Half an hour later, she came downstairs to find that her new favorite regular had arrived. She took Ulmann’s hand, and the smile on her lips was genuine. A jeweler in his late thirties, Ulmann had bland facial features but hadn’t yet gone to fat as many men did, flaunting their good fortunes. He was blessed with a gentle soul: he neither drank nor danced, and cigars gave him headaches. All he wanted was to be alone with her in her chamber—and mostly talk.

Heavy rain had washed the city at dawn, and at eight o’clock the air was still cool and fragrant, before garbage would bake on the streets in the spring sun. As Batya left the front yard, a jacaranda tree weighed down by its purple flowers leaned toward her in protective blessing. A large woolen shawl covered Batya’s shoulders and arms, both against the chill and for modesty. She couldn’t help the revealing, colorful dress—she owned no modest clothing—but she had tightened her shawl with a mother-of-pearl brooch given to her by a client. Her wide-brimmed hat, though, with its swath of tulle, was finer than any common woman could afford, marking Batya as a prostitute.

Saturday mornings, she was permitted to visit the Mercado de Abasto, where farmers displayed their produce and vendors paraded soap and candles, perfume and makeup, lace and fine linens. Batya no longer required supervision after she’d learned, like many sisters before her, that there was no place to run to, no place to hide, and no better means of employment to be found in this growing city of men and immigrants. She had proven herself adept not only at learning Spanish but also at negotiating on price, so Freda trusted her to purchase provisions to supplement the meals delivered from the mess halls. The matron was especially appreciative that the butcher made it a practice to give Batya a yapa, a bonus piece of meat.

Batya looked forward all week to her walk through the market. Shabbat in Buenos Aires was nothing like Shabbat at the shtetl. Like everything else in this new world, the prohibition of labor or handling money was merely a memory. Batya was particularly fascinated by healers who offered herbs and ointments along with magic words meant to cure a baby from the cholera, capture the heart of an indifferent would-be lover, or find a pot of gold.