The Book Thief(103)

TWENTY MINUTES LATER:

A GIRL ON HIMMEL STREET

She looks up. She speaks in a whisper.

The sky is soft today, Max. The clouds

are so soft and sad, and . . . She looks

away and crosses her arms. She thinks

of her papa going to war and grabs

her jacket at each side of her body.

And its cold, Max. Its so cold. . . .





Five days later, when she continued her habit of looking at the weather, she did not get a chance to see the sky.



Next door, Barbara Steiner was sitting on the front step with her neatly combed hair. She was smoking a cigarette and shivering. On her way over, Liesel was interrupted by the sight of Kurt. He came out and sat with his mother. When he saw the girl stop, he called out.



Come on, Liesel. Rudy will be out soon.



After a short pause, she continued walking toward the step.



Barbara smoked.



A wrinkle of ash was teetering at the end of the cigarette. Kurt took it, ashed it, inhaled, then gave it back.



When the cigarette was done, Rudys mother looked up. She ran a hand through her tidy lines of hair.



Our papas going, too, Kurt said.



Quietness then.



A group of kids was kicking a ball, up near Frau Dillers.



When they come and ask you for one of your children, Barbara Steiner explained, to no one in particular, youre supposed to say yes.





THE PROMISE KEEPERS WIFE





THE BASEMENT, 9 A.M.

Six hours till goodbye:

I played an accordion, Liesel. Someone elses.

He closes his eyes: It brought the house down.





Not counting the glass of champagne the previous summer, Hans Hubermann had not consumed a drop of alcohol for a decade. Then came the night before he left for training.



He made his way to the Knoller with Alex Steiner in the afternoon and stayed well into the evening. Ignoring the warnings of their wives, both men drank themselves into oblivion. It didnt help that the Knollers owner, Dieter Westheimer, gave them free drinks.



Apparently, while he was still sober, Hans was invited to the stage to play the accordion. Appropriately, he played the infamous Gloomy Sundaythe anthem of suicide from Hungaryand although he aroused all the sadness for which the song was renowned, he brought the house down. Liesel imagined the scene of it, and the sound. Mouths were full. Empty beer glasses were streaked with foam. The bellows sighed and the song was over. People clapped. Their beer-filled mouths cheered him back to the bar.



When they managed to find their way home, Hans couldnt get his key to fit the door. So he knocked. Repeatedly.



Rosa!



It was the wrong door.



Frau Holtzapfel was not thrilled.



Schwein! Youre at the wrong house. She rammed the words through the keyhole. Next door, you stupid Sankerl.



Thanks, Frau Holtzapfel.



You know what you can do with your thanks, you asshole.



Excuse me?



Just go home.



Thanks, Frau Holtzapfel.



Didnt I just tell you what you can do with your thanks?



Did you?



(Its amazing what you can piece together from a basement conversation and a reading session in a nasty old womans kitchen.)



Just get lost, will you!



When at long last he came home, Papa made his way not to bed, but to Liesels room. He stood drunkenly in the doorway and watched her sleep. She awoke and thought immediately that it was Max.



Is it you? she asked.



No, he said. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Its Papa.



He backed out of the room and she heard his footsteps making their way down to the basement.



In the living room, Rosa was snoring with enthusiasm.



Close to nine oclock the next morning, in the kitchen, Liesel was given an order by Rosa. Hand me that bucket there.



She filled it with cold water and walked with it down to the basement. Liesel followed, in a vain attempt to stop her. Mama, you cant!



Cant I? She faced her briefly on the steps. Did I miss something, Saumensch? Do you give the orders around here now?



Both of them were completely still.



No answer from the girl.



I thought not.



They continued on and found him on his back, among a bed of drop sheets. He felt he didnt deserve Maxs mattress.



Now, lets seeRosa lifted the bucketif hes alive.



Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!



The watermark was oval-shaped, from halfway up his chest to his head. His hair was plastered to one side and even his eyelashes dripped. What was that for?



You old drunk!



Jesus . . .



Steam was rising weirdly from his clothes. His hangover was visible. It heaved itself to his shoulders and sat there like a bag of wet cement.