4

Sadie

Stunned, we stared at the unbroken surface of the sewer river. “Papa!” I cried again. My mother made a low guttural sound and tried to fling herself in the water after him, but the sewer worker held her back.

“Wait here,” he instructed, racing farther down the path and following the current. I grasped Mama’s hand so that she would not try to jump in again.

“He’s a strong man,” Saul offered. Though he meant it comfortingly, my anger rose: how did he know?

“And a good swimmer,” Mama agreed desperately. “He might have survived.” I wanted to cling to hope as much as she did. But recalling how the current had tossed him around like a rag doll, I knew even Papa’s sure, burly armed swim stroke would be no match for the river.

Mama and I huddled together for several minutes in silence, numb with disbelief. The sewer worker returned, his face grave. “He was caught underneath by some debris. I tried to free him, but it was too late. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done.”

“No!” I cried, my voice echoing dangerously through the cavernous tunnel. My mother’s hand clamped down over my mouth before I could speak again, her skin a mixture of vile sewer water and salty tears on my lips. I sobbed against the warm filth of her palm. Papa had been here just minutes earlier, keeping me from slipping. If he hadn’t reached for me, he would still be alive.

A moment later, my mother released me. “He’s gone,” I said. I leaned against her, feeling like a small child. My father had been a gentle giant, my protector, my closest confidant and friend. My world. But the sewer had swept him under and away like so much trash.

“I know, I know,” Mama mouthed through her tears. “But we must be quiet or we will be done as well.” Making too much noise could cause us to be detected by the police on the street above, and none of the others would suffer that risk. Mama slumped against the wall of the sewer, looking vulnerable and helpless. This whole escape had been Papa’s plan—how were we ever to manage without him?

Saul took a step toward me, his brown eyes solemn. “I’m sorry about your father.” His voice was friendlier now than it had been when I’d tried to speak with him earlier. But it didn’t matter anymore. He touched the brim of his hat and then moved back closer to his father.

“We must keep going,” the sewer worker said.

I stood stubbornly, refusing to move. “We can’t leave him.” I knew Papa had been pulled downstream, yet some part of me believed that if I stood right here, in the very spot where he disappeared, he would resurface and it would be as if none of this had happened. I reached my hand out, willing time to stop. One moment Papa had been here real and firm in the space beside me. Now he was gone, the air empty and still.