The Book Thief(32)

Happy reading, said one of the party members.



Thank you. Hans nodded.



From the street, he could still hear the men inside. One of the voices was particularly clear. He will never be approved, it said, even if he buys a hundred copies of Mein Kampf. The statement was unanimously agreed upon.



Hans held the book in his right hand, thinking about postage money, a cigaretteless existence, and the foster daughter who had given him this brilliant idea.



Thank you, he repeated, to which a passerby inquired as to what hed said.



With typical affability, Hans replied, Nothing, my good man, nothing at all. Heil Hitler, and he walked down Munich Street, holding the pages of the Fhrer.



There must have been a good share of mixed feelings at that moment, for Hans Hubermanns idea had not only sprung from Liesel, but from his son. Did he already fear hed never see him again? On the other hand, he was also enjoying the ecstasy of an idea, not daring just yet to envision its complications, dangers, and vicious absurdities. For now, the idea was enough. It was indestructible. Transforming it into reality, well, that was something else altogether. For now, though, lets let him enjoy it.



Well give him seven months.



Then we come for him.



And oh, how we come.





THE MAYORS LIBRARY





Certainly, something of great magnitude was coming toward 33 Himmel Street, to which Liesel was currently oblivious. To distort an overused human expression, the girl had more immediate fish to fry:



She had stolen a book.



Someone had seen her.



The book thief reacted. Appropriately.



Every minute, every hour, there was worry, or more to the point, paranoia. Criminal activity will do that to a person, especially a child. They envision a prolific assortment of caughtoutedness. Some examples: People jumping out of alleys. Schoolteachers suddenly being aware of every sin youve ever committed. Police showing up at the door each time a leaf turns or a distant gate slams shut.



For Liesel, the paranoia itself became the punishment, as did the dread of delivering some washing to the mayors house. It was no mistake, as Im sure you can imagine, that when the time came, Liesel conveniently overlooked the house on Grande Strasse. She delivered to the arthritic Helena Schmidt and picked up at the cat-loving Weingartner residence, but she ignored the house belonging to BrgermeisterHeinz Hermann and his wife, Ilsa.





ANOTHER QUICK TRANSLATION Brgermeister = mayor





On the first occasion, she stated that she simply forgot about that placea poor excuse if ever Ive heard oneas the house straddled the hill, overlooking the town, and it was unforgettable. When she went back and still returned empty-handed, she lied that there was no one home.



No one home? Mama was skeptical. Skepticism gave her an itch for the wooden spoon. She waved it at Liesel and said, Get back over there now, and if you dont come home with the washing, dont come home at all.



Really?



That was Rudys response when Liesel told him what Mama had said. Do you want to run away together?



Well starve.



Im starving anyway! They laughed.



No, she said, I have to do it.



They walked the town as they usually did when Rudy came along. He always tried to be a gentleman and carry the bag, but each time, Liesel refused. Only she had the threat of a Watschen loitering over her head, and therefore only she could be relied upon to carry the bag correctly. Anyone else was more likely to manhandle it, twist it, or mistreat it in even the most minimal way, and it was not worth the risk. Also, it was likely that if she allowed Rudy to carry it for her, he would expect a kiss for his services, and that was not an option. Besides, she was accustomed to its burden. She would swap the bag from shoulder to shoulder, relieving each side every hundred steps or so.



Liesel walked on the left, Rudy the right. Rudy talked most of the time, about the last soccer match on Himmel Street, working in his fathers shop, and whatever else came to mind. Liesel tried to listen but failed. What she heard was the dread, chiming through her ears, growing louder the closer they stepped toward Grande Strasse.



What are you doing? Isnt this it?



Liesel nodded that Rudy was right, for she had tried to walk past the mayors house to buy some time.



Well, go on, the boy hurried her. Molching was darkening. The cold was climbing out of the ground. Move it, Saumensch. He remained at the gate.



After the path, there were eight steps up to the main entrance of the house, and the great door was like a monster. Liesel frowned at the brass knocker.



What are you waiting for? Rudy called out.



Liesel turned and faced the street. Was there any way, any way at all, for her to evade this? Was there another story, or lets face it, another lie, that shed overlooked?



We dont have all day. Rudys distant voice again. What the hell are you waiting for?



Will you shut your trap, Steiner? It was a shout delivered as a whisper.



What?



I said shut up, you stupid Saukerl. . . .