The Book Thief(112)

They watched each other.



Liesel looked at Ilsa Hermanns breast and raised her arm. Heil Hitler.



She was just about to leave when a realization struck her.



The cookies.



Theyd been there for weeks.



That meant that if the mayor himself used the library, he must have seen them. He must have asked why they were there. Orand as soon as Liesel felt this thought, it filled her with a strange optimismperhaps it wasnt the mayors library at all; it was hers. Ilsa Hermanns.



She didnt know why it was so important, but she enjoyed the fact that the roomful of books belonged to the woman. It was she who introduced her to the library in the first place and gave her the initial, even literal, window of opportunity. This way was better. It all seemed to fit.



Just as she began to move again, she propped everything and asked, This is your room, isnt it?



The mayors wife tightened. I used to read in here, with my son. But then . . .



Liesels hand touched the air behind her. She saw a mother reading on the floor with a young boy pointing at the pictures and the words. Then she saw a war at the window. I know.



An exclamation entered from outside.



What did you say?!



Liesel spoke in a harsh whisper, behind her. Keep quiet, Saukerl, and watch the street. To Ilsa Hermann, she handed the words slowly across. So all these books . . .



Theyre mostly mine. Some are my husbands, some were my sons, as you know.



There was embarrassment now on Liesels behalf. Her cheeks were set alight. I always thought this was the mayors room.



Why? The woman seemed amused.



Liesel noticed that there were also swastikas on the toes of her slippers. Hes the mayor. I thought hed read a lot.



The mayors wife placed her hands in her side pockets. Lately, its you who gets the most use out of this room.



Have you read this one? Liesel held up The Last Human Stranger.



Ilsa looked more closely at the title. I have, yes.



Any good?



Not bad.



There was an itch to leave then, but also a peculiar obligation to stay. She moved to speak, but the available words were too many and too fast. There were several attempts to snatch at them, but it was the mayors wife who took the initiative.



She saw Rudys face in the window, or more to the point, his candlelit hair. I think youd better go, she said. Hes waiting for you.



On the way home, they ate.



Are you sure there wasnt anything else? Rudy asked. There must have been.



We were lucky to get the cookies. Liesel examined the gift in Rudys arms. Now tell the truth. Did you eat any before I came back out?



Rudy was indignant. Hey, youre the thief here, not me.



Dont kid me, Saukerl, I could see some sugar at the side of your mouth.



Paranoid, Rudy took the plate in just the one hand and wiped with the other. I didnt eat any, I promise.



Half the cookies were gone before they hit the bridge, and they shared the rest with Tommy Mller on Himmel Street.



When theyd finished eating, there was only one afterthought, and Rudy spoke it.



What the hell do we do with the plate?





THE CARDPLAYER





Around the time Liesel and Rudy were eating the cookies, the resting men of the LSE were playing cards in a town not far from Essen. Theyd just completed the long trip from Stuttgart and were gambling for cigarettes. Reinhold Zucker was not a happy man.



Hes cheating, I swear it, he muttered. They were in a shed that served as their barracks and Hans Hubermann had just won his third consecutive hand. Zucker threw his cards down in disgust and combed his greasy hair with a threesome of dirty fingernails.





SOME FACTS ABOUT

REINHOLD ZUCKER

He was twenty-four. When he won a round

of cards, he gloatedhe would hold the

thin cylinders of tobacco to his nose and

breathe them in. The smell of victory,

he would say. Oh, and one more thing.

He would die with his mouth open.





Unlike the young man to his left, Hans Hubermann didnt gloat when he won. He was even generous enough to give each colleague one of his cigarettes back and light it for him. All but Reinhold Zucker took up the invitation. He snatched at the offering and flung it back to the middle of the turned-over box. I dont need your charity, old man. He stood up and left.



Whats wrong with him? the sergeant inquired, but no one cared enough to answer. Reinhold Zucker was just a twenty-four-year-old boy who could not play cards to save his life.



Had he not lost his cigarettes to Hans Hubermann, he wouldnt have despised him. If he hadnt despised him, he might not have taken his place a few weeks later on a fairly innocuous road.



One seat, two men, a short argument, and me.



It kills me sometimes, how people die.





THE SNOWS OF STALINGRAD