The Book Thief Part 49

Small streams of sweat rippled under her arms.

When she raised her head, she could read the t.i.tle. The Complete Duden Dictionary and Thesaurus. Briefly, she turned to Rudy and mouthed the words, It's a dictionary. He shrugged and held out his arms.

She worked methodically, sliding the window upward, wondering how all of this would look from inside the house. She envisioned the sight of her thieving hand reaching up, making the window rise until the book was felled. It seemed to surrender slowly, like a falling tree.

Got it.

There was barely a disturbance or sound.

The book simply tilted toward her and she took it with her free hand. She even closed the window, nice and smooth, then turned and walked back across the potholes of clouds.

"Nice," Rudy said as he gave her the bike.

"Thank you."

They rode toward the corner, where the day's importance reached them. Liesel knew. It was that feeling again, of being watched. A voice pedaled inside her. Two laps.

Look at the window. Look at the window.

She was compelled.

Like an itch that demands a fingernail, she felt an intense desire to stop.

She placed her feet on the ground and turned to face the mayor's house and the library window, and she saw. Certainly, she should have known this might happen, but she could not hide the shock that loitered inside when she witnessed the mayor's wife, standing behind the gla.s.s. She was transparent, but she was there. Her fluffy hair was as it always was, and her wounded eyes and mouth and expression held themselves up, for viewing.

Very slowly, she lifted her hand to the book thief on the street. A motionless wave.

In her state of shock, Liesel said nothing, to Rudy or herself. She only steadied herself and raised her hand to acknowledge the mayor's wife, in the window.

DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #2.

Verzeihung-Forgiveness:

To stop feeling anger,

animosity, or resentment.

Related words: absolution,

acquittal, mercy.

On the way home, they stopped at the bridge and inspected the heavy black book. As Rudy flipped through the pages, he arrived at a letter. He picked it up and looked slowly toward the book thief. "It's got your name on it."

The river ran.

Liesel took hold of the paper.

THE LETTER.

Dear Liesel, I know you find me pathetic and loathsome (look that word up if you don't know it), but I must tell you that I am not so stupid as to not see your footprints in the library. When I noticed the first book missing, I thought I had simply misplaced it, but then I saw the outlines of some feet on the floor in certain patches of the light.

It made me smile.

I was glad that you took what was rightfully yours. I then made the mistake of thinking that would be the end of it.

When you came back, I should have been angry, but I wasn't. I could hear you the last time, but I decided to leave you alone. You only ever take one book, and it will take a thousand visits till all of them are gone. My only hope is that one day you will knock on the front door and enter the library in the more civilized manner.

Again, I am sorry we could no longer keep your foster mother employed.

Lastly, I hope you find this dictionary and thesaurus useful as you read your stolen books.

Yours sincerely, Ilsa Hermann "We'd better head home," Rudy suggested, but Liesel did not go.

"Can you wait here for ten minutes?"

"Of course."

Liesel struggled back up to 8 Grande Stra.s.se and sat on the familiar territory of the front entrance. The book was with Rudy, but she held the letter and rubbed her fingers on the folded paper as the steps grew heavier around her. She tried four times to knock on the daunting flesh of the door, but she could not bring herself to do it. The most she could accomplish was to place her knuckles gently on the warmness of the wood.

Again, her brother found her.

From the bottom of the steps, his knee healing nicely, he said, "Come on, Liesel, knock."

As she made her second getaway, she could soon see the distant figure of Rudy at the bridge. The wind showered through her hair. Her feet swam with the pedals.

Liesel Meminger was a criminal.

But not because she'd stolen a handful of books through an open window.

You should have knocked, she thought, and although there was a good portion of guilt, there was also the juvenile trace of laughter.

As she rode, she tried to tell herself something.

You don't deserve to be this happy, Liesel. You really don't.

Can a person steal happiness? Or is it just another internal, infernal human trick?

Liesel shrugged away from her thoughts. She crossed the bridge and told Rudy to hurry up and not to forget the book.

They rode home on rusty bikes.

They rode home a couple of miles, from summer to autumn, and from a quiet night to the noisy breath of the bombing of Munich.

THE SOUND OF SIRENS.

With the small collection of money Hans had earned in the summer, he brought home a secondhand radio. "This way," he said, "we can hear when the raids are coming even before the sirens start. They make a cuckoo sound and then announce the regions at risk."

He placed it on the kitchen table and switched it on. They also tried to make it work in the bas.e.m.e.nt, for Max, but there was nothing but static and severed voices in the speakers.

In September, they did not hear it as they slept.

Either the radio was already half broken, or it was swallowed immediately by the crying sound of sirens.

A hand was shoved gently at Liesel's shoulder as she slept.

Papa's voice followed it in, afraid.

"Liesel, wake up. We have to go."

There was the disorientation of interrupted sleep, and Liesel could barely decipher the outline of Papa's face. The only thing truly visible was his voice.

In the hallway, they stopped.

"Wait," said Rosa.

Through the dark, they rushed to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

The lamp was lit.

Max edged out from behind the paint cans and drop sheets. His face was tired and he hitched his thumbs nervously into his pants. "Time to go, huh?"

Hans walked to him. "Yes, time to go." He shook his hand and slapped his arm. "We'll see you when we get back, right?"

"Of course."

Rosa hugged him, as did Liesel.

"Goodbye, Max."

Weeks earlier, they'd discussed whether they should all stay together in their own bas.e.m.e.nt or if the three of them should go down the road, to a family by the name of Fiedler. It was Max who convinced them. "They said it's not deep enough here. I've already put you in enough danger."

Hans had nodded. "It's a shame we can't take you with us. It's a disgrace."

"It's how it is."

Outside, the sirens howled at the houses, and the people came running, hobbling, and recoiling as they exited their homes. Night watched. Some people watched it back, trying to find the tin-can planes as they drove across the sky.

Himmel Street was a procession of tangled people, all wrestling with their most precious possessions. In some cases, it was a baby. In others, a stack of photo alb.u.ms or a wooden box. Liesel carried her books, between her arm and her ribs. Frau Holtzapfel was heaving a suitcase, laboring on the footpath with bulbous eyes and small-stepped feet.

Papa, who'd forgotten everything-even his accordion-rushed back to her and rescued the suitcase from her grip. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what have you got in here?" he asked. "An anvil?"

Frau Holtzapfel advanced alongside him. "The necessities."

The Fiedlers lived six houses down. They were a family of four, all with wheat-colored hair and good German eyes. More important, they had a nice, deep bas.e.m.e.nt. Twenty-two people crammed themselves into it, including the Steiner family, Frau Holtzapfel, Pfiffikus, a young man, and a family named Jenson. In the interest of a civil environment, Rosa Hubermann and Frau Holtzapfel were kept separated, though some things were above petty arguments.

One light globe dangled from the ceiling and the room was dank and cold. Jagged walls jutted out and poked people in the back as they stood and spoke. The m.u.f.fled sound of sirens leaked in from somewhere. They could hear a distorted version of them that somehow found a way inside. Although creating considerable apprehension about the quality of the shelter, at least they could hear the three sirens that would signal the end of the raid and safety. They didn't need a Luftschutzwart-an air-raid supervisor.

It wasn't long before Rudy found Liesel and was standing next to her. His hair was pointing at something on the ceiling. "Isn't this great?"

She couldn't resist some sarcasm. "It's lovely."

"Ah, come on, Liesel, don't be like that. What's the worst that can happen, apart from all of us being flattened or fried or whatever bombs do?"

Liesel looked around, gauging the faces. She started compiling a list of who was most afraid.