“We’ll have to swim,” I said. “Come.” I sat on the edge of the basin and took off my shoes, preparing to get in. But Sadie did not join me and I could tell from the doubt in her eyes that something was wrong. “What is it?” I asked.

“I can’t swim,” she confessed. I recalled then how she had told me once how she and her mother had almost drowned when the sewer flooded, and also how the waters had taken her father’s life. I could see her reliving her fears and they paralyzed her. She was not just unable to swim, but terrified of the water, just as I had been of the close space in the pipe.

“Is there another route?” I asked, already knowing the answer. She shook her head. There was panic in her eyes. “Then we must get across somehow.”

But how? I looked around desperately. Then I remembered the rope she had used to pull me through the pipe. I ran back down the tunnel and grabbed it, then hurried back to Sadie. “Here, I’ll pull you.” The rope that had been my lifeline in the narrow crawl space was now hers. “I am going to swim and you just have to hold on.”

“But...” Sadie began.

“We have to get across,” I insisted.

“I can’t possibly manage it now.”

“There’s no choice,” I said firmly. “Not if you want to reach Saul again. I’ll help you.” I took the rope and tied one end to me and then affixed the other end to her waist so that we were about a meter apart. It was then that I noticed the bloodstain on her dress, which was now torn. “Are you hurt?” My apprehension grew.

“Just a cut from when the mine went off and we fell. Going through the tunnel made it worse. I’m fine.” There was a tightness to her voice that made me wonder if she was telling the truth.

But there was no time for further questions. I lowered myself into the icy water, then coaxed her in after me. Sadie put one foot into the water, then recoiled. “You can do this,” I urged. At last, she entered the water reluctantly. Panic crossed her face and she began to flail, arms floundering. “Just relax.” I held my arms out and pulled her to me. I was a strong swimmer. I had spent childhood summers in happier times at our cabin by Lake Morskie Oko in the Tatra Mountains and quickly learned to swim when my siblings threw me in the water mercilessly.

I started across the basin, pulling Sadie. She tried to swim, but her movements were flailing and ineffective. I tried to tow her. She should have been lighter in the water, but her weight was like a boulder. The rope that bound us pulled at my waist. I kicked harder, pushing onward. I had no idea how we would get up the ledge when we reached the other side. First, though, we had to get across. She grew heavier and for a moment I thought she was fighting me. When I looked behind me, Sadie had stopped moving. She was motionless in the water, as if she was exhausted or had simply given up. My frustration rose. “You have to keep trying,” I said. Then I noticed that there was something red in the water. Blood, I realized.