The Book Thief(98)

As Rudy attempted to pick it up, a passing Jew snatched it from his hand and another two fought him for it as they continued on their way to Dachau.



Silver eyes were pelted then.



A cart was turned over and paint flowed onto the street.



They called him a Jew lover.



Others were silent, helping him back to safety.



Hans Hubermann leaned forward, arms outstretched against a house wall. He was suddenly overwhelmed by what had just happened.



There was an image, fast and hot.



33 Himmel Streetits basement.



Thoughts of panic were caught between the in-and-out struggle of his breath.



Theyll come now. Theyll come.



Oh, Christ, oh, crucified Christ.



He looked at the girl and closed his eyes.



Are you hurt, Papa?



She received questions rather than an answer.



What was I thinking? His eyes closed tighter and opened again. His overalls creased. There was paint and blood on his hands. And bread crumbs. How different from the bread of summer. Oh my God, Liesel, what have I done?



Yes.



I must agree.



What had Papa done?





PEACE





At just after 11 p.m. that same night, Max Vandenburg walked up Himmel Street with a suitcase full of food and warm clothes. German air was in his lungs. The yellow stars were on fire. When he made it to Frau Dillers, he looked back one last time to number thirty-three. He could not see the figure in the kitchen window, but she could see him. She waved and he did not wave back.



Liesel could still feel his mouth on her forehead. She could smell his breath of goodbye.



I have left something for you, hed said, but you will not get it until youre ready.



He left.



Max?



But he did not come back.



He had walked from her room and silently shut the door.



The hallway murmured.



He was gone.



When she made it to the kitchen, Mama and Papa stood with crooked bodies and preserved faces. Theyd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.





DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #7

Schweigen Silence:

The absence of sound or noise.

Related words:

quiet, calmness, peace.





How perfect.



Peace.



Somewhere near Munich, a German Jew was making his way through the darkness. An arrangement had been made to meet Hans Hubermann in four days (that is, if he wasnt taken away). It was at a place far down the Amper, where a broken bridge leaned among the river and trees.



He would make it there, but he would not stay longer than a few minutes.



The only thing to be found there when Papa arrived four days later was a note under a rock, at the base of a tree. It was addressed to nobody and contained only one sentence.





THE LAST WORDS OF

MAX VANDENBURG

Youve done enough.





Now more than ever, 33 Himmel Street was a place of silence, and it did not go unnoticed that the Duden Dictionary was completely and utterly mistaken, especially with its related words.



Silence was not quiet or calm, and it was not peace.





THE IDIOT AND THE COAT MEN





On the night of the parade, the idiot sat in the kitchen, drinking bitter gulps of Holtzapfels coffee and hankering for a cigarette. He waited for the Gestapo, the soldiers, the policefor anyone to take him away, as he felt he deserved. Rosa ordered him to come to bed. The girl loitered in the doorway. He sent them both away and spent the hours till morning with his head in his hands, waiting.



Nothing came.



Every unit of time carried with it the expected noise of knocking and threatening words.



They did not come.



The only sound was of himself.



What have I done? he whispered again.



God, Id love a cigarette, he answered. He was all out.



Liesel heard the repeated sentences several times, and it took a lot to stay by the door. Shed have loved to comfort him, but she had never seen a man so devastated. There were no consolations that night. Max was gone, and Hans Hubermann was to blame.



The kitchen cupboards were the shape of guilt, and his palms were oily with the memory of what hed done. They must be sweaty, Liesel thought, for her own hands were soaked to the wrists.



In her room, she prayed.



Hands and knees, forearms against the mattress.



Please, God, please let Max survive. Please, God, please . . .



Her suffering knees.



Her painful feet.



When first light appeared, she awoke and made her way back to the kitchen. Papa was asleep with his head parallel to the tabletop, and there was some saliva at the corner of his mouth. The smell of coffee was overpowering, and the image of Hans Hubermanns stupid kindness was still in the air. It was like a number or an address. Repeat it enough times and it sticks.