The Woman with the Blue Star, Pam Jenoff [highly recommended books txt] 📗

demanded. “Fine” was the furthest thing from describing this hell we had entered.

“We’ll be here a few days, a week at most.” I wanted to believe her.

A rat walked by the entrance to the chamber and eyed us not with fear, but contempt. I yelped, and the others glared at me for being too loud.

“Whisper,” Mama admonished gently. How could she be so calm when Papa was dead and rats were staring us down?

“Mama, there are rats. We can’t stay here!” The idea of staying here among them was more than I could take. “We have to leave now!” My voice rose to near hysterics.

Pawel marched over to me. “There is no back. There is no out. This is your world now. You must accept it for yourself and your mother, and for the child she is carrying.” He looked me in the eye. “Do you understand?” His voice was gentle but firm. I nodded. “This is the only way.”

Behind him, the rat still stood in the tunnel outside the entranceway, looking at us defiantly, somehow knowing that it had won. I never liked cats. But oh, how I wished for that old tabby that lingered in the alley behind our apartment now to take on this creature!

Mama turned to Pawel. “We will need plenty of carbide, and matches, of course.” She spoke calmly, as if she had accepted our fate and was trying to make the best of it. It seemed to me she should be asking and saying please. But she spoke in that special firm tone she used on occasion that always seemed to make people do as she wished.

“You’ll have it. And there’s a leaking pipe down the path we can tap for fresh water.” Pawel spoke kindly again now, as though trying to reassure us. Then he shifted awkwardly. “You have the money?”

Mama faltered. She had no idea that Papa had agreed to pay him, or how much. And most of the money we brought had surely sunk to the bottom of the sewer river with Papa. She reached in her dress and held out a crumpled note. A look crossed Pawel’s face and I could tell it was not as much as he had been promised. What would happen if we couldn’t afford to pay him? “I know it isn’t much.” Mama pled with her eyes for him to let it be enough. At last he took it. The religious man, who had been standing in the corner with his family, passed Pawel some money as well.

“I’ll bring you food as often as I can,” Pawel said.

“Thank you.” Mama looked over his shoulder at the other family. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.” She walked across the chamber. “I’m Danuta Gault,” she said, offering her hand to the father.

He didn’t take it, but nodded formally, as if meeting on the street. “Meyer Rosenberg.” He had a salt-and-pepper beard that was yellowed around the mouth with tobacco stains, but his eyes were kind and his voice melodic and warm. “This is my mother, Esther, and my son Saul.” I looked at Saul and he smiled.

“Everyone calls me Bubbe,” the elderly woman interjected, her voice raspy. It seemed odd to use such a familiar name for this woman I had just met.

“A pleasure to meet you, Bubbe,” my mother said, respecting the older woman’s wishes. “And you, Pan Rosenberg,” she added, addressing him with the more formal Polish term for mister. Then she turned back toward me. “I’m here with my husband... That is...” She seemed to forget for a second that Papa was no longer with us. “That is, I was. This is my daughter, Sadie.”

“That other family,” I could not help but ask. “The one with the little boy. What happened to them?” Part of me wished I hadn’t. I wanted to imagine they had made it to the street and found somewhere to hide. But I had never been any good at pretending or looking away. I had to know.

Pawel looked uncertainly over my head at my mother before answering, as if asking whether he should lie to me. “I don’t know for sure. But they were most likely killed at the entrance to the river,” he said finally. Shot, I thought, remembering the gunfire. We would be, too, if we went that way. “Now you understand why it is so important that you stay here, out of sight and silent.”

“But how can we stay here?” Bubbe Rosenberg demanded. “Surely now that the others were caught, the Germans will know there are people down here and come looking.” Saul moved closer to his grandmother and put his hand on her shoulder as if to offer comfort.

“Perhaps,” Pawel said mildly, unwilling to lie to comfort us. “I saw some Germans at one of the grates when I left you earlier and went up to the street. I told them there are rats so they wouldn’t come. They wanted to send the Polish police to look in their stead, but I told them that it is impossible for anyone to survive down here.” I wondered if perhaps that was right.

“Still, they’re bound to patrol the sewers at some point,” Saul said solemnly, speaking for the first time. His brow wrinkled with worry.

Pawel nodded gravely. “And when they do, I will have to lead them.” A gasp circulated through the group. Would he betray us after all? “I will take them down other tunnels so they don’t see you. If they insist on coming this way, I will swing my lantern in a wide circle ahead of me so you have time to hide.” Looking around the barren chamber, it was impossible to imagine where.

“I have to go now,” Pawel said. “If I don’t turn up for work, my foreman will ask questions.” It must be morning, I realized, although the light did not reach us here. He rummaged deep in his pocket and pulled out a package wrapped in paper. He opened it