The Book Thief(100)

A GRAY AFTERNOON,

A SMALL SCHOOL OFFICE

Three boys stood in a line. Their records

and bodies were thoroughly examined.





When the fourth game of dominoes was completed, Rudy began to stand them up in lines, creating patterns that wound their way across the living room floor. As was his habit, he also left a few gaps, in case the rogue finger of a sibling interfered, which it usually did.



Can I knock them down, Rudy?



No.



What about me?



No. We all will.



He made three separate formations that led to the same tower of dominoes in the middle. Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would all smile at the beauty of destruction.



The kitchen voices were becoming louder now, each heaping itself upon the other to be heard. Different sentences fought for attention until one person, previously silent, came between them.



No, she said. It was repeated. No. Even when the rest of them resumed their arguments, they were silenced again by the same voice, but now it gained momentum. Please, Barbara Steiner begged them. Not my boy.



Can we light a candle, Rudy?



It was something their father had often done with them. He would turn out the light and theyd watch the dominoes fall in the candlelight. It somehow made the event grander, a greater spectacle.



His legs were aching anyway. Let me find a match.



The light switch was at the door.



Quietly, he walked toward it with the matchbox in one hand, the candle in the other.



From the other side, the three men and one woman climbed to the hinges. The best scores in the class, said one of the monsters. Such depth and dryness. Not to mention his athletic ability. Damn it, why did he have to win all those races at the carnival?



Deutscher.



Damn that Franz Deutscher!



But then he understood.



This was not Franz Deutschers fault, but his own. Hed wanted to show his past tormentor what he was capable of, but he also wanted to prove himself to everyone. Now everyone was in the kitchen.



He lit the candle and switched off the light.



Ready?



But Ive heard what happens there. That was the unmistakable, oaky voice of his father.



Come on, Rudy, hurry up.



Yes, but understand, Herr Steiner, this is all for a greater purpose. Think of the opportunities your son can have. This is really a privilege.



Rudy, the candles dripping.



He waved them away, waiting again for Alex Steiner. He came.



Privileges? Like running barefoot through the snow? Like jumping from ten-meter platforms into three feet of water?



Rudys ear was pressed to the door now. Candle wax melted onto his hand.



Rumors. The arid voice, low and matter-of-fact, had an answer for everything. Our school is one of the finest ever established. Its better than world-class. Were creating an elite group of German citizens in the name of the Fhrer. . . .



Rudy could listen no longer.



He scraped the candle wax from his hand and drew back from the splice of light that came through the crack in the door. When he sat down, the flame went out. Too much movement. Darkness flowed in. The only light available was a white rectangular stencil, the shape of the kitchen door.



He struck another match and reignited the candle. The sweet smell of fire and carbon.



Rudy and his sisters each tapped a different domino and they watched them fall until the tower in the middle was brought to its knees. The girls cheered.



Kurt, his older brother, arrived in the room.



They look like dead bodies, he said.



What?



Rudy peered up at the dark face, but Kurt did not answer. Hed noticed the arguing from the kitchen. Whats going on in there?



It was one of the girls who answered. The youngest, Bettina. She was five. There are two monsters, she said. Theyve come for Rudy.



Again, the human child. So much cannier.



Later, when the coat men left, the two boys, one seventeen, the other fourteen, found the courage to face the kitchen.



They stood in the doorway. The light punished their eyes.



It was Kurt who spoke. Are they taking him?



Their mothers forearms were flat on the table. Her palms were facing up.



Alex Steiner raised his head.



It was heavy.



His expression was sharp and definite, freshly cut.



A wooden hand wiped at the splinters of his fringe, and he made several attempts to speak.



Papa?



But Rudy did not walk toward his father.



He sat at the kitchen table and took hold of his mothers facing-up hand.



Alex and Barbara Steiner would not disclose what was said while the dominoes were falling like dead bodies in the living room. If only Rudy had kept listening at the door, just for another few minutes . . .