The Book Thief(50)
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Rosa muttered. Another one.
Turning around, Max apologized. His words were slippery and small, quelled by the acid. Im sorry. I think I ate too much. My stomach, you know, its been so long since . . . I dont think it can handle such
Move, Rosa ordered him. She started cleaning up.
When she was finished, she found the young man at the kitchen table, utterly morose. Hans was sitting opposite, his hands cupped above the sheet of wood.
Liesel, from the hallway, could see the drawn face of the stranger, and behind it, the worried expression scribbled like a mess onto Mama.
She looked at both her foster parents.
Who were these people?
LIESELS LECTURE
Exactly what kind of people Hans and Rosa Hubermann were was not the easiest problem to solve. Kind people? Ridiculously ignorant people? People of questionable sanity?
What was easier to define was their predicament.
THE SITUATION OF HANS AND
ROSA HUBERMANN
Very sticky indeed.
In fact, frightfully sticky.
When a Jew shows up at your place of residence in the early hours of morning, in the very birthplace of Nazism, youre likely to experience extreme levels of discomfort. Anxiety, disbelief, paranoia. Each plays its part, and each leads to a sneaking suspicion that a less than heavenly consequence awaits. The fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.
The surprising point to make is that despite this iridescent fear glowing as it did in the dark, they somehow resisted the urge for hysteria.
Mama ordered Liesel away.
Bett, Saumensch. The voice calm but firm. Highly unusual.
Papa came in a few minutes later and lifted the covers on the vacant bed.
Alles gut, Liesel? Is everything good?
Yes, Papa.
As you can see, we have a visitor. She could only just make out the shape of Hans Hubermanns tallness in the dark. Hell sleep in here tonight.
Yes, Papa.
A few minutes later, Max Vandenburg was in the room, noiseless and opaque. The man did not breathe. He did not move. Yet, somehow, he traveled from the doorway to the bed and was under the covers.
Everything good?
It was Papa again, talking this time to Max.
The reply floated from his mouth, then molded itself like a stain to the ceiling. Such was his feeling of shame. Yes. Thank you. He said it again, when Papa made his way over to his customary position in the chair next to Liesels bed. Thank you.
Another hour passed before Liesel fell asleep.
She slept hard and long.
A hand woke her just after eight-thirty the next morning.
The voice at the end of it informed her that she would not be attending school that day. Apparently, she was sick.
When she awoke completely, she watched the stranger in the bed opposite. The blanket showed only a nest of lopsided hair at the top, and there was not a sound, as if hed somehow trained himself even to sleep more quietly. With great care, she walked the length of him, following Papa to the hall.
For the first time ever, the kitchen and Mama were dormant. It was a kind of bemused, inaugural silence. To Liesels relief, it lasted only a few minutes.
There was food and the sound of eating.
Mama announced the days priority. She sat at the table and said, Now listen, Liesel. Papas going to tell you something today. This was seriousshe didnt even say Saumensch. It was a personal feat of abstinence. Hell talk to you and you have to listen. Is that clear?
The girl was still swallowing.
Is that clear, Saumensch?
That was better.
The girl nodded.
When she reentered the bedroom to fetch her clothes, the body in the opposite bed had turned and curled up. It was no longer a straight log but a kind of Z shape, reaching diagonally from corner to corner. Zigzagging the bed.
She could see his face now, in the tired light. His mouth was open and his skin was the color of eggshells. Whiskers coated his jaw and chin, and his ears were hard and flat. He had a small but misshapen nose.
Liesel!
She turned.
Move it!
She moved, to the washroom.
Once changed and in the hallway, she realized she would not be traveling far. Papa was standing in front of the door to the basement. He smiled very faintly, lit the lamp, and led her down.
Among the mounds of drop sheets and the smell of paint, Papa told her to make herself comfortable. Ignited on the walls were the painted words, learned in the past. I need to tell you some things.
Liesel sat on top of a meter-tall heap of drop sheets, Papa on a fifteen-liter paint can. For a few minutes, he searched for the words. When they came, he stood to deliver them. He rubbed his eyes.
Liesel, he said quietly, I was never sure if any of this would happen, so I never told you. About me. About the man upstairs. He walked from one end of the basement to the other, the lamplight magnifying his shadow. It turned him into a giant on the wall, walking back and forth.