We came to a junction where the river of sewage we had been following intersected with another torrent of water, equally wide and fierce. The rushing of the sewer water grew to a roar. “Careful,” the worker cautioned. “We have to cross here.” He gestured to a series of boards that had been loosely connected to form a bridge over the rushing water.

My breath caught with fear at the idea of crossing the river. Behind me, Papa put a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Sadie. Remember when we waded in Kryspinów Lake? The stepping stones? It is just like that.” I wanted to point out that the waters at Kryspinów, where we often picnicked in summer, were calm and gentle, and filled with small tadpoles and fish—not teeming with the filth of the entire city.

Papa nudged me forward and I had no choice but to follow my mother, who despite her rounded stomach had begun to cross on the boards with her usual grace, as if she were playing hopscotch. I started forward. My foot slipped off one of the boards and Papa reached out to steady me.

I turned around. “Papa, this is madness!” I exclaimed. “There has to be another way.”

“Darling, this is the way.” His voice was calm, expression certain. Papa, who had always kept me safe, believed that I could do this.

I took a deep breath, turned and started forward once again. I crossed one board, then another. I was in the middle of the river now, far from either shore. There was no turning back. I took another step. The board beneath my foot gave way and started to slip sideways out from under me. “Help!” I cried out, my voice echoing through the tunnel.

Papa lurched forward to steady me. As he did, he lost hold of the small satchel Mama packed, which he had been carrying for her. The bag, containing what little we had left in the world, seemed to sail slow motion through the air, hovering above the water. Before it could fall in, Papa tried to snatch it. He grabbed the bag and flung it back to me, then tried to right himself. But he had reached too far and he flailed off balance.

“Papa!” I cried as he fell into the dark sewer water with a mighty splash. The worker spun around and raced swiftly onto the boards, pulling me to safety. Then he tried to reach for my father. But as his hand neared Papa’s, the strong current pulled my father away and he was drawn under. From the far bank, my mother screamed.

Papa reappeared above the surface. He emerged like a phoenix, his entire torso and most of his legs lifting above the water, defying it. Hope rose in my throat. He was going to make it. The water seemed to seize him then, a giant hand reaching out to pull him under. It dragged him, head and all, in a single swoop beneath the icy blackness. I held my breath, waiting for him to reappear, to fight back and emerge once more. But the surface of the river remained unbroken. The bubbles of air he had left behind disappeared into the current and then he was gone.