The Book Thief(34)

How many books had she touched?



How many had she felt?



She walked over and did it again, this time much slower, with her hand facing forward, allowing the dough of her palm to feel the small hurdle of each book. It felt like magic, like beauty, as bright lines of light shone down from a chandelier. Several times, she almost pulled a title from its place but didnt dare disturb them. They were too perfect.



To her left, she saw the woman again, standing by a large desk, still holding the small tower against her torso. She stood with a delighted crookedness. A smile appeared to have paralyzed her lips.



Do you want me to?



Liesel didnt finish the question but actually performed what she was going to ask, walking over and taking the books gently from the womans arms. She then placed them into the missing piece in the shelf, by the slightly open window. The outside cold was streaming in.



For a moment, she considered closing it, but thought better of it. This was not her house, and the situation was not to be tampered with. Instead, she returned to the lady behind her, whose smile gave the appearance now of a bruise and whose arms were hanging slenderly at each side. Like girls arms.



What now?



An awkwardness treated itself to the room, and Liesel took a final, fleeting glance at the walls of books. In her mouth, the words fidgeted, but they came out in a rush. I should go.



It took three attempts to leave.



She waited in the hallway for a few minutes, but the woman didnt come, and when Liesel returned to the entrance of the room, she saw her sitting at the desk, staring blankly at one of the books. She chose not to disturb her. In the hallway, she picked up the washing.



This time, she avoided the sore spot in the floorboards, walking the long length of the corridor, favoring the left-hand wall. When she closed the door behind her, a brass clank sounded in her ear, and with the washing next to her, she stroked the flesh of the wood. Get going, she said.



At first, she walked home dazed.



The surreal experience with the roomful of books and the stunned, broken woman walked alongside her. She could see it on the buildings, like a play. Perhaps it was similar to the way Papa had his Mein Kampf revelation. Wherever she looked, Liesel saw the mayors wife with the books piled up in her arms. Around corners, she could hear the shuffle of her own hands, disturbing the shelves. She saw the open window, the chandelier of lovely light, and she saw herself leaving, without so much as a word of thanks.



Soon, her sedated condition transformed to harassment and self-loathing. She began to rebuke herself.



You said nothing. Her head shook vigorously, among the hurried footsteps. Not a goodbye. Not a thank you. Not a thats the most beautiful sight Ive ever seen. Nothing! Certainly, she was a book thief, but that didnt mean she should have no manners at all. It didnt mean she couldnt be polite.



She walked a good few minutes, struggling with indecision.



On Munich Street, it came to an end.



Just as she could make out the sign that said STEINER SCHNEIDERMEISTER, she turned and ran back.



This time, there was no hesitation.



She thumped the door, sending an echo of brass through the wood.



Scheisse!



It was not the mayors wife, but the mayor himself who stood before her. In her hurry, Liesel had neglected to notice the car that sat out front, on the street.



Mustached and black-suited, the man spoke. Can I help you?



Liesel could say nothing. Not yet. She was bent over, short of air, and fortunately, the woman arrived when shed at least partially recovered. Ilsa Hermann stood behind her husband, to the side.



I forgot, Liesel said. She lifted the bag and addressed the mayors wife. Despite the forced labor of breath, she fed the words through the gap in the doorwaybetween the mayor and the frame to the woman. Such was her effort to breathe that the words escaped only a few at a time. I forgot . . . I mean, I just . . . wanted, she said, to . . . thank you.



The mayors wife bruised herself again. Coming forward to stand beside her husband, she nodded very faintly, waited, and closed the door.



It took Liesel a minute or so to leave.



She smiled at the steps.





ENTER THE STRUGGLER





Now for a change of scenery.



Weve both had it too easy till now, my friend, dont you think? How about we forget Molching for a minute or two?



It will do us some good.



Also, its important to the story.



We will travel a little, to a secret storage room, and we will see what we see.





A GUIDED TOUR OF SUFFERING

To your left,

perhaps your right,

perhaps even straight ahead,

you find a small black room.

In it sits a Jew.

He is scum.

He is starving.

He is afraid.

Pleasetry not to look away.





A few hundred miles northwest, in Stuttgart, far from book thieves, mayors wives, and Himmel Street, a man was sitting in the dark. It was the best place, they decided. Its harder to find a Jew in the dark.