The Book Thief(9)

Although it was state-run, there was a heavy Catholic influence, and Liesel was Lutheran. Not the most auspicious start. Then they discovered she couldnt read or write.



Humiliatingly, she was cast down with the younger kids, who were only just learning the alphabet. Even though she was thin-boned and pale, she felt gigantic among the midget children, and she often wished she was pale enough to disappear altogether.



Even at home, there wasnt much room for guidance.



Dont ask him for help, Mama pointed out. That Saukerl. Papa was staring out the window, as was often his habit. He left school in fourth grade.



Without turning around, Papa answered calmly, but with venom, Well, dont ask her, either. He dropped some ash outside. She left school in third grade.



There were no books in the house (apart from the one she had secreted under her mattress), and the best Liesel could do was speak the alphabet under her breath before she was told in no uncertain terms to keep quiet. All that mumbling. It wasnt until later, when there was a bed-wetting incident midnightmare, that an extra reading education began. Unofficially, it was called the midnight class, even though it usually commenced at around two in the morning. More of that soon. In mid-February, when she turned ten, Liesel was given a used doll that had a missing leg and yellow hair.



It was the best we could do, Papa apologized.



What are you talking about? Shes lucky to have that much, Mama corrected him.



Hans continued his examination of the remaining leg while Liesel tried on her new uniform. Ten years old meant Hitler Youth. Hitler Youth meant a small brown uniform. Being female, Liesel was enrolled into what was called the BDM.





EXPLANATION OF THE

ABBREVIATION

It stood for Bund Deutscher Mdchen

Band of German Girls.





The first thing they did there was make sure your heil Hitler was working properly. Then you were taught to march straight, roll bandages, and sew up clothes. You were also taken hiking and on other such activities. Wednesday and Saturday were the designated meeting days, from three in the afternoon until five.



Each Wednesday and Saturday, Papa would walk Liesel there and pick her up two hours later. They never spoke about it much. They just held hands and listened to their feet, and Papa had a cigarette or two.



The only anxiety Papa brought her was the fact that he was constantly leaving. Many evenings, he would walk into the living room (which doubled as the Hubermanns bedroom), pull the accordion from the old cupboard, and squeeze past in the kitchen to the front door.



As he walked up Himmel Street, Mama would open the window and cry out, Dont be home too late!



Not so loud, he would turn and call back.



Saukerl! Lick my ass! Ill speak as loud as I want!



The echo of her swearing followed him up the street. He never looked back, or at least, not until he was sure his wife was gone. On those evenings, at the end of the street, accordion case in hand, he would turn around, just before Frau Dillers corner shop, and see the figure who had replaced his wife in the window. Briefly, his long, ghostly hand would rise before he turned again and walked slowly on. The next time Liesel saw him would be at two in the morning, when he dragged her gently from her nightmare.



Evenings in the small kitchen were raucous, without fail. Rosa Hubermann was always talking, and when she was talking, it took the form of schimpfen. She was constantly arguing and complaining. There was no one to really argue with, but Mama managed it expertly every chance she had. She could argue with the entire world in that kitchen, and almost every evening, she did. Once they had eaten and Papa was gone, Liesel and Rosa would usually remain there, and Rosa would do the ironing.



A few times a week, Liesel would come home from school and walk the streets of Molching with her mama, picking up and delivering washing and ironing from the wealthier parts of town. Knaupt Strasse, Heide Strasse. A few others. Mama would deliver the ironing or pick up the washing with a dutiful smile, but as soon as the door was shut and she walked away, she would curse these rich people, with all their money and laziness.



Too gschtinkerdt to wash their own clothes, she would say, despite her dependence on them.



Him, she accused Herr Vogel from Heide Strasse. Made all his money from his father. He throws it away on women and drink. And washing and ironing, of course.



It was like a roll call of scorn.



Herr Vogel, Herr and Frau Pfaffelhrver, Helena Schmidt, the Weingartners. They were all guilty of something.



Apart from his drunkenness and expensive lechery, Ernst Vogel, according to Rosa, was constantly scratching his louse-ridden hair, licking his fingers, and then handing over the money. I should wash it before I come home, was her summation.



The Pfaffelhrvers scrutinized the results. Not one crease in these shirts, please, Rosa imitated them. Not one wrinkle in this suit. And then they stand there and inspect it all, right in front of me. Right under my nose! What a Gsindelwhat trash.



The Weingartners were apparently stupid people with a constantly molting Saumensch of a cat. Do you know how long it takes me to get rid of all that fur? Its everywhere!