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

bit closer to it now. I picked up Sadie and, with great effort, lifted her above my head. She neared the ledge, then slipped from my grasp and fell back to the water, almost sinking us both. I caught her and heaved her up again. This time I managed to place her on the ledge, where she lay motionless for several seconds. She rolled onto her side and held out her hand, trying with the very last of her strength to help me from the water.

“See, I promised you would get out,” I said.

But I had spoken too soon. From behind me, there came a crash and I turned in time to see the far wall of the basin, weakened from the explosions, cave in. A giant wave of water roared toward us, too big and powerful to stop. The force slammed me against the wall and took us both under, swallowing us into darkness.

26

I stepped onto the banks of the Wisła before dawn.

As I had climbed from the sewer, I reached back for the hand that should have been in mine, but was not. Now I stood beneath a vast, dark canopy of stars, alone. I had hoped to see someone, Kara or Saul maybe, waiting for me. But the riverbank was deserted, the others having left us for dead.

We’re going to make it. A promise broken.

After the raging floodwaters had crashed through the basin wall, I had floundered, submerged in the dark, feeling for her beneath the surface for several minutes without success. At last I managed to find her and somehow pull us both onto the ledge. But it was too late. The water had filled her lungs for too long and she was barely breathing. There was a massive gash on her head, too, where the raging current had slammed her into the concrete basin wall. Blood gushed from it, impossible to stop.

“We can make it,” I urged, trying in vain to pull her to her feet. “We’ll go to Paris to paint and to study medicine.” I dangled our dreams in front of her, willing her to reach for them and live.

But she was unable to walk and she used her last bit of strength to push me away. “You have to go on for both of us,” she said. Then, with effort, she reached into her pocket and I was surprised when she handed me not one thing, but two.

“Take it,” she breathed. “Tell him...” And I leaned close, waiting to receive the message that she wanted me to deliver. But she closed her eyes then, and the words never came.

I put my hand on her shoulder and shook her gently as if to revive her, but she did not respond. “No!” I cried as the reality sank in. She was dying. My friend, the one who had given everything for me, would not survive. I lowered my head close to hers, my tears spilling over onto her cheeks. Her breathing slowed.

When her chest rose and fell no more, I held her for several seconds. I wanted to take her with me. I knew that I couldn’t carry her up the high ledge to get out of the chamber. The water in the basin continued to rise. In another few seconds, it would overtake the ledge and I would drown as well. Still I held her, wiped the wet locks of hair from her beautiful face. My heart screamed. We had sworn to leave the sewer together. How could I abandon her now?

I kissed her cheek, the salt of my tears mixing with the dirty, bitter water. She deserved a proper burial in a cemetery with flowers. Of course, that was impossible. Still, I would not leave her here for the Germans to find. Straining, I lifted her body and pushed it from the ledge, returning her to the water. Her face, peaceful and calm, lingered a second above the surface before it slipped below the waters and she disappeared as the sewer claimed her for its own.

Then I began my final climb to freedom.

When I reached the riverbank, I stood motionless, trying to catch my breath. A foghorn sounded long and low from a boat unseen down the river. My wounds screamed with pain and I didn’t know how I would go on from here at all, much less on my own.

Just then, I saw a familiar face appear over the horizon. My heart filled with joy. I had not imagined that he was still alive or would have waited. Seeing me, he sprinted forward, his face happy and relieved.

Then as he neared and realized I was alone, darkness clouded his eyes. “Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not wanting to deliver the news that would surely break him. “There was a flood. She saved me, but she didn’t make it out alive.” His eyes went hollow with grief. “I did everything I could,” I added.

“I know.” There was a note of resignation in his voice. He did not blame me. That any of us would have made it, much less all, was simply too much to hope. Still, the loss was a grievous one and I saw in his pained eyes how very much he had loved her.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “She saved me. Only now I’m here and she isn’t.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he said, staring hard off into the distance and blinking back tears. “You did everything you could. She loved you, you know. She would be glad to know that you are alive.”

“But she isn’t!” I exclaimed, my sorrow bursting forth then. He drew me close and let me cry into the front of his shirt, heedless of the filthy water that soaked through.

“We should go,” he said gently a moment later.

“No.” I knew that he was right. But I was not ready to leave her behind. I turned back toward the entrance. We should be leaving together.

“We can’t stay here,” he said firmly. “She would want