The Book Thief Part 42

THE WHISTLER.

The Viennese air was fogging up the windows of the train that morning, and as the people traveled obliviously to work, a murderer whistled his happy tune. He bought his ticket. There were polite greetings with fellow pa.s.sengers and the conductor. He even gave up his seat for an elderly lady and made polite conversation with a gambler who spoke of American horses. After all, the whistler loved talking. He talked to people and fooled them into liking him, trusting him. He talked to them while he was killing them, torturing and turning the knife. It was only when there was no one to talk to that he whistled, which was why he did so after a murder ....

"So you think the track will suit number seven, do you?"

"Of course." The gambler grinned. Trust was already there. "He'll come from behind and kill the whole lot of them!" He shouted it above the noise of the train.

"If you insist." The whistler smirked, and he wondered at length when they would find the inspector's body in that brand-new BMW.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Hans couldn't resist an incredulous tone. "A nun gave you that?" He stood up and made his way over, kissing her forehead. "Bye, Liesel, the Knoller awaits."

"Bye, Papa."

"Liesel!"

She ignored it.

"Come and eat something!"

She answered now. "I'm coming, Mama." She actually spoke those words to Max as she came closer and placed the finished book on the bedside table, with everything else. As she hovered above him, she couldn't help herself. "Come on, Max," she whispered, and even the sound of Mama's arrival at her back did not stop her from silently crying. It didn't stop her from pulling a lump of salt water from her eye and feeding it onto Max Vandenburg's face.

Mama took her.

Her arms swallowed her.

"I know," she said.

She knew.

FRESH AIR, AN OLD NIGHTMARE, AND WHAT TO DO WITH A JEWISH CORPSE.

They were by the Amper River and Liesel had just told Rudy that she was interested in attaining another book from the mayor's house. In place of The Whistler, she'd read The Standover Man several times at Max's bedside. That was only a few minutes per reading. She'd also tried The Shoulder Shrug, even The Grave Digger's Handbook, but none of it seemed quite right. I want something new, she thought.

"Did you even read the last one?"

"Of course I did."

Rudy threw a stone into the water. "Was it any good?"

"Of course it was."

"Of course I did, of course it was." He tried to dig another rock out of the ground but cut his finger.

"That'll teach you."

"Saumensch."

When a person's last response was Saumensch or Saukerl or Arschloch, you knew you had them beaten.

In terms of stealing, conditions were perfect. It was a gloomy afternoon early in March and only a few degrees above freezing-always more uncomfortable than ten degrees below. Very few people were out on the streets. Rain like gray pencil shavings.

"Are we going?"

"Bikes," said Rudy. "You can use one of ours."

On this occasion, Rudy was considerably more enthusiastic about being the enterer. "Today it's my turn," he said as their fingers froze to the bike handles.

Liesel thought fast. "Maybe you shouldn't, Rudy. There's stuff all over the place in there. And it's dark. An idiot like you is bound to trip over or run into something."

"Thanks very much." In this mood, Rudy was hard to contain.

"There's the drop, too. It's deeper than you think."

"Are you saying you don't think I can do it?"

Liesel stood up on the pedals. "Not at all."

They crossed the bridge and serpentined up the hill to Grande Stra.s.se. The window was open.

Like last time, they surveyed the house. Vaguely, they could see inside, to where a light was on downstairs, in what was probably the kitchen. A shadow moved back and forth.

"We'll just ride around the block a few times," Rudy said. "Lucky we brought the bikes, huh?"

"Just make sure you remember to take yours home."

"Very funny, Saumensch. It's a bit bigger than your filthy shoes."

They rode for perhaps fifteen minutes, and still, the mayor's wife was downstairs, a little too close for comfort. How dare she occupy the kitchen with such vigilance! For Rudy, the kitchen was undoubtedly the actual goal. He'd have gone in, robbed as much food as was physically possible, then if (and only if) he had a last moment to spare, he would stuff a book down his pants on the way out. Any book would do.

Rudy's weakness, however, was impatience. "It's getting late," he said, and began to ride off. "You coming?"

Liesel didn't come.

There was no decision to be made. She'd lugged that rusty bike all the way up there and she wasn't leaving without a book. She placed the handlebars in the gutter, looked out for any neighbors, and walked to the window. There was good speed but no hurry. She took her shoes off using her feet, treading on the heels with her toes.

Her fingers tightened on the wood and she made her way inside.

This time, if only slightly, she felt more at ease. In a few precious moments, she circled the room, looking for a t.i.tle that grabbed her. On three or four occasions, she nearly reached out. She even considered taking more than one, but again, she didn't want to abuse what was a kind of system. For now, only one book was necessary. She studied the shelves and waited.

An extra darkness climbed through the window behind her. The smell of dust and theft loitered in the background, and she saw it.

The book was red, with black writing on the spine. Der Traumtrger. The Dream Carrier. She thought of Max Vandenburg and his dreams. Of guilt. Surviving. Leaving his family. Fighting the Fhrer. She also thought of her own dream-her brother, dead on the train, and his appearance on the steps just around the corner from this very room. The book thief watched his bloodied knee from the shove of her own hand.

She slid the book from the shelf, tucked it under her arm, climbed to the window ledge, and jumped out, all in one motion.

Rudy had her shoes. He had her bike ready. Once the shoes were on, they rode.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Meminger." He'd never called her Meminger before. "You're an absolute lunatic. Do you know that?"

Liesel agreed as she pedaled like h.e.l.l. "I know it."

At the bridge, Rudy summed up the afternoon's proceedings. "Those people are either completely crazy," he said, "or they just like their fresh air."

A SMALL SUGGESTION.

Or maybe there was a woman on

Grande Stra.s.se who now kept her

library window open for another

reason-but that's just me being

cynical, or hopeful. Or both.

Liesel placed The Dream Carrier beneath her jacket and began reading it the minute she returned home. In the wooden chair next to her bed, she opened the book and whispered, "It's a new one, Max. Just for you." She started reading. "'Chapter one: It was quite fitting that the entire town was sleeping when the dream carrier was born ....'"

Every day, Liesel read two chapters of the book. One in the morning before school and one as soon as she came home. On certain nights, when she was not able to sleep, she read half of a third chapter as well. Sometimes she would fall asleep slumped forward onto the side of the bed.

It became her mission.

She gave The Dream Carrier to Max as if the words alone could nourish him. On a Tuesday, she thought there was movement. She could have sworn his eyes had opened. If they had, it was only momentarily, and it was more likely just her imagination and wishful thinking.

By mid-March, the cracks began to appear.

Rosa Hubermann-the good woman for a crisis-was at breaking point one afternoon in the kitchen. She raised her voice, then brought it quickly down. Liesel stopped reading and made her way quietly to the hall. As close as she stood, she could still barely make out her mama's words. When she was able to hear them, she wished she hadn't, for what she heard was horrific. It was reality.

THE CONTENTS OF MAMA'S VOICE

"What if he doesn't wake up?

What if he dies here, Hansi?

Tell me. What in G.o.d's name will

we do with the body? We can't