in front of her. A distant voice in her head warned her that the airy chocolate must have been whisked with cream and shouldn’t be consumed in the same meal as meat, but she no longer cared. She savored the dessert’s fluffy and crunchy sweetness, and joy flooded the whole of her. This was the life awaiting her when she married Moskowitz, dressing in finery and eating in a plush dining hall attended by servants. She drank the rest of the wine, and more happiness filled the spaces that had been occupied by dread.

At last, she stretched in contentment and yawned, her arms raised. The room pitched and swerved, and the lights of the crystal chandeliers doubled. The walls swayed. People’s voices rose to a din, when something heaved inside her.

Then her dinner exploded all over the table.

“Polaca.” Grabovsky shook his head in disgust, then belched, and Batya wondered why he called her a “Pole” when he knew that she was a Jewess from Russia. Two waiters appeared, mumbling in that strange loud, high, clucking language the maid had spoken. They folded away the tablecloth, and one of them placed a glass of water in front of Batya. She sipped, and the water seemed to settle her stomach but did not cool her burning forehead. Grabovsky pushed the table away and rose, yanking her arm. When she tried to stand, her legs folded under her as if made of cheese.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her out a side door.

She felt her head loll as he moved swiftly along the many corridors and down the stairs, and finally dropped her like a log on the bed in her cabin.