The Book Thief(10)

Helena Schmidt was a rich widow. That old cripplesitting there just wasting away. Shes never had to do a days work in all her life.



Rosas greatest disdain, however, was reserved for 8 Grande Strasse. A large house, high on a hill, in the upper part of Molching.



This one, shed pointed out to Liesel the first time they went there, is the mayors house. That crook. His wife sits at home all day, too mean to light a fireits always freezing in there. Shes crazy. She punctuated the words. Absolutely. Crazy. At the gate, she motioned to the girl. You go.



Liesel was horrified. A giant brown door with a brass knocker stood atop a small flight of steps. What?



Mama shoved her. Dont you what me, Saumensch. Move it.



Liesel moved it. She walked the path, climbed the steps, hesitated, and knocked.



A bathrobe answered the door.



Inside it, a woman with startled eyes, hair like fluff, and the posture of defeat stood in front of her. She saw Mama at the gate and handed the girl a bag of washing. Thank you, Liesel said, but there was no reply. Only the door. It closed.



You see? said Mama when she returned to the gate. This is what I have to put up with. These rich bastards, these lazy swine . . .



Holding the washing as they walked away, Liesel looked back. The brass knocker eyed her from the door.



When she finished berating the people she worked for, Rosa Hubermann would usually move on to her other favorite theme of abuse. Her husband. Looking at the bag of washing and the hunched houses, she would talk, and talk, and talk. If your papa was any good, she informed Liesel every time they walked through Molching, I wouldnt have to do this. She sniffed with derision. A painter! Why marry that Arschloch ? Thats what they told memy family, that is. Their footsteps crunched along the path. And here I am, walking the streets and slaving in my kitchen because that Saukerl never has any work. No real work, anyway. Just that pathetic accordion in those dirt holes every night.



Yes, Mama.



Is that all youve got to say? Mamas eyes were like pale blue cutouts, pasted to her face.



Theyd walk on.



With Liesel carrying the sack.



At home, it was washed in a boiler next to the stove, hung up by the fireplace in the living room, and then ironed in the kitchen. The kitchen was where the action was.



Did you hear that? Mama asked her nearly every night. The iron was in her fist, heated from the stove. Light was dull all through the house, and Liesel, sitting at the kitchen table, would be staring at the gaps of fire in front of her.



What? shed reply. What is it?



That was that Holtzapfel. Mama was already out of her seat. That Saumensch just spat on our door again.



It was a tradition for Frau Holtzapfel, one of their neighbors, to spit on the Hubermanns door every time she walked past. The front door was only meters from the gate, and lets just say that Frau Holtzapfel had the distanceand the accuracy.



The spitting was due to the fact that she and Rosa Hubermann were engaged in some kind of decade-long verbal war. No one knew the origin of this hostility. Theyd probably forgotten it themselves.



Frau Holtzapfel was a wiry woman and quite obviously spiteful. Shed never married but had two sons, a few years older than the Hubermann offspring. Both were in the army and both will make cameo appearances by the time were finished here, I assure you.



In the spiteful stakes, I should also say that Frau Holtzapfel was thorough with her spitting, too. She never neglected to spuck on the door of number thirty-three and say, Schweine! each time she walked past. One thing Ive noticed about the Germans:



They seem very fond of pigs.





A SMALL QUESTION AND

ITS ANSWER

And who do you think was made to

clean the spit off the door each night?

Yesyou got it.





When a woman with an iron fist tells you to get out there and clean spit off the door, you do it. Especially when the irons hot.



It was all just part of the routine, really.



Each night, Liesel would step outside, wipe the door, and watch the sky. Usually it was like spillagecold and heavy, slippery and graybut once in a while some stars had the nerve to rise and float, if only for a few minutes. On those nights, she would stay a little longer and wait.



Hello, stars.



Waiting.



For the voice from the kitchen.



Or till the stars were dragged down again, into the waters of the German sky.





THE KISS





(A Childhood Decision Maker)





As with most small towns, Molching was filled with characters. A handful of them lived on Himmel Street. Frau Holtzapfel was only one cast member.



The others included the likes of these:



Rudy Steinerthe boy next door who was obsessed with the black American athlete Jesse Owens.



Frau Dillerthe staunch Aryan corner-shop owner.



Tommy Mllera kid whose chronic ear infections had resulted in several operations, a pink river of skin painted across his face, and a tendency to twitch.