The Book Thief(91)

The river ran.



Liesel took hold of the paper.





THE LETTER





Dear Liesel,



I know you find me pathetic and loathsome (look that word up if you dont know it), but I must tell you that I am not so stupid as to not see your footprints in the library. When I noticed the first book missing, I thought I had sim ply misplaced it, but then I saw the outlines of some feet on the floor in certain patches of the light.



It made me smile.



I was glad that you took what was rightfully yours. I then made the mistake of thinking that would be the end of it.



When you came back, I should have been angry, but I wasnt. I could hear you the last time, but I decided to leave you alone. You only ever take one book, and it will take a thousand visits till all of them are gone. My only hope is that one day you will knock on the front door and enter the li brary in the more civilized manner.



Again, I am sorry we could no longer keep your foster mother employed.



Lastly, I hope you find this dictionary and thesaurus useful as you read your stolen books.



Yours sincerely,



Ilsa Hermann



Wed better head home, Rudy suggested, but Liesel did not go.



Can you wait here for ten minutes?



Of course.



Liesel struggled back up to 8 Grande Strasse and sat on the familiar territory of the front entrance. The book was with Rudy, but she held the letter and rubbed her fingers on the folded paper as the steps grew heavier around her. She tried four times to knock on the daunting flesh of the door, but she could not bring herself to do it. The most she could accomplish was to place her knuckles gently on the warmness of the wood.



Again, her brother found her.



From the bottom of the steps, his knee healing nicely, he said, Come on, Liesel, knock.



As she made her second getaway, she could soon see the distant figure of Rudy at the bridge. The wind showered through her hair. Her feet swam with the pedals.



Liesel Meminger was a criminal.



But not because shed stolen a handful of books through an open window.



You should have knocked, she thought, and although there was a good portion of guilt, there was also the juvenile trace of laughter.



As she rode, she tried to tell herself something.



You dont deserve to be this happy, Liesel. You really dont.



Can a person steal happiness? Or is it just another internal, infernal human trick?



Liesel shrugged away from her thoughts. She crossed the bridge and told Rudy to hurry up and not to forget the book.



They rode home on rusty bikes.



They rode home a couple of miles, from summer to autumn, and from a quiet night to the noisy breath of the bombing of Munich.





THE SOUND OF SIRENS





With the small collection of money Hans had earned in the summer, he brought home a secondhand radio. This way, he said, we can hear when the raids are coming even before the sirens start. They make a cuckoo sound and then announce the regions at risk.



He placed it on the kitchen table and switched it on. They also tried to make it work in the basement, for Max, but there was nothing but static and severed voices in the speakers.



In September, they did not hear it as they slept.



Either the radio was already half broken, or it was swallowed immediately by the crying sound of sirens.



A hand was shoved gently at Liesels shoulder as she slept.



Papas voice followed it in, afraid.



Liesel, wake up. We have to go.



There was the disorientation of interrupted sleep, and Liesel could barely decipher the outline of Papas face. The only thing truly visible was his voice.



In the hallway, they stopped.



Wait, said Rosa.



Through the dark, they rushed to the basement.



The lamp was lit.



Max edged out from behind the paint cans and drop sheets. His face was tired and he hitched his thumbs nervously into his pants. Time to go, huh?



Hans walked to him. Yes, time to go. He shook his hand and slapped his arm. Well see you when we get back, right?



Of course.



Rosa hugged him, as did Liesel.



Goodbye, Max.



Weeks earlier, theyd discussed whether they should all stay together in their own basement or if the three of them should go down the road, to a family by the name of Fiedler. It was Max who convinced them. They said its not deep enough here. Ive already put you in enough danger.



Hans had nodded. Its a shame we cant take you with us. Its a disgrace.



Its how it is.



Outside, the sirens howled at the houses, and the people came running, hobbling, and recoiling as they exited their homes. Night watched. Some people watched it back, trying to find the tin-can planes as they drove across the sky.



Himmel Street was a procession of tangled people, all wrestling with their most precious possessions. In some cases, it was a baby. In others, a stack of photo albums or a wooden box. Liesel carried her books, between her arm and her ribs. Frau Holtzapfel was heaving a suitcase, laboring on the footpath with bulbous eyes and small-stepped feet.