The days and nights passed with nothing to demarcate them other than the occasional break when a sailor brought water along with bread or a potato, supplemented by the boy’s visits. The air became stifling and suffused with oil smoke, sending Batya and Shayna into coughing fits. Perspiration formed on Batya’s skin and dripped down her body. She separated her limbs as far as she could to minimize the hot touch of her own skin. Images came and went: her family’s hut burning; trees merging into a hot river that drowned her; diamonds growing into giant cockroaches. In moments of lucidity her mind figured that the heat meant that they were nearing America, where Reb Moskowitz’s sister would be waiting for her.

God Almighty, she prayed. Hear me down here. But don’t tell my parents what happened. It would kill them. Just save me Yourself.

Batya had no idea how many days or weeks had passed when her crate was pried open. A sailor pulled her out of the crate and, when she stumbled, pushed her against a wall with Shayna. Shielding her eyes against the sudden light, Batya saw her new friend for the first time, a girl taller and wider than she, with black curls caked with filth and brown eyes swollen from crying.

Against the swaying of the ship, Batya remained standing by pressing her back to the wall when a sudden spray of cold seawater hit her with a startling force. She slid down and covered her head, but there was no place to hide as the sailor directed the hose onto her hair and between her legs, stinging the old cuts and the newer rat bites, then sprayed Batya’s head and face, where the salt water burned her eyes and lips.

When he stopped, Batya wrapped her arms around herself to hide her nakedness in the torn wet slip. The sailor sniggered, but the break from the crate and its rats was a relief, and the cold water a reprieve from the grime and heat. Despite the burning, the fast-drying salt was preferable to the filth.

The sailor handed each of them a sheet, and Batya draped hers around herself. Trembling, her eyes stinging from salt and blinking at the light, she followed his hand signal to climb up a metal ladder. Shayna lumbered a few rungs behind her, the sailor bringing up the rear. At the top, Batya forced her rubbery limbs to pull her through the hole, and she found herself on a small balcony from which rose a flight of stairs. The ship was moving on a calm sea, and no land was in sight.