The Book Thief(25)

But it was dark, she told herself.



No matter how many times she tried to imagine that scene with the yellow light that she knew had been there, she had to struggle to visualize it. She was beaten in the dark, and she had remained there, on a cold, dark kitchen floor. Even Papas music was the color of darkness.



Even Papas music.



The strange thing was that she was vaguely comforted by that thought, rather than distressed by it.



The dark, the light.



What was the difference?



Nightmares had reinforced themselves in each, as the book thief began to truly understand how things were and how they would always be. If nothing else, she could prepare herself. Perhaps thats why on the Fhrer s birthday, when the answer to the question of her mothers suffering showed itself completely, she was able to react, despite her perplexity and her rage.



Liesel Meminger was ready.



Happy birthday, Herr Hitler.



Many happy returns.





HITLERS BIRTHDAY, 1940





Against all hopelessness, Liesel still checked the mailbox each afternoon, throughout March and well into April. This was despite a Hans-requested visit from Frau Heinrich, who explained to the Hubermanns that the foster care office had lost contact completely with Paula Meminger. Still, the girl persisted, and as you might expect, each day, when she searched the mail, there was nothing.



Molching, like the rest of Germany, was in the grip of preparing for Hitlers birthday. This particular year, with the development of the war and Hitlers current victorious position, the Nazi partisans of Molching wanted the celebration to be especially befitting. There would be a parade. Marching. Music. Singing. There would be a fire.



While Liesel walked the streets of Molching, picking up and delivering washing and ironing, Nazi Party members were accumulating fuel. A couple of times, Liesel was a witness to men and women knocking on doors, asking people if they had any material that they felt should be done away with or destroyed. Papas copy of the Molching Express announced that there would be a celebratory fire in the town square, which would be attended by all local Hitler Youth divisions. It would commemorate not only the Fhrers birthday, but the victory over his enemies and over the restraints that had held Germany back since the end of World War I. Any materials, it requested, from such timesnewspapers, posters, books, flagsand any found propaganda of our enemies should be brought forward to the Nazi Party office on Munich Street. Even Schiller Strassethe road of yellow starswhich was still awaiting its renovation, was ransacked one last time, to find something, anything, to burn in the name of the Fhrers glory. It would have come as no surprise if certain members of the party had gone away and published a thousand or so books or posters of poisonous moral matter simply to incinerate them.



Everything was in place to make April 20 magnificent. It would be a day full of burning and cheering.



And book thievery.



In the Hubermann household that morning, all was typical.



That Saukerl s looking out the window again, cursed Rosa Hubermann. Every day, she went on. What are you looking at this time?



Ohhh, moaned Papa with delight. The flag cloaked his back from the top of the window. You should have a look at this woman I can see. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Liesel. I might just go and run after her. She leaves you for dead, Mama.



Schwein! She shook the wooden spoon at him.



Papa continued looking out the window, at an imaginary woman and a very real corridor of German flags.



On the streets of Molching that day, each window was decorated for the Fhrer. In some places, like Frau Dillers, the glass was vigorously washed, and the swastika looked like a jewel on a red-and-white blanket. In others, the flag trundled from the ledge like washing hung out to dry. But it was there.



Earlier, there had been a minor calamity. The Hubermanns couldnt find their flag.



Theyll come for us, Mama warned her husband. Theyll come and take us away. They. We have to find it! At one point, it seemed like Papa might have to go down to the basement and paint a flag on one of his drop sheets. Thankfully, it turned up, buried behind the accordion in the cupboard.



That infernal accordion, it was blocking my view! Mama swiveled. Liesel!



The girl had the honor of pinning the flag to the window frame.



Hans Junior and Trudy came home for the afternoon eating, like they did at Christmas or Easter. Now seems like a good time to introduce them a little more comprehensively:



Hans Junior had the eyes of his father and the height. The silver in his eyes, however, wasnt warm, like Papastheyd been Fhrer ed. There was more flesh on his bones, too, and he had prickly blond hair and skin like off-white paint.



Trudy, or Trudel, as she was often known, was only a few inches taller than Mama. She had cloned Rosa Hubermanns unfortunate, waddlesome walking style, but the rest of her was much milder. Being a live-in housemaid in a wealthy part of Munich, she was most likely bored of children, but she was always capable of at least a few smiled words in Liesels direction. She had soft lips. A quiet voice.



They came home together on the train from Munich, and it didnt take long for old tensions to rise up.