The Book Thief(40)

Look proud, he advised himself. You cannot look afraid. Read the book. Smile at it. Its a great bookthe greatest book youve ever read. Ignore that woman on the other side. Shes asleep now anyway. Come on, Max, youre only a few hours away.



As it had turned out, the promised return visit in the room of darkness didnt take days; it had taken a week and a half. Then another week till the next, and another, until he lost all sense of the passing of days and hours. He was relocated once more, to another small storage room, where there was more light, more visits, and more food. Time, however, was running out.



Im leaving soon, his friend Walter Kugler told him. You know how it isthe army.



Im sorry, Walter.



Walter Kugler, Maxs friend from childhood, placed his hand on the Jews shoulder. It could be worse. He looked his friend in his Jewish eyes. I could be you.



That was their last meeting. A final package was left in the corner, and this time, there was a ticket. Walter opened Mein Kampf and slid it inside, next to the map hed brought with the book itself. Page thirteen. He smiled. For luck, yes?



For luck, and the two of them embraced.



When the door shut, Max opened the book and examined the ticket. Stuttgart to Munich to Pasing. It left in two days, in the night, just in time to make the last connection. From there, he would walk. The map was already in his head, folded in quarters. The key was still taped to the inside cover.



He sat for half an hour before stepping toward the bag and opening it. Apart from food, a few other items sat inside.





THE EXTRA CONTENTS OF

WALTER KUGLERS GIFT

One small razor.

A spoonthe closest thing to a mirror.

Shaving cream.

A pair of scissors.





When he left it, the storeroom was empty but for the floor.



Goodbye, he whispered.



The last thing Max saw was the small mound of hair, sitting casually against the wall.



Goodbye.



With a clean-shaven face and lopsided yet neatly combed hair, he had walked out of that building a new man. In fact, he walked out German. Hang on a second, he was German. Or more to the point, he had been.



In his stomach was the electric combination of nourishment and nausea.



He walked to the station.



He showed his ticket and identity card, and now he sat in a small box compartment of the train, directly in dangers spotlight.



Papers.



That was what he dreaded to hear.



It was bad enough when he was stopped on the platform. He knew he could not withstand it twice.



The shivering hands.



The smellno, the stenchof guilt.



He simply couldnt bear it again.



Fortunately, they came through early and only asked for the ticket, and now all that was left was a window of small towns, the congregations of lights, and the woman snoring on the other side of the compartment.



For most of the journey, he made his way through the book, trying never to look up.



The words lolled about in his mouth as he read them.



Strangely, as he turned the pages and progressed through the chapters, it was only two words he ever tasted.



Mein Kampf. My struggle



The title, over and over again, as the train prattled on, from one German town to the next.



Mein Kampf.



Of all the things to save him.





TRICKSTERS





You could argue that Liesel Meminger had it easy. She did have it easy compared to Max Vandenburg. Certainly, her brother practically died in her arms. Her mother abandoned her.



But anything was better than being a Jew.



In the time leading up to Maxs arrival, another washing customer was lost, this time the Weingartners. The obligatory Schimpferei occurred in the kitchen, and Liesel composed herself with the fact that there were still two left, and even better, one of them was the mayor, the wife, the books.



As for Liesels other activities, she was still causing havoc with Rudy Steiner. I would even suggest that they were polishing their wicked ways.



They made a few more journeys with Arthur Berg and his friends, keen to prove their worth and extend their thieving repertoire. They took potatoes from one farm, onions from another. Their biggest victory, however, they performed alone.



As witnessed earlier, one of the benefits of walking through town was the prospect of finding things on the ground. Another was noticing people, or more important, the same people, doing identical things week after week.



A boy from school, Otto Sturm, was one such person. Every Friday afternoon, he rode his bike to church, carrying goods to the priests.



For a month, they watched him, as good weather turned to bad, and Rudy in particular was determined that one Friday, in an abnormally frosty week in October, Otto wouldnt quite make it.



All those priests, Rudy explained as they walked through town. Theyre all too fat anyway. They could do without a feed for a week or so. Liesel could only agree. First of all, she wasnt Catholic. Second, she was pretty hungry herself. As always, she was carrying the washing. Rudy was carrying two buckets of cold water, or as he put it, two buckets of future ice.