One night, as she lay in bed, listening to the exotic music that rose from below, the laughter of the sisters, the groans and sighs from other rooms, a thought hit Batya. How would Moskowitz be able to track her down? Grabovsky wouldn’t be forthcoming in revealing what he’d done. She must seek out the city rabbi, who would no doubt know Yitzik Moskowitz, a most prominent citizen. Maybe the rabbi would hide her until her former fiancé—hopefully still her benefactor—arrived. Moskowitz would surely reward him, just as he had donated so generously to the synagogue in the Russian shtetl.

How could she find the rabbi? Even if she snuck out of the house, she couldn’t venture alone into the frightening maze of this foreign city. She would have no idea which way to go, and no way to ask for directions to the real Buenos Aires.

Right after the afternoon siesta—the rest time most of the girls took during the hottest hours of the afternoon unless occupied by clients—the sisters were drinking yerba maté tea, which Batya was growing to like. The musicians had just arrived and were tuning their instruments. Rochel gestured to Batya, and the two of them took their gourds of drink to the patio, along with plates of cakes drenched with dulce de leche that tasted as delicious as the chocolate Moskowitz had introduced her to.

The two of them settled at a round metal table with a tiled top, and Rochel lit a cigarette. “Want one?” She offered the gold case to Batya.

Batya adored the elegant way Rochel held her cigarette at the end of her long ivory holder, but the two times Batya had tried smoking, she had broken into coughing fits that brought up bile. “No, thanks.” She sucked her maté through its straw and pondered which she liked more, this bitter tea or the strong coffee with its grainy texture sweetened by three spoons of sugar.

“Smoking is good for your digestion. It also improves the skin tone and dries up pimples.” Rochel puffed out practiced rings of smoke.

“Maybe later.” Batya eyed the clay planters along the garden fence, with their gigantic flowers in luscious reds, yellows, and oranges. Beyond them, in the soil by the fence, grew low leafy plants in various shades of green, some with long, striped leaves, others with rounded clusters in dark hues. She wished she were permitted to help the Chinese gardener who came every morning to weed and water. She would have loved to feel the moist earth between her fingers, to plant seedlings that would grow into magnificent plants.