The Book Thief(80)

Her fingers tightened on the wood and she made her way inside.



This time, if only slightly, she felt more at ease. In a few precious moments, she circled the room, looking for a title that grabbed her. On three or four occasions, she nearly reached out. She even considered taking more than one, but again, she didnt want to abuse what was a kind of system. For now, only one book was necessary. She studied the shelves and waited.



An extra darkness climbed through the window behind her. The smell of dust and theft loitered in the background, and she saw it.



The book was red, with black writing on the spine. Der Traumtrger. The Dream Carrier. She thought of Max Vandenburg and his dreams. Of guilt. Surviving. Leaving his family. Fighting the Fhrer. She also thought of her own dreamher brother, dead on the train, and his appearance on the steps just around the corner from this very room. The book thief watched his bloodied knee from the shove of her own hand.



She slid the book from the shelf, tucked it under her arm, climbed to the window ledge, and jumped out, all in one motion.



Rudy had her shoes. He had her bike ready. Once the shoes were on, they rode.



Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Meminger. Hed never called her Meminger before. Youre an absolute lunatic. Do you know that?



Liesel agreed as she pedaled like hell. I know it.



At the bridge, Rudy summed up the afternoons proceedings. Those people are either completely crazy, he said, or they just like their fresh air.





A SMALL SUGGESTION

Or maybe there was a woman on

Grande Strasse who now kept her

library window open for another

reasonbut thats just me being

cynical, or hopeful. Or both.





Liesel placed The Dream Carrier beneath her jacket and began reading it the minute she returned home. In the wooden chair next to her bed, she opened the book and whispered, Its a new one, Max. Just for you. She started reading. Chapter one: It was quite fitting that the entire town was sleeping when the dream carrier was born. . . .



Every day, Liesel read two chapters of the book. One in the morning before school and one as soon as she came home. On certain nights, when she was not able to sleep, she read half of a third chapter as well. Sometimes she would fall asleep slumped forward onto the side of the bed.



It became her mission.



She gave The Dream Carrier to Max as if the words alone could nourish him. On a Tuesday, she thought there was movement. She could have sworn his eyes had opened. If they had, it was only momentarily, and it was more likely just her imagination and wishful thinking.



By mid-March, the cracks began to appear.



Rosa Hubermannthe good woman for a crisiswas at breaking point one afternoon in the kitchen. She raised her voice, then brought it quickly down. Liesel stopped reading and made her way quietly to the hall. As close as she stood, she could still barely make out her mamas words. When she was able to hear them, she wished she hadnt, for what she heard was horrific. It was reality.





THE CONTENTS OF MAMAS VOICE

What if he doesnt wake up?

What if he dies here, Hansi?

Tell me. What in Gods name will

we do with the body? We cant

leave him here, the smell will

kill us . . . and we cant carry

him out the door and drag him up

the street, either. We cant just

say, Youll never guess what we

found in our basement this morning. . . .

Theyll put us away for good.





She was absolutely right.



A Jewish corpse was a major problem. The Hubermanns needed to revive Max Vandenburg not only for his sake, but for their own. Even Papa, who was always the ultimate calming influence, was feeling the pressure.



Look. His voice was quiet but heavy. If it happensif he dieswell simply need to find a way. Liesel could have sworn she heard him swallow. A gulp like a blow to the windpipe. My paint cart, some drop sheets . . .



Liesel entered the kitchen.



Not now, Liesel. It was Papa who spoke, though he did not look at her. He was watching his warped face in a turned-over spoon. His elbows were buried into the table.



The book thief did not retreat. She took a few extra steps and sat down. Her cold hands felt for her sleeves and a sentence dropped from her mouth. Hes not dead yet. The words landed on the table and positioned themselves in the middle. All three people looked at them. Half hopes didnt dare rise any higher. He isnt dead yet. He isnt dead yet. It was Rosa who spoke next.



Whos hungry?



Possibly the only time that Maxs illness didnt hurt was at dinner. There was no denying it as the three of them sat at the kitchen table with their extra bread and extra soup or potatoes. They all thought it, but no one spoke.



In the night, just a few hours later, Liesel awoke and wondered at the height of her heart. (She had learned that expression from The Dream Carrier, which was essentially the complete antithesis of The Whistler a book about an abandoned child who wanted to be a priest.) She sat up and sucked deeply at the nighttime air.



Liesel? Papa rolled over. What is it?



Nothing, Papa, everythings good. But the very moment shed finished the sentence, she saw exactly what had happened in her dream.