The Book Thief(59)

She offered it to the girl.



Liesel shied away.



No, she said, thank you. I have enough books at home. Maybe another time. Im rereading something else with my papa. You know, the one I stole from the fire that night.



The mayors wife nodded. If there was one thing about Liesel Meminger, her thieving was not gratuitous. She only stole books on what she felt was a need-to-have basis. Currently, she had enough. Shed gone through The Mud Men four times now and was enjoying her reacquaintance with The Shoulder Shrug. Also, each night before bed, she would open a fail-safe guide to grave digging. Buried deep inside it, The Standover Man resided. She mouthed the words and touched the birds. She turned the noisy pages, slowly.



Goodbye, Frau Hermann.



She exited the library, walked down the floorboard hall and out the monstrous doorway. As was her habit, she stood for a while on the steps, looking at Molching beneath her. The town that afternoon was covered in a yellow mist, which stroked the rooftops as if they were pets and filled up the streets like a bath.



When she made it down to Munich Street, the book thief swerved in and out of the umbrellaed men and womena rain-cloaked girl who made her way without shame from one garbage can to another. Like clockwork.



There!



She laughed up at the coppery clouds, celebrating, before reaching in and taking the mangled newspaper. Although the front and back pages were streaked with black tears of print, she folded it neatly in half and tucked it under her arm. It had been like this each Thursday for the past few months.



Thursday was the only delivery day left for Liesel Meminger now, and it was usually able to provide some sort of dividend. She could never dampen the feeling of victory each time she found a Molching Express or any other publication. Finding a newspaper was a good day. If it was a paper in which the crossword wasnt done, it was a great day. She would make her way home, shut the door behind her, and take it down to Max Vandenburg.



Crossword? he would ask.



Empty.



Excellent.



The Jew would smile as he accepted the package of paper and started reading in the rationed light of the basement. Often, Liesel would watch him as he focused on reading the paper, completed the crossword, and then started to reread it, front to back.



With the weather warming, Max remained downstairs all the time. During the day, the basement door was left open to allow the small bay of daylight to reach him from the corridor. The hall itself was not exactly bathed in sunshine, but in certain situations, you take what you can get. Dour light was better than none, and they needed to be frugal. The kerosene had not yet approached a dangerously low level, but it was best to keep its usage to a minimum.



Liesel would usually sit on some drop sheets. She would read while Max completed those crosswords. They sat a few meters apart, speaking very rarely, and there was really only the noise of turning pages. Often, she also left her books for Max to read while she was at school. Where Hans Hubermann and Erik Vandenburg were ultimately united by music, Max and Liesel were held together by the quiet gathering of words.



Hi, Max.



Hi, Liesel.



They would sit and read.



At times, she would watch him. She decided that he could best be summed up as a picture of pale concentration. Beige-colored skin. A swamp in each eye. And he breathed like a fugitive. Desperate yet soundless. It was only his chest that gave him away for something alive.



Increasingly, Liesel would close her eyes and ask Max to quiz her on the words she was continually getting wrong, and she would swear if they still escaped her. She would then stand and paint those words to the wall, anywhere up to a dozen times. Together, Max Vandenburg and Liesel Meminger would take in the odor of paint fumes and cement.



Bye, Max.



Bye, Liesel.



In bed, she would lie awake, imagining him below, in the basement. In her bedtime visions, he always slept fully clothed, shoes included, just in case he needed to flee again. He slept with one eye open.





The Weatherman: Mid-May





Liesel opened the door and her mouth simultaneously.



On Himmel Street, her team had trounced Rudys 61, and triumphant, she burst into the kitchen, telling Mama and Papa all about the goal shed scored. She then rushed down to the basement to describe it blow by blow to Max, who put down his newspaper and intently listened and laughed with the girl.



When the story of the goal was complete, there was silence for a good few minutes, until Max looked slowly up. Would you do something for me, Liesel?



Still excited by her Himmel Street goal, the girl jumped from the drop sheets. She did not say it, but her movement clearly showed her intent to provide exactly what he wanted.



You told me all about the goal, he said, but I dont know what sort of day it is up there. I dont know if you scored it in the sun, or if the clouds have covered everything. His hand prodded at his short-cropped hair, and his swampy eyes pleaded for the simplest of simple things. Could you go up and tell me how the weather looks?



Naturally, Liesel hurried up the stairs. She stood a few feet from the spit-stained door and turned on the spot, observing the sky.