Capping the jug, I started back. A bit farther along, I reached the sewer grate once more. Sunlight shone through the slats, creating bars of light on the wet sewer ground. They reminded me of days by the stream with Papa not so many years ago. We would always climb Krakus Mound, the high hill outside the city, on Sundays at dusk. First he carried me on his shoulders, and later when I was older and my legs strong enough, we walked hand in hand. The red rooftops of the city seemed to shimmer amidst the pale gray domes and spires. In autumn the falling leaves turned the hill to copper and we would try to pile the leaves to jump in before the rains or street sweepers took them.

I tried more than once since coming to the sewer to share my memories with Mama, but she stopped me. “We’re the only family we have now,” Mama would say, drawing me close to the roundness of her stomach. “We must concentrate on surviving and staying together, not on the past.” It was as if the thoughts were too painful for her to bear.

Feeling as if I might drown in the memories as easily as the sewer water, I forced the images from my mind and looked up at the grate, picturing the street. I often pretended that when we’d fled to the sewers, time above had stopped. But I felt it now, the way the people still stopped and cooked and ate, children still went to school and played. The whole city had carried on without us, not seeming to notice that we were gone. The people above passed by me heedlessly. They could not possibly imagine that beneath their feet, we breathed and ate and slept. I couldn’t blame them; I certainly hadn’t given the world below a second thought when I lived above. I wondered now if there might be other unseen worlds, in the earth or the walls or the sky, that I hadn’t considered either.

I knew I should stay out of sight. Still, I stood on my tiptoes, wanting to see more of the world above. The grate opened up into a side street or alley. Beyond the edge, I could make out the high stone wall of a church. Although the bit directly above the grate was not the main market, I could still hear people above, bartering and trading.

A trickle of water came down through the sewer grate. I moved closer, curious. It was different than the water we siphoned off the pipe, warmer and smelling of soap. I peered above the grate. There was a laundry nearby, I guessed, the water running off from the wash. I had dreamed of bathing these many months. But in my dream, the waters always turned brown and threatened to take me away. Now the warm, soapy water beckoned. Impulsively, I took off my shirt and moved to stand under the trickle of water. It felt so good to wash the filth from my skin.