The Book Thief(123)

From the inside, the stream of Jews was a murky disaster of arms and legs. Ragged uniforms. No soldier had seen her yet, and Max gave her a warning. You have to let go of me, Liesel. He even tried to push her away, but the girl was too strong. Maxs starving arms could not sway her, and she walked on, between the filth, the hunger and confusion.



After a long line of steps, the first soldier noticed.



Hey! he called in. He pointed with his whip. Hey, girl, what are you doing? Get out of there.



When she ignored him completely, the soldier used his arm to separate the stickiness of people. He shoved them aside and made his way through. He loomed above her as Liesel struggled on and noticed the strangled expression on Max Vandenburgs face. She had seen him afraid, but never like this.



The soldier took her.



His hands manhandled her clothes.



She could feel the bones in his fingers and the ball of each knuckle. They tore at her skin. I said get out! he ordered her, and now he dragged the girl to the side and flung her into the wall of onlooking Germans. It was getting warmer. The sun burned her face. The girl had landed sprawling with pain, but now she stood again. She recovered and waited. She reentered.



This time, Liesel made her way through from the back.



Ahead, she could just see the distinct twigs of hair and walked again toward them.



This time, she did not reach outshe stopped. Somewhere inside her were the souls of words. They climbed out and stood beside her.



Max, she said. He turned and briefly closed his eyes as the girl continued. There was once a strange, small man, she said. Her arms were loose but her hands were fists at her side. But there was a word shaker, too.



One of the Jews on his way to Dachau had stopped walking now.



He stood absolutely still as the others swerved morosely around him, leaving him completely alone. His eyes staggered, and it was so simple. The words were given across from the girl to the Jew. They climbed on to him.



The next time she spoke, the questions stumbled from her mouth. Hot tears fought for room in her eyes as she would not let them out. Better to stand resolute and proud. Let the words do all of it. Is it really you? the young man asked, she said. Is it from your cheek that I took the seed?



Max Vandenburg remained standing.



He did not drop to his knees.



People and Jews and clouds all stopped. They watched.



As he stood, Max looked first at the girl and then stared directly into the sky who was wide and blue and magnificent. There were heavy beamsplanks of sunfalling randomly, wonderfully to the road. Clouds arched their backs to look behind as they started again to move on. Its such a beautiful day, he said, and his voice was in many pieces. A great day to die. A great day to die, like this.



Liesel walked at him. She was courageous enough to reach out and hold his bearded face. Is it really you, Max?



Such a brilliant German day and its attentive crowd.



He let his mouth kiss her palm. Yes, Liesel, its me, and he held the girls hand in his face and cried onto her fingers. He cried as the soldiers came and a small collection of insolent Jews stood and watched.



Standing, he was whipped.



Max, the girl wept.



Then silently, as she was dragged away:



Max.



Jewish fist fighter.



Inside, she said all of it.



Maxi Taxi. Thats what that friend called you in Stuttgart when you fought on the street, remember? Remember, Max? You told me. I remember everything. . . .



That was youthe boy with the hard fists, and you said you would land a punch on deaths face when he came for you.



Remember the snowman, Max?



Remember?



In the basement?



Remember the white cloud with the gray heart?



The Fhrer still comes down looking for you sometimes. He misses you. We all miss you.



The whip. The whip.



The whip continued from the soldiers hand. It landed on Maxs face. It clipped his chin and carved his throat.



Max hit the ground and the soldier now turned to the girl. His mouth opened. He had immaculate teeth.



A sudden flash came before her eyes. She recalled the day shed wanted Ilsa Hermann or at least the reliable Rosa to slap her, but neither of them would do it. On this occasion, she was not let down.



The whip sliced her collarbone and reached across her shoulder blade.



Liesel!



She knew that person.



As the soldier swung his arm, she caught sight of a distressed Rudy Steiner in the gaps of the crowd. He was calling out. She could see his tortured face and yellow hair. Liesel, get out of there!



The book thief did not get out.



She closed her eyes and caught the next burning streak, and another, till her body hit the warm flooring of the road. It heated her cheek.



More words arrived, this time from the soldier.



Steh auf.