The Book Thief(52)

Ay!



A patch of voice escaped his mouth.



When he saw the upside-down face of a girl above him, there was the fretful moment of unfamiliarity and the grasp for recollection to decode exactly where and when he was currently sitting. After a few seconds, he managed to scratch his head (the rustle of kindling) and he looked at her. His movements were fragmented, and now that they were open, his eyes were swampy and brown. Thick and heavy.



As a reflex action, Liesel backed away.



She was too slow.



The stranger reached out, his bed-warmed hand taking her by the forearm.



Please.



His voice also held on, as if possessing fingernails. He pressed it into her flesh.



Papa! Loud.



Please! Soft.



It was late afternoon, gray and gleaming, but it was only dirty-colored light that was permitted entrance into the room. It was all the fabric of the curtains allowed. If youre optimistic, think of it as bronze.



When Papa came in, he first stood in the doorway and witnessed Max Vandenburgs gripping fingers and his desperate face. Both held on to Liesels arm. I see you two have met, he said.



Maxs fingers started cooling.





THE SWAPPING OF NIGHTMARES





Max Vandenburg promised that he would never sleep in Liesels room again. What was he thinking that first night? The very idea of it mortified him.



He rationalized that he was so bewildered upon his arrival that he allowed such a thing. The basement was the only place for him as far as he was concerned. Forget the cold and the loneliness. He was a Jew, and if there was one place he was destined to exist, it was a basement or any other such hidden venue of survival.



Im sorry, he confessed to Hans and Rosa on the basement steps. From now on I will stay down here. You will not hear from me. I will not make a sound.



Hans and Rosa, both steeped in the despair of the predicament, made no argument, not even in regard to the cold. They heaved blankets down and topped up the kerosene lamp. Rosa admitted that there could not be much food, to which Max fervently asked her to bring only scraps, and only when they were not wanted by anyone else.



Na, na, Rosa assured him. You will be fed, as best I can.



They also took the mattress down, from the spare bed in Liesels room, replacing it with drop sheetsan excellent trade.



Downstairs, Hans and Max placed the mattress beneath the steps and built a wall of drop sheets at the side. The sheets were high enough to cover the whole triangular entrance, and if nothing else, they were easily moved if Max was in dire need of extra air.



Papa apologized. Its quite pathetic. I realize that.



Better than nothing, Max assured him. Better than I deserve thank you.



With some well-positioned paint cans, Hans actually conceded that it did simply look like a collection of junk gathered sloppily in the corner, out of the way. The one problem was that a person needed only to shift a few cans and remove a drop sheet or two to smell out the Jew.



Lets just hope its good enough, he said.



It has to be. Max crawled in. Again, he said it. Thank you.



Thank you.



For Max Vandenburg, those were the two most pitiful words he could possibly say, rivaled only by Im sorry. There was a constant urge to speak both expressions, spurred on by the affliction of guilt.



How many times in those first few hours of awakeness did he feel like walking out of that basement and leaving the house altogether? It must have been hundreds.



Each time, though, it was only a twinge.



Which made it even worse.



He wanted to walk outLord, how he wanted to (or at least he wanted to want to)but he knew he wouldnt. It was much the same as the way he left his family in Stuttgart, under a veil of fabricated loyalty.



To live.



Living was living.



The price was guilt and shame.



For his first few days in the basement, Liesel had nothing to do with him. She denied his existence. His rustling hair, his cold, slippery fingers.



His tortured presence.



Mama and Papa.



There was such gravity between them, and a lot of failed decision-making.



They considered whether they could move him.



But where?



No reply.



In this situation, they were friendless and paralyzed. There was nowhere else for Max Vandenburg to go. It was them. Hans and Rosa Hubermann. Liesel had never seen them look at each other so much, or with such solemnity.



It was they who took the food down and organized an empty paint can for Maxs excrement. The contents would be disposed of by Hans as prudently as possible. Rosa also took him some buckets of hot water to wash himself. The Jew was filthy.



Outside, a mountain of cold November air was waiting at the front door each time Liesel left the house.



Drizzle came down in spades.



Dead leaves were slumped on the road.