“Perhaps,” Pawel said mildly, unwilling to lie to comfort us. “I saw some Germans at one of the grates when I left you earlier and went up to the street. I told them there are rats so they wouldn’t come. They wanted to send the Polish police to look in their stead, but I told them that it is impossible for anyone to survive down here.” I wondered if perhaps that was right.

“Still, they’re bound to patrol the sewers at some point,” Saul said solemnly, speaking for the first time. His brow wrinkled with worry.

Pawel nodded gravely. “And when they do, I will have to lead them.” A gasp circulated through the group. Would he betray us after all? “I will take them down other tunnels so they don’t see you. If they insist on coming this way, I will swing my lantern in a wide circle ahead of me so you have time to hide.” Looking around the barren chamber, it was impossible to imagine where.

“I have to go now,” Pawel said. “If I don’t turn up for work, my foreman will ask questions.” It must be morning, I realized, although the light did not reach us here. He rummaged deep in his pocket and pulled out a package wrapped in paper. He opened it to reveal meat of some sort and broke it into two halves, then handed one piece to my mother and the other to Pan Rosenberg, splitting the meager rations evenly between our two families. “It’s golonka,” my mother whispered. “Pork knuckle. Eat it.” Though I had never had it before, my stomach growled.

But Pan Rosenberg looked at the meat Pawel offered and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It’s trayf,” he said with distaste at the notion of eating something that was not kosher. “We can’t possibly eat that.”

“I’m sorry. It was all I could get on short notice,” Pawel said, sounding truly contrite. He held it out once more, but Pan Rosenberg waved it away. “For your mother and son, at least?” Pawel tried again. “I’m afraid there won’t be anything else for a day or two.”

“Absolutely not.”

Pawel shrugged and brought the extra meat to Mama. She hesitated, caught between wanting to feed us and not wanting to take more than her share. “If you’re sure...”

“It shouldn’t go to waste,” he said. Mama took a small piece of the pork for herself and gave the rest to me. I ate it hurriedly before Pan Rosenberg could change his mind, trying to ignore the baleful eyes of his son. The elderly woman hung closely behind her family, not complaining, but I wondered guiltily if she would have liked some. I looked at the Rosenbergs in their strange dark clothing. What had they done to earn the saving graces of the sewer worker? They were so different from us. Yet we were all to live here together. We had been spared the indignity of sharing an apartment in the ghetto. But now hiding in this small space together with these strangers was our only hope.