Pawel smiled, the first light I had seen in his eyes in any of his recent visits. “He was such a friendly man. I often passed him on the street and he would always say hello, not like the other gentlemen who ignored a simple pipe fitter.” I smiled, too, knowing what he meant. My father had been kind to everyone, regardless of stature. “We talked occasionally about this and that. Once he told me about a work site that needed laborers and gave me a reference. Another time, he gave me some money to run an errand. He was helping me out, you see, for no other reason than I was a fellow man. But he always did it in a way that made it seem as though I was helping him. He didn’t want to hurt my pride.”

He continued, “Then one day I noticed him wearing the armband and seeming troubled. I struck up a conversation and he was asking not so directly about warehouses and such, places a family might hide. Those places would never work, I knew. So I told him about the sewer and later, after you all had gone to the ghetto, we began to construct the entrance.”

“And the Rosenbergs?”

“As the ghetto was being liquidated and I was racing to meet your father, I saw them on the street. It was a bad day and others dressed like them were being rounded up and beaten and shaven or worse.” He stopped, as if some things were still too awful for my young ears. “I told them to come with me and they did.” Moments of chance that had saved us while so many others suffered and died. He continued, “Then just before we reached the sewer, we spotted the young child with the couple fleeing. I thought I could save them as well.” There was an unmistakable note of sadness in his voice.

“Were you always a sewer worker?” I asked.

“Sadie, so many questions!” Mama scolded.

But Pawel smiled. “I don’t mind. Before the war, I was a thief.” I was surprised. He seemed so good, when in fact he was a common criminal. “I know it’s awful. But for so long there were no jobs for pipe fitters and I had to feed my wife and daughter. And then you all came along and I knew, after all of your father’s kindnesses, what I was meant to do. Saving you is my life’s work.” I saw it then. Rescuing us had become his mission, his chance at salvation.

A short while later, Pawel left and Mama and I returned to the chamber. I wanted to go to Saul and see how he was doing, to try to offer whatever comfort I could. But he stayed close to his grandmother, who wailed inconsolably, and to his father, who simply prayed. Later that night, Saul lay beside his father, one hand across his back. I felt certain he would not go walking. But when his father’s breathing had stilled, Saul stood and started for the door. I followed. “Do you mind if I come with you?” I asked, wondering if he would prefer to be alone. He shook his head. We walked together, the silence between us heavier than usual.