بخش 03-02

All were present on Himmel Street, as well as the sound of apologies, as summer further intensified. The apologies belonged to Liesel Meminger. They were directed at Tommy Mller. By the start of July, she finally managed to convince him that she wasnt going to kill him. Since the beating shed handed him the previous November, Tommy was still frightened to be around her. In the soccer meetings on Himmel Street, he kept well clear. You never know when she might snap, hed confided in Rudy, half twitching, half speaking. In Liesels defense, she never gave up on trying to put him at ease. It disappointed her that shed successfully made peace with Ludwig Schmeikl and not with the innocent Tommy Mller. He still cowered slightly whenever he saw her. How could I know you were smiling for me that day? she asked him repeatedly. Shed even put in a few stints as goalie for him, until everyone else on the team begged him to go back in. Get back in there! a boy named Harald Mollenhauer finally ordered him. Youre useless. This was after Tommy tripped him up as he was about to score. He would have awarded himself a penalty but for the fact that they were on the same side. Liesel came back out and would somehow always end up opposing Rudy. They would tackle and trip each other, call each other names. Rudy would commentate: She cant get around him this time, the stupid Saumensch Arschgrobbler. She hasnt got a hope. He seemed to enjoy calling Liesel an ass scratcher. It was one of the joys of childhood. Another of the joys, of course, was stealing. Part four, summer 1940. In fairness, there were many things that brought Rudy and Liesel together, but it was the stealing that cemented their friendship completely. It was brought about by one opportunity, and it was driven by one inescapable forceRudys hunger. The boy was permanently dying for something to eat. On top of the rationing situation, his fathers business wasnt doing so well of late (the threat of Jewish competition was taken away, but so were the Jewish customers). The Steiners were scratching things together to get by. Like many other people on the Himmel Street side of town, they needed to trade. Liesel would have given him some food from her place, but there wasnt an abundance of it there, either. Mama usually made pea soup. On Sunday nights she cooked itand not just enough for one or two repeat performances. She made enough pea soup to last until the following Saturday. Then on Sunday, shed cook another one. Pea soup, bread, sometimes a small portion of potatoes or meat. You ate it up and you didnt ask for more, and you didnt complain. At first, they did things to try to forget about it. Rudy wouldnt be hungry if they played soccer on the street. Or if they took bikes from his brother and sister and rode to Alex Steiners shop or visited Liesels papa, if he was working that particular day. Hans Hubermann would sit with them and tell jokes in the last light of afternoon. With the arrival of a few hot days, another distraction was learning to swim in the Amper River. The water was still a little too cold, but they went anyway. Come on, Rudy coaxed her in. Just here. It isnt so deep here. She couldnt see the giant hole she was walking into and sank straight to the bottom. Dog-paddling saved her life, despite nearly choking on the swollen intake of water. You Saukerl, she accused him when she collapsed onto the riverbank. Rudy made certain to keep well away. Hed seen what she did to Ludwig Schmeikl. You can swim now, cant you? Which didnt particularly cheer her up as she marched away. Her hair was pasted to the side of her face and snot was flowing from her nose. He called after her. Does this mean I dont get a kiss for teaching you? Saukerl! The nerve of him! It was inevitable. The depressing pea soup and Rudys hunger finally drove them to thievery. It inspired their attachment to an older group of kids who stole from the farmers. Fruit stealers. After a game of soccer, both Liesel and Rudy learned the benefits of keeping their eyes open. Sitting on Rudys front step, they noticed Fritz Hammerone of their older counterpartseating an apple. It was of the Klar variety ripening in July and Augustand it looked magnificent in his hand. Three or four more of them clearly bulged in his jacket pockets. They wandered closer. Where did you get those? Rudy asked. The boy only grinned at first. Shhh, and he stopped. He then proceeded to pull an apple from his pocket and toss it over. Just look at it, he warned them. Dont eat it. The next time they saw the same boy wearing the same jacket, on a day that was too warm for it, they followed him. He led them toward the upstream section of the Amper River. It was close to where Liesel sometimes read with her papa when she was first learning. A group of five boys, some lanky, a few short and lean, stood waiting. There were a few such groups in Molching at the time, some with members as young as six. The leader of this particular outfit was an agreeable fifteen-year-old criminal named Arthur Berg. He looked around and saw the two eleven-year-olds dangling off the back. Und? he asked. And? Im starving, Rudy replied. And hes fast, said Liesel. Berg looked at her. I dont recall asking for your opinion. He was teenage tall and had a long neck. Pimples were gathered in peer groups on his face. But I like you. He was friendly, in a smart-mouth adolescent way. Isnt this the one who beat up your brother, Anderl? Word had certainly made its way around. A good hiding transcends the divides of age. Another boyone of the short, lean oneswith shaggy blond hair and ice-colored skin, looked over. I think so. Rudy confirmed it. It is. Andy Schmeikl walked across and studied her, up and down, his face pensive before breaking into a gaping smile. Great work, kid. He even slapped her among the bones of her back, catching a sharp piece of shoulder blade. Id get whipped for it if I did it myself. Arthur had moved on to Rudy. And youre the Jesse Owens one, arent you? Rudy nodded. Clearly, said Arthur, youre an idiotbut youre our kind of idiot. Come on. They were in. When they reached the farm, Liesel and Rudy were thrown a sack. Arthur Berg gripped his own burlap bag. He ran a hand through his mild strands of hair. Either of you ever stolen before? Of course, Rudy certified. All the time. He was not very convincing. Liesel was more specific. Ive stolen two books, at which Arthur laughed, in three short snorts. His pimples shifted position. You cant eat books, sweetheart. From there, they all examined the apple trees, who stood in long, twisted rows. Arthur Berg gave the orders. One, he said. Dont get caught on the fence. You get caught on the fence, you get left behind. Understood? Everyone nodded or said yes. Two. One in the tree, one below. Someone has to collect. He rubbed his hands together. He was enjoying this. Three. If you see someone coming, you call out loud enough to wake the deadand we all run. Richtig? Richtig. It was a chorus.

TWO DEBUTANTAPPLE THIEVES, WHISPERING Lieselare you sure? Do you still want to do this? Look at the barbed wire, Rudy. Its so high. No, no, look, you throw the sack on. See? Like them. All right. Come on then! I cant! Hesitation. Rudy, I Move it, Saumensch !

He pushed her toward the fence, threw the empty sack on the wire, and they climbed over, running toward the others. Rudy made his way up the closest tree and started flinging down the apples. Liesel stood below, putting them into the sack. By the time it was full, there was another problem. How do we get back over the fence? The answer came when they noticed Arthur Berg climbing as close to a fence post as possible. The wires stronger there. Rudy pointed. He threw the sack over, made Liesel go first, then landed beside her on the other side, among the fruit that spilled from the bag. Next to them, the long legs of Arthur Berg stood watching in amusement. Not bad, landed the voice from above. Not bad at all. When they made it back to the river, hidden among the trees, he took the sack and gave Liesel and Rudy a dozen apples between them. Good work, was his final comment on the matter. That afternoon, before they returned home, Liesel and Rudy consumed six apples apiece within half an hour. At first, they entertained thoughts of sharing the fruit at their respective homes, but there was considerable danger in that. They didnt particularly relish the opportunity of explaining just where the fruit had come from. Liesel even thought that perhaps she could get away with only telling Papa, but she didnt want him thinking that he had a compulsive criminal on his hands. So she ate. On the riverbank where she learned to swim, each apple was disposed of. Unaccustomed to such luxury, they knew it was likely theyd be sick. They ate anyway. Saumensch! Mama abused her that night. Why are you vomiting so much? Maybe its the pea soup, Liesel suggested. Thats right, Papa echoed. He was over at the window again. It must be. I feel a bit sick myself. Who asked you, Saukerl? Quickly, she turned back to face the vomiting Saumensch. Well? What is it? What is it, you filthy pig? But Liesel? She said nothing. The apples, she thought happily. The apples, and she vomited one more time, for luck. THE ARYAN SHOPKEEPER

They stood outside Frau Dillers, against the whitewashed wall. A piece of candy was in Liesel Memingers mouth. The sun was in her eyes. Despite these difficulties, she was still able to speak and argue.

ANOTHER CONVERSATION * BETWEEN RUDY AND LIESEL Hurry up, Saumensch, thats ten already. Its not, its only eightIve got two to go. Well, hurry up, then. I told you we should have gotten a knife and sawn it in half. . . . Come on, thats two. All right. Here. And dont swallow it. Do I look like an idiot? [A short pause] This is great, isnt it? It sure is, Saumensch.

At the end of August and summer, they found one pfennig on the ground. Pure excitement. It was sitting half rotten in some dirt, on the washing and ironing route. A solitary corroded coin. Take a look at that! Rudy swooped on it. The excitement almost stung as they rushed back to Frau Dillers, not even considering that a single pfennig might not be the right price. They burst through the door and stood in front of the Aryan shopkeeper, who regarded them with contempt. Im waiting, she said. Her hair was tied back and her black dress choked her body. The framed photo of the Fhrer kept watch from the wall. Heil Hitler, Rudy led. Heil Hitler, she responded, straightening taller behind the counter. And you? She glared at Liesel, who promptly gave her a heil Hitler of her own. It didnt take Rudy long to dig the coin from his pocket and place it firmly on the counter. He looked straight into Frau Dillers spectacled eyes and said, Mixed candy, please. Frau Diller smiled. Her teeth elbowed each other for room in her mouth, and her unexpected kindness made Rudy and Liesel smile as well. Not for long. She bent down, did some searching, and came back. Here, she said, tossing a single piece of candy onto the counter. Mix it yourself. Outside, they unwrapped it and tried biting it in half, but the sugar was like glass. Far too tough, even for Rudys animal-like choppers. Instead, they had to trade sucks on it until it was finished. Ten sucks for Rudy. Ten for Liesel. Back and forth. This, Rudy announced at one point, with a candy-toothed grin, is the good life, and Liesel didnt disagree. By the time they were finished, both their mouths were an exaggerated red, and as they walked home, they reminded each other to keep their eyes peeled, in case they found another coin. Naturally, they found nothing. No one can be that lucky twice in one year, let alone a single afternoon. Still, with red tongues and teeth, they walked down Himmel Street, happily searching the ground as they went. The day had been a great one, and Nazi Germany was a wondrous place. THE STRUGGLER, CONTINUED

We move forward now, to a cold night struggle. Well let the book thief catch up later. It was November 3, and the floor of the train held on to his feet. In front of him, he read from the copy of Mein Kampf. His savior. Sweat was swimming out of his hands. Fingermarks clutched the book.

BOOK THIEF PRODUCTIONS OFFICIALLY PRESENTS Mein Kampf (My Struggle) by Adolf Hitler

Behind Max Vandenburg, the city of Stuttgart opened its arms in mockery. He was not welcome there, and he tried not to look back as the stale bread disintegrated in his stomach. A few times, he shifted again and watched the lights become only a handful and then disappear altogether. Look proud, he advised himself. You cannot look afraid. Read the book. Smile at it. Its a great bookthe greatest book youve ever read. Ignore that woman on the other side. Shes asleep now anyway. Come on, Max, youre only a few hours away. As it had turned out, the promised return visit in the room of darkness didnt take days; it had taken a week and a half. Then another week till the next, and another, until he lost all sense of the passing of days and hours. He was relocated once more, to another small storage room, where there was more light, more visits, and more food. Time, however, was running out. Im leaving soon, his friend Walter Kugler told him. You know how it isthe army. Im sorry, Walter. Walter Kugler, Maxs friend from childhood, placed his hand on the Jews shoulder. It could be worse. He looked his friend in his Jewish eyes. I could be you. That was their last meeting. A final package was left in the corner, and this time, there was a ticket. Walter opened Mein Kampf and slid it inside, next to the map hed brought with the book itself. Page thirteen. He smiled. For luck, yes? For luck, and the two of them embraced. When the door shut, Max opened the book and examined the ticket. Stuttgart to Munich to Pasing. It left in two days, in the night, just in time to make the last connection. From there, he would walk. The map was already in his head, folded in quarters. The key was still taped to the inside cover. He sat for half an hour before stepping toward the bag and opening it. Apart from food, a few other items sat inside.

THE EXTRA CONTENTS OF WALTER KUGLERS GIFT One small razor. A spoonthe closest thing to a mirror. Shaving cream. A pair of scissors.

When he left it, the storeroom was empty but for the floor. Goodbye, he whispered. The last thing Max saw was the small mound of hair, sitting casually against the wall. Goodbye. With a clean-shaven face and lopsided yet neatly combed hair, he had walked out of that building a new man. In fact, he walked out German. Hang on a second, he was German. Or more to the point, he had been. In his stomach was the electric combination of nourishment and nausea. He walked to the station. He showed his ticket and identity card, and now he sat in a small box compartment of the train, directly in dangers spotlight. Papers. That was what he dreaded to hear. It was bad enough when he was stopped on the platform. He knew he could not withstand it twice. The shivering hands. The smellno, the stenchof guilt. He simply couldnt bear it again. Fortunately, they came through early and only asked for the ticket, and now all that was left was a window of small towns, the congregations of lights, and the woman snoring on the other side of the compartment. For most of the journey, he made his way through the book, trying never to look up. The words lolled about in his mouth as he read them. Strangely, as he turned the pages and progressed through the chapters, it was only two words he ever tasted. Mein Kampf. My struggle The title, over and over again, as the train prattled on, from one German town to the next. Mein Kampf. Of all the things to save him. TRICKSTERS

You could argue that Liesel Meminger had it easy. She did have it easy compared to Max Vandenburg. Certainly, her brother practically died in her arms. Her mother abandoned her. But anything was better than being a Jew. In the time leading up to Maxs arrival, another washing customer was lost, this time the Weingartners. The obligatory Schimpferei occurred in the kitchen, and Liesel composed herself with the fact that there were still two left, and even better, one of them was the mayor, the wife, the books. As for Liesels other activities, she was still causing havoc with Rudy Steiner. I would even suggest that they were polishing their wicked ways. They made a few more journeys with Arthur Berg and his friends, keen to prove their worth and extend their thieving repertoire. They took potatoes from one farm, onions from another. Their biggest victory, however, they performed alone. As witnessed earlier, one of the benefits of walking through town was the prospect of finding things on the ground. Another was noticing people, or more important, the same people, doing identical things week after week. A boy from school, Otto Sturm, was one such person. Every Friday afternoon, he rode his bike to church, carrying goods to the priests. For a month, they watched him, as good weather turned to bad, and Rudy in particular was determined that one Friday, in an abnormally frosty week in October, Otto wouldnt quite make it. All those priests, Rudy explained as they walked through town. Theyre all too fat anyway. They could do without a feed for a week or so. Liesel could only agree. First of all, she wasnt Catholic. Second, she was pretty hungry herself. As always, she was carrying the washing. Rudy was carrying two buckets of cold water, or as he put it, two buckets of future ice. Just before two oclock, he went to work. Without any hesitation, he poured the water onto the road in the exact position where Otto would pedal around the corner. Liesel had to admit it. There was a small portion of guilt at first, but the plan was perfect, or at least as close to perfect as it could be. At just after two oclock every Friday, Otto Sturm turned onto Munich Street with the produce in his front basket, at the handlebars. On this particular Friday, that was as far as he would travel. The road was icy as it was, but Rudy put on the extra coat, barely able to contain a grin. It ran across his face like a skid. Come on, he said, that bush there. After approximately fifteen minutes, the diabolical plan bore its fruit, so to speak. Rudy pointed his finger into a gap in the bush. There he is. Otto came around the corner, dopey as a lamb. He wasted no time in losing control of the bike, sliding across the ice, and lying facedown on the road. When he didnt move, Rudy looked at Liesel with alarm. Crucified Christ, he said, I think we might have killed him! He crept slowly out, removed the basket, and they made their getaway. Was he breathing? Liesel asked, farther down the street. Keine Ahnung, Rudy said, clinging to the basket. He had no idea. From far down the hill, they watched as Otto stood up, scratched his head, scratched his crotch, and looked everywhere for the basket. Stupid Scheisskopf. Rudy grinned, and they looked through the spoils. Bread, broken eggs, and the big one, Speck. Rudy held the fatty ham to his nose and breathed it gloriously in. Beautiful. As tempting as it was to keep the victory to themselves, they were overpowered by a sense of loyalty to Arthur Berg. They made their way to his impoverished lodging on Kempf Strasse and showed him the produce. Arthur couldnt hold back his approval. Who did you steal this from? It was Rudy who answered. Otto Sturm. Well, he nodded, whoever that is, Im grateful to him. He walked inside and returned with a bread knife, a frying pan, and a jacket, and the three thieves walked the hallway of apartments. Well get the others, Arthur Berg stated as they made it outside. We might be criminals, but were not totally immoral. Much like the book thief, he at least drew the line somewhere. A few more doors were knocked on. Names were called out to apartments from streets below, and soon, the whole conglomerate of Arthur Bergs fruit-stealing troop was on its way to the Amper. In the clearing on the other side, a fire was lit and what was left of the eggs was salvaged and fried. The bread and Speck were cut. With hands and knives, every last piece of Otto Sturms delivery was eaten. No priest in sight. It was only at the end that an argument developed, regarding the basket. The majority of boys wanted to burn it. Fritz Hammer and Andy Schmeikl wanted to keep it, but Arthur Berg, showing his incongruous moral aptitude, had a better idea. You two, he said to Rudy and Liesel. Maybe you should take it back to that Sturm character. Id say that poor bastard probably deserves that much. Oh, come on, Arthur. I dont want to hear it, Andy. Jesus Christ. He doesnt want to hear it, either. The group laughed and Rudy Steiner picked up the basket. Ill take it back and hang it on their mailbox. He had walked only twenty meters or so when the girl caught up. She would be home far too late for comfort, but she was well aware that she had to accompany Rudy Steiner through town, to the Sturm farm on the other side. For a long time, they walked in silence. Do you feel bad? Liesel finally asked. They were already on the way home. About what? You know. Of course I do, but Im not hungry anymore, and I bet hes not hungry, either. Dont think for a second that the priests would get food if there wasnt enough to go around at home. He just hit the ground so hard. Dont remind me. But Rudy Steiner couldnt resist smiling. In years to come, he would be a giver of bread, not a stealerproof again of the contradictory human being. So much good, so much evil. Just add water. Five days after their bittersweet little victory, Arthur Berg emerged again and invited them on his next stealing project. They ran into him on Munich Street, on the way home from school on a Wednesday. He was already in his Hitler Youth uniform. Were going again tomorrow afternoon. You interested? They couldnt help themselves. Where? The potato place. Twenty-four hours later, Liesel and Rudy braved the wire fence again and filled their sack. The problem showed up as they made their getaway. Christ! shouted Arthur. The farmer! It was his next word, however, that frightened. He called it out as if hed already been attacked with it. His mouth ripped open. The word flew out, and the word was ax. Sure enough, when they turned around, the farmer was running at them, the weapon held aloft. The whole group ran for the fence line and made their way over. Rudy, who was farthest away, caught up quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid being last. As he pulled his leg up, he became entangled. Hey! The sound of the stranded. The group stopped. Instinctively, Liesel ran back. Hurry up! Arthur called out. His voice was far away, as if hed swallowed it before it exited his mouth. White sky. The others ran. Liesel arrived and started pulling at the fabric of his pants. Rudys eyes were opened wide with fear. Quick, he said, hes coming. Far off, they could still hear the sound of deserting feet when an extra hand grabbed the wire and reefed it away from Rudy Steiners pants. A piece was left on the metallic knot, but the boy was able to escape. Now move it, Arthur advised them, not long before the farmer arrived, swearing and struggling for breath. The ax held on now, with force, to his leg. He called out the futile words of the robbed: Ill have you arrested! Ill find you! Ill find out who you are! That was when Arthur Berg replied. The name is Owens! He loped away, catching up to Liesel and Rudy. Jesse Owens! When they made it to safe ground, fighting to suck the air into their lungs, they sat down and Arthur Berg came over. Rudy wouldnt look at him. Its happened to all of us, Arthur said, sensing the disappointment. Was he lying? They couldnt be sure and they would never find out. A few weeks later, Arthur Berg moved to Cologne. They saw him once more, on one of Liesels washing delivery rounds. In an alleyway off Munich Street, he handed Liesel a brown paper bag containing a dozen chestnuts. He smirked. A contact in the roasting industry. After informing them of his departure, he managed to proffer a last pimply smile and to cuff each of them on the forehead. Dont go eating all those things at once, either, and they never saw Arthur Berg again. As for me, I can tell you that I most definitely saw him.

A SMALL TRIBUTE TO ARTHUR BERG, A STILL-LIVING MAN The Cologne sky was yellow and rotting, flaking at the edges. He sat propped against a wall with a child in his arms. His sister. When she stopped breathing, he stayed with her, and I could sense he would hold her for hours. There were two stolen apples in his pocket.

This time, they played it smarter. They ate one chestnut each and sold the rest of them door to door. If you have a few pfennig to spare, Liesel said at each house, I have chestnuts. They ended up with sixteen coins. Now, Rudy grinned, revenge. That same afternoon, they returned to Frau Dillers, heil Hitlered, and waited. Mixed candy again? She schmunzeled, to which they nodded. The money splashed the counter and Frau Dillers smile fell slightly ajar. Yes, Frau Diller, they said in unison. Mixed candy, please. The framed Fhrer looked proud of them. Triumph before the storm. THE STRUGGLER, CONCLUDED

The juggling comes to an end now, but the struggling does not. I have Liesel Meminger in one hand, Max Vandenburg in the other. Soon, I will clap them together. Just give me a few pages. The struggler: If they killed him tonight, at least he would die alive. The train ride was far away now, the snorer most likely tucked up in the carriage shed made her bed, traveling on. Now there were only footsteps between Max and survival. Footsteps and thoughts, and doubts. He followed the map in his mind, from Pasing to Molching. It was late when he saw the town. His legs ached terribly, but he was nearly therethe most dangerous place to be. Close enough to touch it. Just as it was described, he found Munich Street and made his way along the footpath. Everything stiffened. Glowing pockets of streetlights. Dark, passive buildings. The town hall stood like a giant ham-fisted youth, too big for his age. The church disappeared in darkness the farther his eyes traveled upward. It all watched him. He shivered. He warned himself. Keep your eyes open. (German children were on the lookout for stray coins. German Jews kept watch for possible capture.) In keeping with the usage of number thirteen for luck, he counted his footsteps in groups of that number. Just thirteen footsteps, he would tell himself. Come on, just thirteen more. As an estimate, he completed ninety sets, till at last, he stood on the corner of Himmel Street. In one hand, he held his suitcase. The other was still holding Mein Kampf. Both were heavy, and both were handled with a gentle secretion of sweat. Now he turned on to the side street, making his way to number thirty-three, resisting the urge to smile, resisting the urge to sob or even imagine the safety that might be awaiting him. He reminded himself that this was no time for hope. Certainly, he could almost touch it. He could feel it, somewhere just out of reach. Instead of acknowledging it, he went about the business of deciding again what to do if he was caught at the last moment or if by some chance the wrong person awaited him inside. Of course, there was also the scratchy feeling of sin. How could he do this? How could he show up and ask people to risk their lives for him? How could he be so selfish? Thirty-three. They looked at each other. The house was pale, almost sick-looking, with an iron gate and a brown spit-stained door. From his pocket, he pulled out the key. It did not sparkle but lay dull and limp in his hand. For a moment, he squeezed it, half expecting it to come leaking toward his wrist. It didnt. The metal was hard and flat, with a healthy set of teeth, and he squeezed it till it pierced him. Slowly, then, the struggler leaned forward, his cheek against the wood, and he removed the key from his fist.