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

I peered around the corner. Pawel was surrounded by three Polish policemen. My heart stopped. They had found him coming into the sewer to help us.

“Where are you going with that food?” one of the officers asked.

“It is just my lunch,” Pawel insisted, though the size of the satchel he carried made that impossible. The policemen kept barking questions, but Pawel refused to answer. I wanted to go help him, but that would only make things worse. He saw me over the shoulders of the police and his eyes went wide before he signaled silently for me to get away.

I jumped back around the corner. I needed to run to the chamber to warn the others, but there was no way to slip past the police and I didn’t dare risk detection. Instead, I pressed into a crack in the wall, willing myself to become invisible.

The police continued interrogating Pawel and I heard a sickening sound as one of them struck him. He would not give us up, I realized. I was seized with the urge to race to him, to protect him as he did us. There was a scuffling sound, followed by Pawel’s cry of protest as the police started to drag him from the tunnel. I knew in that moment we would never see him again. I bit my lip, struggling not to cry out.

As the police forced Pawel to go with them, the satchel of food he had been carrying fell from his hands into the river with a splash. I did not know if the police had taken it from him, or if Pawel, in his desperation to help us, had thrown the bag, hoping it might land close to me. But it was in the water now, floating on the current, contents scattering. I wanted to reach for the bag, but even if I dared step from my hiding place, it was too far gone to catch. I watched with a sinking feeling as the last potato disappeared around a corner.

After the tunnel went silent, I stood motionless in my hiding place, overcome with sadness. My heart screamed, as it had the night Papa had drowned. Pawel, our savior, had been arrested. Dread rose in me then, mixing with my sorrow. Pawel had not just given us sanctuary, but had brought the food that sustained us. We could not possibly survive without him.

Devastated, I returned to the chamber. I considered not telling the others the terrible news at all to spare Mama from losing even further hope. But I could not hide the fact that Pawel would not be coming with food again. “Pawel was arrested!” I cried. Bubbe, who had been napping in the far corner of the chamber, stirred.

Mama looked aghast. “Are you certain?”

I nodded. “In the tunnel, just now. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Pan Rosenberg stood from the place where he had been sitting. “There are Germans in the tunnel?” His face paled.

“It was the police actually, not the Germans.”

My clarification was of little comfort. “They’ve come for us. Pawel warned us this might happen.”

“They’ve left,” I said, trying to soothe him despite my own worry. “They don’t know about us.”

“But they might find out,” he panicked, eyes darting back and forth. “We have to go, now, before they come back.” His voice rose higher, nearly cracking.

“Pawel won’t tell anyone about us, Papa,” Saul said, his voice echoing with doubt. There was fear in his eyes like I had never seen before.

“I’m sure he won’t,” Mama agreed quickly.

“Pawel did not give us up,” I confirmed. “We are safe here.” Pan Rosenberg’s entire body sagged with relief. But over his shoulder, Saul’s eyes met mine, questioning if that was really true. Pawel was loyal to us and strong. But who knew what the Nazis might do to him, or whether or not he would break?

“We will have no food.” Bubbe, whom I had not known was listening, bolted upright on her bed. Though her voice was not as panicked as her son’s, her eyes were wide with worry. “Without Pawel, how are we to survive?” Her question hung unanswered in the air among us.

The police did not return. But as the next few days wore on, our uneasiness grew. Even if we were still safe here, our only source of food was gone. We ate even less than usual. We shared the crumbs as if they were a feast, each person careful not to take more than his or her share.

But despite our efforts to conserve, three days after Pawel was arrested, the last of our food was finished. “What are we to do?” I asked.

“We will have to think of something,” Mama said, trying to force the worry from her voice. “We will have to find another way to feed everyone ourselves.”

“But how?” I asked.

Pan Rosenberg rubbed his fingers against his beard, thinking. “When we were in the ghetto, there was a rumor of a man in our building who kept potatoes behind a wall.”

“If you tell me exactly where, I can go find it,” I offered without thinking.

“Go to the street?” Mama asked with disbelief. Her expression was horrified.

“We need food, Mama. I can do it.”

“Never,” Mama replied with all of the force she could muster. “None of us, especially not my daughter, is leaving the sewer to look for food. We will have to think of something else.”

That day wore on, and the next, we grew hungrier. We drank small drips of water to ease our stomach pains. I even imagined the tiny baby in Mama’s womb, crying silently as he or she waited in vain for nourishment that did not come.

Another night fell with no food. Saul and I started from the chamber, though I was nearly too weak with hunger to stay up and read. “My father is right,” he said when we neared the annex. “There is food hidden in the ghetto cellar. Not just potatoes, but cured