“She’ll be all right,” Bubbe declared. “She’s weak, but at least the bleeding has stopped.”

I looked down, studying the baby. I hadn’t been sure how I was going to feel about having a little brother or sister. Bald and round, babies had always looked the same to me. Gazing now at the child with the same stubbed nose as my own, a wave of love broke over me and crested. I would do whatever I could to protect my sister.

“What’s her name?” I asked, hoping she might choose a feminine version of Papa’s name, Michal. Mama shook her head. I wondered if she was too weak to decide now. Or perhaps naming a baby born in such hopeless circumstances was more hope than she could bear.

A moment later, the old woman took the baby back from me and handed her to Mama to try nursing again. I walked out of the chamber into the tunnel to tell the others the news. “It’s a girl,” I said.

“Mazel tov,” Pan Rosenberg offered without emotion.

“A child is a sign of life, of hope,” Saul said, taking a step toward me. I thought for a second he might take my hand, but of course he could not. “Your mother, she’s well?”

“Yes, thank you. She seems to be.”

The baby’s squalls grew louder, spilling from the chamber into the tunnel. The lines in Pan Rosenberg’s forehead seemed to grow deeper with worry. “How will you keep her from crying?” he asked. I had no answer. I had been so worried about how Mama could have the baby in the sewer, making sure she and the baby both came through it safely. But now that the baby was here, the question loomed large. The sewer required us to be silent, especially during the long daytime hours when people walked the streets overhead and entered the cathedral. Surely the cries of a baby would be heard. How would we ever manage?

I turned back toward the chamber, my stomach heavy as lead. We faced so many obstacles living here: hiding from the Germans, getting enough food, staying healthy in these awful conditions, dangerous floods. Now it seemed that a tiny little baby would become the biggest problem of all.

16

Ella

After Sadie disappeared back into the sewer, I hurried from the riverbank, starting in the direction of Dębniki. Daylight had fully broken now and street sweepers cleaned debris from the pavement. When I reached the café on Barska Street, I did not go inside, but instead walked through the door next to it and up the stairs that led to the apartments on the floors above. The building was old and dank. No one had bothered to replace the lights in the stairwell that had burned out and the whole place smelled of pipe smoke.

I reached the top floor and knocked on the lone door. There was no answer. “Krys?” I called softly. Silence. I waited a few seconds, confused. He had asked me to come find him after Sadie returned to the sewer; this was surely the right place. I turned the knob and pushed the door open a few inches and peered inside. It was a bare attic space, not much bigger than Maciej’s garret, with a straight ceiling instead of sloped. Heavy curtains had been drawn to keep out the early-morning sun. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could make out Krys sitting on a bare mattress on the far side of the room. He leaned motionless against the wall with his head tilted back. “Krys?” He did not respond and for a moment I worried that something had happened after he left me on the riverbank. Had he been hurt—or worse? As I moved closer, though, I could see that his chest rose and fell with long, even breaths. He was simply asleep. Watching him, I felt a tug of longing. I wondered when he had last rested in a comfortable bed or had a full night’s sleep at all.