Once there was a sizable enough group, a handful of policemen took them to a large building not too far away.
“What is that place?” Jacob asked a boy in front of him.
“The Immigrant Hotel. We’ll stay there until someone comes for us or until we find work.”
“It’s not a jail, is it?” Moses asked.
“Nope. They feed you decent food, and it’s clean enough, though there isn’t much privacy. Men and women are separated, and dozens of people sleep in the same room. But you can come and go, as long as you’re back by supper.”
Jacob and Moses breathed a sigh of relief. Their arrival in Argentina was not turning out to be like they had pictured. It was much less exciting. They knew their parents were unaware of their arrival, but even so, they had envisioned the impossible sweetness of an immediate reunion.
The Immigrant Hotel was a gigantic building with a huge entryway, an enormous dining hall with long marble tables, and a complex system of kitchens, laundry rooms, bathrooms, showers, and yards.
Caretakers divided the group of recent arrivals and led them to their rooms. Jacob was amazed at the size of the dormitory with countless bunk beds. He jockeyed to get beside the boy they had talked with in line.
“What’s your name?” Jacob asked.
“Andrea,” the boy said.
“Are you Italian?”
“Yes. My father is sending me to stay with one of his brothers in Rosario. Things aren’t going well in my country. I figure my uncle will come get me soon. You can only stay here in the hotel five days for free. After that, you have to pay. You’d better find your parents as soon as you can. I heard that government employees work as slowly here as they do in Italy.”
Jacob and Moses placed their suitcases on their beds, then sat down. The Italian boy pulled out a cigarette and offered them one.
“No thanks, we don’t smoke,” Jacob said.
“Your loss!” the boy joked.
“Do you think it’s safe to leave our stuff here?”
Andrea shrugged. “I wouldn’t leave it if I were in Italy, and they say that half this country is made up of Italians.”
Jacob instinctively touched the belt inside his shirt where he kept their papers, money, and their parents’ address strapped to his body.
“I’m going out to see Buenos Aires. After so many days at sea, I need to walk on solid ground,” Andrea said.
Jacob and Moses nodded. “We’ll come too.” They stood and put on their jackets and a hat.
When they got down to the port, a policeman wrote their numbers down, and they walked out onto the bustling street, where they hopped on a trolley headed downtown. They were balanced on the outside, holding on to an exterior rail, so they could hop off as soon as the inspector came for their ticket. The streetcar traveled slowly, and the traffic seemed worse than in Paris, Jacob thought. Double-decker buses made their way through the city, and the sidewalks were packed with well-dressed people.
“Where do you want to go?” Andrea asked.
“I think our parents are in Once or Balvanera. One of those neighborhoods,” Jacob said.
“I’ll go ask how to get there.” Andrea asked one of the other passengers, and fifteen minutes later, the boys jumped off the trolley.
“It’s southwest of here. We’ll take a bus to the Plaza Miserere.”
Andrea moved about the city as if he had lived there his whole life. Jacob and Moses followed him like two blind men led by a seeing-eye dog. The bus took them to the plaza, and they started looking for Moreno Street. The buildings were not very tall, just two or three stories, and had balconies or terraces decorated with wrought-iron rails. Some had businesses on the street level. They were painted with lively colors, but the streets were calmer than the area around the port.
The three boys stood in front of the number written on Jacob’s paper, and they studied the façade. The building was a bit old and could stand a fresh coat of paint, but the door looked new, with a pretty, colored window above the door frame. They stood there a while as Jacob and Moses hesitated, unsure whether to ring the bell. They were afraid of once again not finding their parents.
Finally, Andrea sighed and knocked loudly at the door. They waited again and then heard the sound of bolts sliding back. A young woman looked out at them, curious.
“What do you want, boys?” she asked.
“We’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Stein,” Andrea said.
“Stein?”