The Book Thief(69)

The girl couldnt help it.



Her hands itched, her pulse split, and her mouth smiled all at the same time. Sounds good.



Its agreed, then, and although he tried not to, Rudy could not hide the fertilized grin that grew on his face. Tomorrow?



Liesel nodded. Tomorrow.



Their plan was perfect but for one thing:



They had no idea where to start.



Fruit was out. Rudy snubbed his nose at onions and potatoes, and they drew the line at another attempt on Otto Sturm and his bikeful of farm produce. Once was immoral. Twice was complete bastardry.



So where the hell do we go? Rudy asked.



How should I know? This was your idea, wasnt it?



That doesnt mean you shouldnt think a little, too. I cant think of everything.



You can barely think of anything. . . .



They argued on as they walked through town. On the outskirts, they witnessed the first of the farms and the trees standing like emaciated statues. The branches were gray and when they looked up at them, there was nothing but ragged limbs and empty sky.



Rudy spat.



They walked back through Molching, making suggestions.



What about Frau Diller?



What about her?



Maybe if we say heil Hitler and then steal something, well be all right.



After roaming Munich Street for an hour or so, the daylight was drawing to a close and they were on the verge of giving up. Its pointless, Rudy said, and Im even hungrier now than Ive ever been. Im starving, for Christs sake. He walked another dozen steps before he stopped and looked back. Whats with you? because now Liesel was standing completely still, and a moment of realization was strapped to her face.



Why hadnt she thought of it before?



What is it? Rudy was becoming impatient. Saumensch, whats going on?



At that very moment, Liesel was presented with a decision. Could she truly carry out what she was thinking? Could she really seek revenge on a person like this? Could she despise someone this much?



She began walking in the opposite direction. When Rudy caught up, she slowed a little in the vain hope of achieving a little more clarity. After all, the guilt was already there. It was moist. The seed was already bursting into a dark-leafed flower. She weighed up whether she could really go through with this. At a crossroad, she stopped.



I know a place.



They went over the river and made their way up the hill.



On Grande Strasse, they took in the splendor of the houses. The front doors glowed with polish, and the roof tiles sat like toupees, combed to perfection. The walls and windows were manicured and the chimneys almost breathed out smoke rings.



Rudy planted his feet. The mayors house?



Liesel nodded, seriously. A pause. They fired my mama.



When they angled toward it, Rudy asked just how in Gods name they were going to get inside, but Liesel knew. Local knowledge, she answered. Local But when they were able to see the window to the library at the far end of the house, she was greeted with a shock. The window was closed.



Well? Rudy asked.



Liesel swiveled slowly and hurried off. Not today, she said. Rudy laughed.



I knew it. He caught up. I knew it, you filthy Saumensch. You couldnt get in there even if you had the key.



Do you mind? She quickened even more and brushed aside Rudys commentary. We just have to wait for the right opportunity. Internally, she shrugged away from a kind of gladness that the window was closed. She berated herself. Why, Liesel? she asked. Why did you have to explode when they fired Mama? Why couldnt you just keep your big mouth shut? For all you know, the mayors wife is now completely reformed after you yelled and screamed at her. Maybe shes straightened herself out, picked herself up. Maybe shell never let herself shiver in that house again and the window will be shut forever. . . . You stupid Saumensch!



A week later, however, on their fifth visit to the upper part of Molching, it was there.



The open window breathed a slice of air in.



That was all it would take.



It was Rudy who stopped first. He tapped Liesel in the ribs, with the back of his hand. Is that window, he whispered, open? The eagerness in his voice leaned from his mouth, like a forearm onto Liesels shoulder.



Jawohl, she answered. It sure is.



And how her heart began to heat.



On each previous occasion, when they found the window clamped firmly shut, Liesels outer disappointment had masked a ferocious relief. Would she have had the neck to go in? And who and what, in fact, was she going in for? For Rudy? To locate some food?



No, the repugnant truth was this:



She didnt care about the food. Rudy, no matter how hard she tried to resist the idea, was secondary to her plan. It was the book she wanted. The Whistler. She wouldnt tolerate having it given to her by a lonely, pathetic old woman. Stealing it, on the other hand, seemed a little more acceptable. Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.



The light was changing in blocks of shade.