The Book Thief(68)

He had what he called just a small ration of tools:



A painted book.



A handful of pencils.



A mindful of thoughts.



Like a simple puzzle, he put them together.



Originally, Max had intended to write his own story.



The idea was to write about everything that had happened to himall that had led him to a Himmel Street basementbut it was not what came out. Maxs exile produced something else entirely. It was a collection of random thoughts and he chose to embrace them. They felt true. They were more real than the letters he wrote to his family and to his friend Walter Kugler, knowing very well that he could never send them. The desecrated pages of Mein Kampf were becoming a series of sketches, page after page, which to him summed up the events that had swapped his former life for another. Some took minutes. Others hours. He resolved that when the book was finished, hed give it to Liesel, when she was old enough, and hopefully, when all this nonsense was over.



From the moment he tested the pencils on the first painted page, he kept the book close at all times. Often, it was next to him or still in his fingers as he slept.



One afternoon, after his push-ups and sit-ups, he fell asleep against the basement wall. When Liesel came down, she found the book sitting next to him, slanted against his thigh, and curiosity got the better of her. She leaned over and picked it up, waiting for him to stir. He didnt. Max was sitting with his head and shoulder blades against the wall. She could barely make out the sound of his breath, coasting in and out of him, as she opened the book and glimpsed a few random pages. . . .





Frightened by what she saw, Liesel placed the book back down, exactly as she found it, against Maxs leg.



A voice startled her.



Danke schn, it said, and when she looked across, following the trail of sound to its owner, a small sign of satisfaction was present on his Jewish lips.



Holy Christ, Liesel gasped. You scared me, Max.



He returned to his sleep, and behind her, the girl dragged the same thought up the steps.



You scared me, Max.





THE WHISTLER AND THE SHOES





The same pattern continued through the end of summer and well into autumn. Rudy did his best to survive the Hitler Youth. Max did his push-ups and made his sketches. Liesel found newspapers and wrote her words on the basement wall.



Its also worthy of mention that every pattern has at least one small bias, and one day it will tip itself over, or fall from one page to another. In this case, the dominant factor was Rudy. Or at least, Rudy and a freshly fertilized sports field.



Late in October, all appeared to be usual. A filthy boy was walking down Himmel Street. Within a few minutes, his family would expect his arrival, and he would lie that everyone in his Hitler Youth division was given extra drills in the field. His parents would even expect some laughter. They didnt get it.



Today Rudy was all out of laughter and lies.



On this particular Wednesday, when Liesel looked more closely, she could see that Rudy Steiner was shirtless. And he was furious.



What happened? she asked as he trudged past.



He reversed back and held out the shirt. Smell it, he said.



What?



Are you deaf? I said smell it.



Reluctantly, Liesel leaned in and caught a ghastly whiff of the brown garment. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is that?



The boy nodded. Its on my chin, too. My chin! Im lucky I didnt swallow it!



Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.



The field at Hitler Youth just got fertilized. He gave his shirt another halfhearted, disgusted appraisal. Its cow manure, I think.



Did whats-his-nameDeutscherknow it was there?



He says he didnt. But he was grinning.



Jesus, Mary, and



Could you stop saying that?!



What Rudy needed at this point in time was a victory. He had lost in his dealings with Viktor Chemmel. Hed endured problem after problem at the Hitler Youth. All he wanted was a small scrap of triumph, and he was determined to get it.



He continued home, but when he reached the concrete step, he changed his mind and came slowly, purposefully back to the girl.



Careful and quiet, he spoke. You know what would cheer me up?



Liesel cringed. If you think Im going toin that state . . .



He seemed disappointed in her. No, not that. He sighed and stepped closer. Something else. After a moments thought, he raised his head, just a touch. Look at me. Im filthy. I stink like cow shit, or dog shit, whatever your opinion, and as usual, Im absolutely starving. He paused. I need a win, Liesel. Honestly.



Liesel knew.



Shed have gone closer but for the smell of him.



Stealing.



They had to steal something.



No.



They had to steal something back. It didnt matter what. It needed only to be soon.



Just you and me this time, Rudy suggested. No Chemmels, no Schmeikls. Just you and me.