The Book Thief Part 66

(one medium, one small)

Hand towel 1

Screwdriver 3

(varying in size)

Ski mask 1

Clean socks 1

Teddy bear 1

Liesel saw him from the kitchen window-his purposeful steps and committed face, exactly like the day he'd gone to find his father. He gripped the handle with as much force as he could, and his movements were stiff with rage.

The book thief dropped the towel she was holding and replaced it with a single thought.

He's going stealing.

She ran out to meet him.

There was not even the semblance of a h.e.l.lo.

Rudy simply continued walking and spoke through the cold air in front of him. Close to Tommy Mller's apartment block, he said, "You know something, Liesel, I was thinking. You're not a thief at all," and he didn't give her a chance to reply. "That woman lets you in. She even leaves you cookies, for Christ's sake. I don't call that stealing. Stealing is what the army does. Taking your father, and mine." He kicked a stone and it clanged against a gate. He walked faster. "All those rich n.a.z.is up there, on Grande Stra.s.se, Gelb Stra.s.se, Heide Stra.s.se."

Liesel could concentrate on nothing but keeping up. They'd already pa.s.sed Frau Diller's and were well onto Munich Street. "Rudy-"

"How does it feel, anyway?"

"How does what feel?"

"When you take one of those books?"

At that moment, she chose to keep still. If he wanted an answer, he'd have to come back, and he did. "Well?" But again, it was Rudy who answered, before Liesel could even open her mouth. "It feels good, doesn't it? To steal something back."

Liesel forced her attention to the toolbox, trying to slow him down. "What have you got in there?"

He bent over and opened it up.

Everything appeared to make sense but the teddy bear.

As they kept walking, Rudy explained the toolbox at length, and what he would do with each item. For example, the hammers were for smas.h.i.+ng windows and the towel was to wrap them up, to quell the sound.

"And the teddy bear?"

It belonged to Anna-Marie Steiner and was no bigger than one of Liesel's books. The fur was s.h.a.ggy and worn. The eyes and ears had been sewn back on repeatedly, but it was friendly looking nonetheless.

"That," answered Rudy, "is the one masterstroke. That's if a kid walks in while I'm inside. I'll give it to them to calm them down."

"And what do you plan to steal?"

He shrugged. "Money, food, jewelry. Whatever I can get my hands on." It sounded simple enough.

It wasn't until fifteen minutes later, when Liesel watched the sudden silence on his face, that she realized Rudy Steiner wasn't stealing anything. The commitment had disappeared, and although he still watched the imagined glory of stealing, she could see that now he was not believing it. He was trying to believe it, and that's never a good sign. His criminal greatness was unfurling before his eyes, and as the footsteps slowed and they watched the houses, Liesel's relief was pure and sad inside her.

It was Gelb Stra.s.se.

On the whole, the houses sat dark and huge.

Rudy took off his shoes and held them with his left hand. He held the toolkit with his right.

Between the clouds, there was a moon. Perhaps a mile of light.

"What am I waiting for?" he asked, but Liesel didn't reply. Again, Rudy opened his mouth, but without any words. He placed the toolbox on the ground and sat on it.

His socks grew cold and wet.

"Lucky there's another pair in the toolbox," Liesel suggested, and she could see him trying not to laugh, despite himself.

Rudy moved across and faced the other way, and there was room for Liesel now as well.

The book thief and her best friend sat back to back on a patchy red toolbox in the middle of the street. Each facing a different way, they remained for quite a while. When they stood up and went home, Rudy changed his socks and left the previous ones on the road. A gift, he decided, for Gelb Stra.s.se.

THE SPOKEN TRUTH.

OF RUDY STEINER.

"I guess I'm better at leaving

things behind than stealing them."

A few weeks later, the toolbox ended up being good for at least something. Rudy cleared it of screwdrivers and hammers and chose instead to store in it many of the Steiners' valuables for the next air raid. The only item that remained was the teddy bear.

On March 9, Rudy exited the house with it when the sirens made their presence felt again in Molching.

While the Steiners rushed down Himmel Street, Michael Holtzapfel was knocking furiously at Rosa Hubermann's door. When she and Liesel came out, he handed them his problem. "My mother," he said, and the plums of blood were still on his bandage. "She won't come out. She's sitting at the kitchen table."

As the weeks had worn on, Frau Holtzapfel had not yet begun to recover. When Liesel came to read, the woman spent most of the time staring at the window. Her words were quiet, close to motionless. All brutality and reprimand were wrested from her face. It was usually Michael who said goodbye to Liesel or gave her the coffee and thanked her. Now this.

Rosa moved into action.

She waddled swiftly through the gate and stood in the open doorway. "Holtzapfel!" There was nothing but sirens and Rosa. "Holtzapfel, get out here, you miserable old swine!" Tact had never been Rosa Hubermann's strong point. "If you don't come out, we're all going to die here on the street!" She turned and viewed the helpless figures on the footpath. A siren had just finished wailing. "What now?"

Michael shrugged, disoriented, perplexed. Liesel dropped her bag of books and faced him. She shouted at the commencement of the next siren. "Can I go in?" But she didn't wait for the answer. She ran the short distance of the path and shoved past Mama.

Frau Holtzapfel was unmoved at the table.

What do I say? Liesel thought.

How do I get her to move?

When the sirens took another breath, she heard Rosa calling out. "Just leave her, Liesel, we have to go! If she wants to die, that's her business," but then the sirens resumed. They reached down and tossed the voice away.

Now it was only noise and girl and wiry woman.

"Frau Holtzapfel, please!"

Much like her conversation with Ilsa Hermann on the day of the cookies, a mult.i.tude of words and sentences were at her fingertips. The difference was that today there were bombs. Today it was slightly more urgent.

THE OPTIONS.

* "Frau Holtzapfel, we have to go."

* "Frau Holtzapfel, we'll die if we stay here."

* "You still have one son left."

* "Everyone's waiting for you."

* "The bombs will blow your head off."