The Book Thief(63)

A week later, the mayors words came to nasty fruition. Liesel, as she always did, showed up at Grande Strasse and read from The Whistler on the floor of the mayors library. The mayors wife showed no signs of abnormality (or, lets be frank, no additional signs) until it was time to leave.



This time, when she offered Liesel The Whistler, she insisted on the girl taking it. Please. She almost begged. The book was held out in a tight, measured fist. Take it. Please, take it.



Liesel, touched by the strangeness of this woman, couldnt bear to disappoint her again. The gray-covered book with its yellowing pages found its way into her hand and she began to walk the corridor. As she was about to ask for the washing, the mayors wife gave her a final look of bathrobed sorrow. She reached into the chest of drawers and withdrew an envelope. Her voice, lumpy from lack of use, coughed out the words. Im sorry. Its for your mama.



Liesel stopped breathing.



She was suddenly aware of how empty her feet felt inside her shoes. Something ridiculed her throat. She trembled. When finally she reached out and took possession of the letter, she noticed the sound of the clock in the library. Grimly, she realized that clocks dont make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave. If only mine was ready now, she thoughtbecause Liesel Meminger, at that moment, wanted to die. When the others had canceled, it hadnt hurt so much. There was always the mayor, his library, and her connection with his wife. Also, this was the last one, the last hope, gone. This time, it felt like the greatest betrayal.



How could she face her mama?



For Rosa, the few scraps of money had still helped in various alleyways. An extra handful of flour. A piece of fat.



Ilsa Hermann was dying now herselfto get rid of her. Liesel could see it somewhere in the way she hugged the robe a little tighter. The clumsiness of sorrow still kept her at close proximity, but clearly, she wanted this to be over. Tell your mama, she spoke again. Her voice was adjusting now, as one sentence turned into two. That were sorry. She started shepherding the girl toward the door.



Liesel felt it now in the shoulders. The pain, the impact of final rejection.



Thats it? she asked internally. You just boot me out?



Slowly, she picked up her empty bag and edged toward the door. Once outside, she turned and faced the mayors wife for the second to last time that day. She looked her in the eyes with an almost savage brand of pride. Danke schn, she said, and Ilsa Hermann smiled in a rather useless, beaten way.



If you ever want to come just to read, the woman lied (or at least the girl, in her shocked, saddened state, perceived it as a lie), youre very welcome.



At that moment, Liesel was amazed by the width of the doorway. There was so much space. Why did people need so much space to get through the door? Had Rudy been there, hed have called her an idiotit was to get all their stuff inside.



Goodbye, the girl said, and slowly, with great morosity, the door was closed.



Liesel did not leave.



For a long time, she sat on the steps and watched Molching. It was neither warm nor cool and the town was clear and still. Molching was in a jar.



She opened the letter. In it, Mayor Heinz Hermann diplomatically outlined exactly why he had to terminate the services of Rosa Hubermann. For the most part, he explained that he would be a hypocrite if he maintained his own small luxuries while advising others to prepare for harder times.



When she eventually stood and walked home, her moment of reaction came once again when she saw the STEINER-SCHNEIDERMEISTERsign on Munich Street. Her sadness left her and she was overwhelmed with anger. That bastard mayor, she whispered. That pathetic woman. The fact that harder times were coming was surely the best reason for keeping Rosa employed, but no, they fired her. At any rate, she decided, they could do their own blasted washing and ironing, like normal people. Like poor people.



In her hand, The Whistler tightened.



So you give me the book, the girl said, for pityto make yourself feel better. . . . The fact that shed also been offered the book prior to that day mattered little.



She turned as she had once before and marched back to 8 Grande Strasse. The temptation to run was immense, but she refrained so that shed have enough in reserve for the words.



When she arrived, she was disappointed that the mayor himself was not there. No car was slotted nicely on the side of the road, which was perhaps a good thing. Had it been there, there was no telling what she might have done to it in this moment of rich versus poor.



Two steps at a time, she reached the door and banged it hard enough to hurt. She enjoyed the small fragments of pain.



Evidently, the mayors wife was shocked when she saw her again. Her fluffy hair was slightly wet and her wrinkles widened when she noticed the obvious fury on Liesels usually pallid face. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, which was handy, really, for it was Liesel who possessed the talking.



You think, she said, you can buy me off with this book? Her voice, though shaken, hooked at the womans throat. The glittering anger was thick and unnerving, but she toiled through it. She worked herself up even further, to the point where she needed to wipe the tears from her eyes. You give me this Saumensch of a book and think itll make everything good when I go and tell my mama that weve just lost our last one? While you sit here in your mansion?