The Book Thief(14)

All fell silent.



His bare feet gripped the soil. He could feel it holding on between his toes.



At the request of the starter, he raised to crouching positionand the gun clipped a hole in the night.



For the first third of the race, it was pretty even, but it was only a matter of time before the charcoaled Owens drew clear and streaked away.



Owens in front, the boys shrill voice cried as he ran down the empty track, straight toward the uproarious applause of Olympic glory. He could even feel the tape break in two across his chest as he burst through it in first place. The fastest man alive.



It was only on his victory lap that things turned sour. Among the crowd, his father was standing at the finish line like the bogeyman. Or at least, the bogeyman in a suit. (As previously mentioned, Rudys father was a tailor. He was rarely seen on the street without a suit and tie. On this occasion, it was only the suit and a disheveled shirt.)



Was ist los? he said to his son when he showed up in all his charcoal glory. What the hell is going on here? The crowd vanished. A breeze sprang up. I was asleep in my chair when Kurt noticed you were gone. Everyones out looking for you.



Mr. Steiner was a remarkably polite man under normal circumstances. Discovering one of his children smeared charcoal black on a summer evening was not what he considered normal circumstances. The boy is crazy, he muttered, although he conceded that with six kids, something like this was bound to happen. At least one of them had to be a bad egg. Right now, he was looking at it, waiting for an explanation. Well?



Rudy panted, bending down and placing his hands on his knees. I was being Jesse Owens. He answered as though it was the most natural thing on earth to be doing. There was even something implicit in his tone that suggested something along the lines of, What the hell does it look like? The tone vanished, however, when he saw the sleep deprivation whittled under his fathers eyes.



Jesse Owens? Mr. Steiner was the type of man who was very wooden. His voice was angular and true. His body was tall and heavy, like oak. His hair was like splinters. What about him?



You know, Papa, the Black Magic one.



Ill give you black magic. He caught his sons ear between his thumb and forefinger.



Rudy winced. Ow, that really hurts.



Does it? His father was more concerned with the clammy texture of charcoal contaminating his fingers. He covered everything, didnt he? he thought. Its even in his ears, for Gods sake. Come on.



On the way home, Mr. Steiner decided to talk politics with the boy as best he could. Only in the years ahead would Rudy understand it all when it was too late to bother understanding anything.





THE CONTRADICTORY POLITICS

OF ALEX STEINER

Point One: He was a member of the Nazi Party, but he did not

hate the Jews, or anyone else for that matter.

Point Two: Secretly, though, he couldnt help feeling a

percentage of relief (or worsegladness!) when

Jewish shop owners were put out of business

propaganda informed him that it was only a matter of

time before a plague of Jewish tailors showed up

and stole his customers.

Point Three: But did that mean they should be driven

out completely?

Point Four: His family. Surely, he had to do whatever he

could to support them. If that meant being in the party,

it meant being in the party.

Point Five: Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his

heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of

what might come leaking out.





They walked around a few corners onto Himmel Street, and Alex said, Son, you cant go around painting yourself black, you hear?



Rudy was interested, and confused. The moon was undone now, free to move and rise and fall and drip on the boys face, making him nice and murky, like his thoughts. Why not, Papa?



Because theyll take you away.



Why?



Because you shouldnt want to be like black people or Jewish people or anyone who is . . . not us.



Who are Jewish people?



You know my oldest customer, Mr. Kaufmann? Where we bought your shoes?



Yes.



Well, hes Jewish.



I didnt know that. Do you have to pay to be Jewish? Do you need a license?



No, Rudy. Mr. Steiner was steering the bike with one hand and Rudy with the other. He was having trouble steering the conversation. He still hadnt relinquished the hold on his sons earlobe. Hed forgotten about it. Its like youre German or Catholic.



Oh. Is Jesse Owens Catholic?



I dont know! He tripped on a bike pedal then and released the ear.



They walked on in silence for a while, until Rudy said, I just wish I was like Jesse Owens, Papa.



This time, Mr. Steiner placed his hand on Rudys head and explained, I know, sonbut youve got beautiful blond hair and big, safe blue eyes. You should be happy with that; is that clear?



But nothing was clear.



Rudy understood nothing, and that night was the prelude of things to come. Two and a half years later, the Kaufmann Shoe Shop was reduced to broken glass, and all the shoes were flung aboard a truck in their boxes.