climbed through the hatch. The next pipe was some four feet high and necessitated crawling on all fours until eventually they arrived at a much larger tunnel which broadened out into a massive alcove strewn with large, crudely hewn limestone blocks, left over from the construction of the central chamber.
‘This,’ claimed Socha, ‘is much more convenient and safer too.’
Exhausted, they staggered about the cavern, looking for somewhere they could stretch out and rest themselves. There was nowhere. Cold and drenched to the skin, they sat on the limestone blocks, gradually surveying their new home. It was dreadful. A cold, damp draft swept over their heads, and at times it whipped up into a fair wind. It howled and whistled through some unseen crack. At their feet, a trench carried a constant flow and rising from it was the unmistakable stench of raw sewage.
‘We are right beneath the Church of Our Lady of the Snows,’ Socha announced, as though their proximity to a place of worship would in some way compensate for the smell of excrement. It seemed that the place he had brought them to was somehow in the foundations of the church. There were municipal toilets in a square nearby, which had been a public disgrace – even above the ground. Every time the toilets were flushed a new wave of excrement passed down the trench and sometimes overflowed across the floor. They settled down on the stones, shivering in a howling wind, while rats scuttled about their feet. So, here was their first home in the sewers: cold, wet, and reeking of shit.
Chapter VI
They calculated that they were only about twelve feet beneath the Church of Our Lady of the Snows. They could hear the daily visits of worshippers and even the murmuring of prayers. The conduit for these sounds was a steel waste pipe, the top half of which was covered only by a wire mesh, and which passed through their space on its way to the waters of the Peltwa. As the pipe seemed to be such an efficient sound conductor, they consequently believed that their own voices would be amplified back through the same pipe and heard coming up through the drains in the church. So they resolved to talk only in whispers.
Each day, Socha arrived with food and, if possible, he brought drinking water too which was shared out amongst the group. Despite this regular supply of food and water, their environment was squalid and many of them soon succumbed to dysentery. The children were the first. Though crippled with diarrhoea, there was little privacy and they were obliged to relieve themselves in a corner of the room. With the regular loss of fluid, they became seriously dehydrated. Fresh drinking water became the most precious commodity and the very limited quantities that could be brought were carefully rationed. The allowance was about half a cup of water per person. Chiger and Paulina refused their rations and passed them on to their children.
‘The dampness in the air was enough for us; we took it in through the pores of our skin,’ recalled Paulina.
The morale of the group plunged further. They huddled together on the cluster of crudely hewn limestone blocks, trying to avoid the chilling draft that cut through the place. The Chigers cradled their children on their laps, whispering comforting wordsto them. They slept that way too. There was no space to lie down and so everyone huddled into groups, exploring every possible angle into which they could squeeze their limbs. Soon everyone had dysentery and were racked with painful stomach cramps and diarrhoea. ‘We had a shovel and every so often Margulies would scrape the shit into the trough,’ recalled Paulina.
They became so thirsty that Chiger and some others drank the sewer water and inevitably became chronically ill. They had lost the stove they had planned to bring with them, so there was no means of boiling the water. He asked Socha if he could bring some alcohol on his next visit, and perhaps an empty tin. He planned to try
‘This,’ claimed Socha, ‘is much more convenient and safer too.’
Exhausted, they staggered about the cavern, looking for somewhere they could stretch out and rest themselves. There was nowhere. Cold and drenched to the skin, they sat on the limestone blocks, gradually surveying their new home. It was dreadful. A cold, damp draft swept over their heads, and at times it whipped up into a fair wind. It howled and whistled through some unseen crack. At their feet, a trench carried a constant flow and rising from it was the unmistakable stench of raw sewage.
‘We are right beneath the Church of Our Lady of the Snows,’ Socha announced, as though their proximity to a place of worship would in some way compensate for the smell of excrement. It seemed that the place he had brought them to was somehow in the foundations of the church. There were municipal toilets in a square nearby, which had been a public disgrace – even above the ground. Every time the toilets were flushed a new wave of excrement passed down the trench and sometimes overflowed across the floor. They settled down on the stones, shivering in a howling wind, while rats scuttled about their feet. So, here was their first home in the sewers: cold, wet, and reeking of shit.
Chapter VI
They calculated that they were only about twelve feet beneath the Church of Our Lady of the Snows. They could hear the daily visits of worshippers and even the murmuring of prayers. The conduit for these sounds was a steel waste pipe, the top half of which was covered only by a wire mesh, and which passed through their space on its way to the waters of the Peltwa. As the pipe seemed to be such an efficient sound conductor, they consequently believed that their own voices would be amplified back through the same pipe and heard coming up through the drains in the church. So they resolved to talk only in whispers.
Each day, Socha arrived with food and, if possible, he brought drinking water too which was shared out amongst the group. Despite this regular supply of food and water, their environment was squalid and many of them soon succumbed to dysentery. The children were the first. Though crippled with diarrhoea, there was little privacy and they were obliged to relieve themselves in a corner of the room. With the regular loss of fluid, they became seriously dehydrated. Fresh drinking water became the most precious commodity and the very limited quantities that could be brought were carefully rationed. The allowance was about half a cup of water per person. Chiger and Paulina refused their rations and passed them on to their children.
‘The dampness in the air was enough for us; we took it in through the pores of our skin,’ recalled Paulina.
The morale of the group plunged further. They huddled together on the cluster of crudely hewn limestone blocks, trying to avoid the chilling draft that cut through the place. The Chigers cradled their children on their laps, whispering comforting wordsto them. They slept that way too. There was no space to lie down and so everyone huddled into groups, exploring every possible angle into which they could squeeze their limbs. Soon everyone had dysentery and were racked with painful stomach cramps and diarrhoea. ‘We had a shovel and every so often Margulies would scrape the shit into the trough,’ recalled Paulina.
They became so thirsty that Chiger and some others drank the sewer water and inevitably became chronically ill. They had lost the stove they had planned to bring with them, so there was no means of boiling the water. He asked Socha if he could bring some alcohol on his next visit, and perhaps an empty tin. He planned to try
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