The Book Thief(16)

Papa knew what to say, though. He always knew what to say.



He ran a hand through his sleepy hair and said, Well, promise me one thing, Liesel. If I die anytime soon, you make sure they bury me right.



She nodded, with great sincerity.



No skipping chapter six or step four in chapter nine. He laughed, as did the bed wetter. Well, Im glad thats settled. We can get on with it now.



He adjusted his position and his bones creaked like itchy floorboards. The fun begins.



Amplified by the still of night, the book openeda gust of wind.



Looking back, Liesel could tell exactly what her papa was thinking when he scanned the first page of The Grave Diggers Handbook. As he realized the difficulty of the text, he was clearly aware that such a book was hardly ideal. There were words in there that hed have trouble with himself. Not to mention the morbidity of the subject. As for the girl, there was a sudden desire to read it that she didnt even attempt to understand. On some level, perhaps she wanted to make sure her brother was buried right. Whatever the reason, her hunger to read that book was as intense as any ten-year-old human could experience.



Chapter one was called The First Step: Choosing the Right Equipment. In a short introductory passage, it outlined the kind of material to be covered in the following twenty pages. Types of shovels, picks, gloves, and so forth were itemized, as well as the vital need to properly maintain them. This grave digging was serious.



As Papa flicked through it, he could surely feel Liesels eyes on him. They reached over and gripped him, waiting for something, anything, to slip from his lips.



Here. He shifted again and handed her the book. Look at this page and tell me how many words you can read.



She looked at itand lied.



About half.



Read some for me. But of course, she couldnt. When he made her point out any words she could read and actually say them, there were only threethe three main German words for the. The whole page must have had two hundred words on it.



This might be harder than I thought.



She caught him thinking it, just for a moment.



He lifted himself forward, rose to his feet, and walked out.



This time, when he came back, he said, Actually, I have a better idea. In his hand, there was a thick painters pencil and a stack of sandpaper. Lets start from scratch. Liesel saw no reason to argue.



In the left corner of an upturned piece of sandpaper, he drew a square of perhaps an inch and shoved a capital A inside it. In the other corner, he placed a lowercase one. So far, so good.



A, Liesel said.



A for what?



She smiled. Apfel.



He wrote the word in big letters and drew a misshapen apple under it. He was a housepainter, not an artist. When it was complete, he looked over and said, Now for B.



As they progressed through the alphabet, Liesels eyes grew larger. She had done this at school, in the kindergarten class, but this time was better. She was the only one there, and she was not gigantic. It was nice to watch Papas hand as he wrote the words and slowly constructed the primitive sketches.



Ah, come on, Liesel, he said when she struggled later on. Something that starts with S. Its easy. Im very disappointed in you.



She couldnt think.



Come on! His whisper played with her. Think of Mama.



That was when the word struck her face like a slap. A reflex grin. SAUMENSCH! she shouted, and Papa roared with laughter, then quieted.



Shhh, we have to be quiet. But he roared all the same and wrote the word, completing it with one of his sketches.



A TYPICAL HANS HUBERMANN ARTWORK





THE SMELL OF FRIENDSHIP





It continued.



Over the next few weeks and into summer, the midnight class began at the end of each nightmare. There were two more bed-wetting occurrences, but Hans Hubermann merely repeated his previous cleanup heroics and got down to the task of reading, sketching, and reciting. In the mornings early hours, quiet voices were loud.



On a Thursday, just after 3 p.m., Mama told Liesel to get ready to come with her and deliver some ironing. Papa had other ideas.



He walked into the kitchen and said, Sorry, Mama, shes not going with you today.



Mama didnt even bother looking up from the washing bag. Who asked you, Arschloch? Come on, Liesel.



Shes reading, he said. Papa handed Liesel a steadfast smile and a wink. With me. Im teaching her. Were going to the Amper upstream, where I used to practice the accordion.



Now he had her attention.



Mama placed the washing on the table and eagerly worked herself up to the appropriate level of cynicism. What did you say?



I think you heard me, Rosa.



Mama laughed. What the hell could you teach her? A cardboard grin. Uppercut words. Like you could read so much, you Saukerl.



The kitchen waited. Papa counterpunched. Well take your ironing for you.



You filthy She stopped. The words propped in her mouth as she considered it. Be back before dark.