بخش 08-01

PART EIGHT

the wordshaker

featuring: dominoes and darknessthe thought of rudy nakedpunishmenta promise keepers wifea collectorthe bread eaters a candle in the treesa hidden sketchbook and the anarchists suit collection DOMINOES AND DARKNESS

In the words of Rudys youngest sisters, there were two monsters sitting in the kitchen. Their voices kneaded methodically at the door as three of the Steiner children played dominoes on the other side. The remaining three listened to the radio in the bedroom, oblivious. Rudy hoped this had nothing to do with what had happened at school the previous week. It was something he had refused to tell Liesel and did not talk about at home.

A GRAY AFTERNOON, A SMALL SCHOOL OFFICE Three boys stood in a line. Their records and bodies were thoroughly examined.

When the fourth game of dominoes was completed, Rudy began to stand them up in lines, creating patterns that wound their way across the living room floor. As was his habit, he also left a few gaps, in case the rogue finger of a sibling interfered, which it usually did. Can I knock them down, Rudy? No. What about me? No. We all will. He made three separate formations that led to the same tower of dominoes in the middle. Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would all smile at the beauty of destruction. The kitchen voices were becoming louder now, each heaping itself upon the other to be heard. Different sentences fought for attention until one person, previously silent, came between them. No, she said. It was repeated. No. Even when the rest of them resumed their arguments, they were silenced again by the same voice, but now it gained momentum. Please, Barbara Steiner begged them. Not my boy. Can we light a candle, Rudy? It was something their father had often done with them. He would turn out the light and theyd watch the dominoes fall in the candlelight. It somehow made the event grander, a greater spectacle. His legs were aching anyway. Let me find a match. The light switch was at the door. Quietly, he walked toward it with the matchbox in one hand, the candle in the other. From the other side, the three men and one woman climbed to the hinges. The best scores in the class, said one of the monsters. Such depth and dryness. Not to mention his athletic ability. Damn it, why did he have to win all those races at the carnival? Deutscher. Damn that Franz Deutscher! But then he understood. This was not Franz Deutschers fault, but his own. Hed wanted to show his past tormentor what he was capable of, but he also wanted to prove himself to everyone. Now everyone was in the kitchen. He lit the candle and switched off the light. Ready? But Ive heard what happens there. That was the unmistakable, oaky voice of his father. Come on, Rudy, hurry up. Yes, but understand, Herr Steiner, this is all for a greater purpose. Think of the opportunities your son can have. This is really a privilege. Rudy, the candles dripping. He waved them away, waiting again for Alex Steiner. He came. Privileges? Like running barefoot through the snow? Like jumping from ten-meter platforms into three feet of water? Rudys ear was pressed to the door now. Candle wax melted onto his hand. Rumors. The arid voice, low and matter-of-fact, had an answer for everything. Our school is one of the finest ever established. Its better than world-class. Were creating an elite group of German citizens in the name of the Fhrer. . . . Rudy could listen no longer. He scraped the candle wax from his hand and drew back from the splice of light that came through the crack in the door. When he sat down, the flame went out. Too much movement. Darkness flowed in. The only light available was a white rectangular stencil, the shape of the kitchen door. He struck another match and reignited the candle. The sweet smell of fire and carbon. Rudy and his sisters each tapped a different domino and they watched them fall until the tower in the middle was brought to its knees. The girls cheered. Kurt, his older brother, arrived in the room. They look like dead bodies, he said. What? Rudy peered up at the dark face, but Kurt did not answer. Hed noticed the arguing from the kitchen. Whats going on in there? It was one of the girls who answered. The youngest, Bettina. She was five. There are two monsters, she said. Theyve come for Rudy. Again, the human child. So much cannier. Later, when the coat men left, the two boys, one seventeen, the other fourteen, found the courage to face the kitchen. They stood in the doorway. The light punished their eyes. It was Kurt who spoke. Are they taking him? Their mothers forearms were flat on the table. Her palms were facing up. Alex Steiner raised his head. It was heavy. His expression was sharp and definite, freshly cut. A wooden hand wiped at the splinters of his fringe, and he made several attempts to speak. Papa? But Rudy did not walk toward his father. He sat at the kitchen table and took hold of his mothers facing-up hand. Alex and Barbara Steiner would not disclose what was said while the dominoes were falling like dead bodies in the living room. If only Rudy had kept listening at the door, just for another few minutes . . . He told himself in the weeks to comeor in fact, pleaded with himselfthat if hed heard the rest of the conversation that night, hed have entered the kitchen much earlier. Ill go, hed have said. Please, take me, Im ready now. If hed intervened, it might have changed everything.

THREE POSSIBILITIES

Alex Steiner wouldnt have suffered the same punishment as Hans Hubermann. Rudy would have gone away to school. And just maybe, he would have lived. The cruelty of fate, however, did not allow Rudy Steiner to enter the kitchen at the opportune moment. Hed returned to his sisters and the dominoes. He sat down. Rudy Steiner wasnt going anywhere. THE THOUGHT OF RUDY NAKED

There had been a woman. Standing in the corner. She had the thickest braid hed ever seen. It roped down her back, and occasionally, when she brought it over her shoulder, it lurked at her colossal breast like an overfed pet. In fact, everything about her was magnified. Her lips, her legs. Her paved teeth. She had a large, direct voice. No time to waste. Komm, she instructed them. Come. Stand here. The doctor, by comparison, was like a balding rodent. He was small and nimble, pacing the school office with his manic yet business-like movements and mannerisms. And he had a cold. Out of the three boys, it was difficult to decide which was the more reluctant to take off his clothes when ordered to do so. The first one looked from person to person, from the aging teacher to the gargantuan nurse to the pint-sized doctor. The one in the middle looked only at his feet, and the one on the far left counted his blessings that he was in the school office and not a dark alley. The nurse, Rudy decided, was a frightener. Whos first? she asked. It was the supervising teacher, Herr Heckenstaller, who answered. He was more a black suit than a man. His face was a mustache. Examining the boys, his choice came swiftly. Schwarz. The unfortunate Jrgen Schwarz undid his uniform with great discomfort. He was left standing only in his shoes and underwear. A luckless plea was marooned on his German face. And? Herr Heckenstaller asked. The shoes? He removed both shoes, both socks. Und die Unterhosen, said the nurse. And the underpants. Both Rudy and the other boy, Olaf Spiegel, had started undressing now as well, but they were nowhere near the perilous position of Jrgen Schwarz. The boy was shaking. He was a year younger than the other two, but taller. When his underpants came down, it was with abject humiliation that he stood in the small, cool office. His self-respect was around his ankles. The nurse watched him with intent, her arms folded across her devastating chest. Heckenstaller ordered the other two to get moving. The doctor scratched his scalp and coughed. His cold was killing him. The three naked boys were each examined on the cold flooring. They cupped their genitals in their hands and shivered like the future. Between the doctors coughing and wheezing, they were put through their paces. Breathe in. Sniffle. Breathe out. Second sniffle. Arms out now. A cough. I said arms out. A horrendous hail of coughing. As humans do, the boys looked constantly at each other for some sign of mutual sympathy. None was there. All three pried their hands from their penises and held out their arms. Rudy did not feel like he was part of a master race. We are gradually succeeding, the nurse was informing the teacher, in creating a new future. It will be a new class of physically and mentally advanced Germans. An officer class. Unfortunately, her sermon was cut short when the doctor creased in half and coughed with all his might over the abandoned clothes. Tears welled up in his eyes and Rudy couldnt help but wonder. A new future? Like him? Wisely, he did not speak it. The examination was completed and he managed to perform his first nude heil Hitler. In a perverse kind of way, he conceded that it didnt feel half bad. Stripped of their dignity, the boys were allowed to dress again, and as they were shown from the office, they could already hear the discussion held in their honor behind them. Theyre a little older than usual, the doctor said, but Im thinking at least two of them. The nurse agreed. The first and the third. Three boys stood outside. First and third. First was you, Schwarz, said Rudy. He then questioned Olaf Spiegel. Who was third? Spiegel made a few calculations. Did she mean third in line or third examined? It didnt matter. He knew what he wanted to believe. That was you, I think. Cow shit, Spiegel, it was you.

A SMALL GUARANTEE The coat men knew who was third.

The day after theyd visited Himmel Street, Rudy sat on his front step with Liesel and related the whole saga, even the smallest details. He gave up and admitted what had happened that day at school when he was taken out of class. There was even some laughter about the tremendous nurse and the look on Jrgen Schwarzs face. For the most part, though, it was a tale of anxiety, especially when it came to the voices in the kitchen and the dead-body dominoes. For days, Liesel could not shift one thought from her head. It was the examination of the three boys, or if she was honest, it was Rudy. She would lie in bed, missing Max, wondering where he was, praying that he was alive, but somewhere, standing among all of it, was Rudy. He glowed in the dark, completely naked. There was great dread in that vision, especially the moment when he was forced to remove his hands. It was disconcerting to say the least, but for some reason, she couldnt stop thinking about it. PUNISHMENT

On the ration cards of Nazi Germany, there was no listing for punishment, but everyone had to take their turn. For some it was death in a foreign country during the war. For others it was poverty and guilt when the war was over, when six million discoveries were made throughout Europe. Many people must have seen their punishments coming, but only a small percentage welcomed it. One such person was Hans Hubermann. You do not help Jews on the street. Your basement should not be hiding one. At first, his punishment was conscience. His oblivious unearthing of Max Vandenburg plagued him. Liesel could see it sitting next to his plate as he ignored his dinner, or standing with him at the bridge over the Amper. He no longer played the accordion. His silver-eyed optimism was wounded and motionless. That was bad enough, but it was only the beginning. One Wednesday in early November, his true punishment arrived in the mailbox. On the surface, it appeared to be good news.

PAPER IN THE KITCHEN We are delighted to inform you that your application to join the NSDAP has been approved. . . .

The Nazi Party? Rosa asked. I thought they didnt want you. They didnt. Papa sat down and read the letter again. He was not being put on trial for treason or for helping Jews or anything of the sort. Hans Hubermann was being rewarded, at least as far as some people were concerned. How could this be possible? There has to be more. There was. On Friday, a statement arrived to say that Hans Hubermann was to be drafted into the German army. A member of the party would be happy to play a role in the war effort, it concluded. If he wasnt, there would certainly be consequences. Liesel had just returned from reading with Frau Holtzapfel. The kitchen was heavy with soup steam and the vacant faces of Hans and Rosa Hubermann. Papa was seated. Mama stood above him as the soup started to burn. God, please dont send me to Russia, Papa said. Mama, the soups burning. What? Liesel hurried across and took it from the stove. The soup. When shed successfully rescued it, she turned and viewed her foster parents. Faces like ghost towns. Papa, whats wrong? He handed her the letter and her hands began to shake as she made her way through it. The words had been punched forcefully into the paper.

THE CONTENTS OF LIESEL MEMINGERS IMAGINATION In the shell-shocked kitchen, somewhere near the stove, theres an image of a lonely, overworked typewriter. It sits in a distant, near-empty room. Its keys are faded and a blank sheet waits patiently upright in the assumed position. It wavers slightly in the breeze from the window. Coffee break is nearly over. A pile of paper the height of a human stands casually by the door. It could easily be smoking.

In truth, Liesel only saw the typewriter later, when she wrote. She wondered how many letters like that were sent out as punishment to Germanys Hans Hubermanns and Alex Steinersto those who helped the helpless, and those who refused to let go of their children. It was a sign of the German armys growing desperation. They were losing in Russia. Their cities were being bombed. More people were needed, as were ways of attaining them, and in most cases, the worst possible jobs would be given to the worst possible people. As her eyes scanned the paper, Liesel could see through the punched letter holes to the wooden table. Words like compulsory and duty were beaten into the page. Saliva was triggered. It was the urge to vomit. What is this? Papas answer was quiet. I thought I taught you to read, my girl. He did not speak with anger or sarcasm. It was a voice of vacancy, to match his face. Liesel looked now to Mama. Rosa had a small rip beneath her right eye, and within the minute, her cardboard face was broken. Not down the center, but to the right. It gnarled down her cheek in an arc, finishing at her chin.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER: A GIRL ON HIMMEL STREET She looks up. She speaks in a whisper. The sky is soft today, Max. The clouds are so soft and sad, and . . . She looks away and crosses her arms. She thinks of her papa going to war and grabs her jacket at each side of her body. And its cold, Max. Its so cold. . . .

Five days later, when she continued her habit of looking at the weather, she did not get a chance to see the sky. Next door, Barbara Steiner was sitting on the front step with her neatly combed hair. She was smoking a cigarette and shivering. On her way over, Liesel was interrupted by the sight of Kurt. He came out and sat with his mother. When he saw the girl stop, he called out. Come on, Liesel. Rudy will be out soon. After a short pause, she continued walking toward the step. Barbara smoked. A wrinkle of ash was teetering at the end of the cigarette. Kurt took it, ashed it, inhaled, then gave it back. When the cigarette was done, Rudys mother looked up. She ran a hand through her tidy lines of hair. Our papas going, too, Kurt said. Quietness then. A group of kids was kicking a ball, up near Frau Dillers. When they come and ask you for one of your children, Barbara Steiner explained, to no one in particular, youre supposed to say yes. THE PROMISE KEEPERS WIFE

THE BASEMENT, 9 A.M. Six hours till goodbye: I played an accordion, Liesel. Someone elses. He closes his eyes: It brought the house down.

Not counting the glass of champagne the previous summer, Hans Hubermann had not consumed a drop of alcohol for a decade. Then came the night before he left for training. He made his way to the Knoller with Alex Steiner in the afternoon and stayed well into the evening. Ignoring the warnings of their wives, both men drank themselves into oblivion. It didnt help that the Knollers owner, Dieter Westheimer, gave them free drinks. Apparently, while he was still sober, Hans was invited to the stage to play the accordion. Appropriately, he played the infamous Gloomy Sundaythe anthem of suicide from Hungaryand although he aroused all the sadness for which the song was renowned, he brought the house down. Liesel imagined the scene of it, and the sound. Mouths were full. Empty beer glasses were streaked with foam. The bellows sighed and the song was over. People clapped. Their beer-filled mouths cheered him back to the bar. When they managed to find their way home, Hans couldnt get his key to fit the door. So he knocked. Repeatedly. Rosa! It was the wrong door. Frau Holtzapfel was not thrilled. Schwein! Youre at the wrong house. She rammed the words through the keyhole. Next door, you stupid Sankerl. Thanks, Frau Holtzapfel. You know what you can do with your thanks, you asshole. Excuse me? Just go home. Thanks, Frau Holtzapfel. Didnt I just tell you what you can do with your thanks? Did you? (Its amazing what you can piece together from a basement conversation and a reading session in a nasty old womans kitchen.) Just get lost, will you! When at long last he came home, Papa made his way not to bed, but to Liesels room. He stood drunkenly in the doorway and watched her sleep. She awoke and thought immediately that it was Max. Is it you? she asked. No, he said. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Its Papa. He backed out of the room and she heard his footsteps making their way down to the basement. In the living room, Rosa was snoring with enthusiasm. Close to nine oclock the next morning, in the kitchen, Liesel was given an order by Rosa. Hand me that bucket there. She filled it with cold water and walked with it down to the basement. Liesel followed, in a vain attempt to stop her. Mama, you cant! Cant I? She faced her briefly on the steps. Did I miss something, Saumensch? Do you give the orders around here now? Both of them were completely still. No answer from the girl. I thought not. They continued on and found him on his back, among a bed of drop sheets. He felt he didnt deserve Maxs mattress. Now, lets seeRosa lifted the bucketif hes alive. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! The watermark was oval-shaped, from halfway up his chest to his head. His hair was plastered to one side and even his eyelashes dripped. What was that for? You old drunk! Jesus . . . Steam was rising weirdly from his clothes. His hangover was visible. It heaved itself to his shoulders and sat there like a bag of wet cement. Rosa swapped the bucket from left hand to right. Its lucky youre going to the war, she said. She held her finger in the air and wasnt afraid to wave it. Otherwise Id kill you myself, you know that, dont you? Papa wiped a stream of water from his throat. Did you have to do that? Yes. I did. She started up the steps. If youre not up there in five minutes, you get another bucketful. Left in the basement with Papa, Liesel busied herself by mopping up the excess water with some drop sheets. Papa spoke. With his wet hand, he made the girl stop. He held her forearm. Liesel? His face clung to her. Do you think hes alive? Liesel sat. She crossed her legs. The wet drop sheet soaked onto her knee. I hope so, Papa. It felt like such a stupid thing to say, so obvious, but there seemed little alternative. To say at least something of value, and to distract them from thoughts of Max, she made herself crouch and placed a finger in a small pool of water on the floor. Guten Morgen, Papa. In response, Hans winked at her. But it was not the usual wink. It was heavier, clumsier. The post-Max version, the hangover version. He sat up and told her about the accordion of the previous night, and Frau Holtzapfel.

THE KITCHEN: 1 P.M. Two hours till goodbye: Dont go, Papa. Please. Her spoon-holding hand is shaking. First we lost Max. I cant lose you now, too. In response, the hungover man digs his elbow into the table and covers his right eye. Youre half a woman now, Liesel. He wants to break down but wards it off. He rides through it. Look after Mama, will you? The girl can make only half a nod to agree. Yes, Papa.

He left Himmel Street wearing his hangover and a suit. Alex Steiner was not leaving for another four days. He came over an hour before they left for the station and wished Hans all the best. The whole Steiner family had come. They all shook his hand. Barbara embraced him, kissing both cheeks. Come back alive. Yes, Barbara, and the way hed said it was full of confidence. Of course I will. He even managed to laugh. Its just a war, you know. Ive survived one before. When they walked up Himmel Street, the wiry woman from next door came out and stood on the pavement. Goodbye, Frau Holtzapfel. My apologies for last night. Goodbye, Hans, you drunken Saukerl, but she offered him a note of friendship, too. Come home soon. Yes, Frau Holtzapfel. Thank you. She even played along a little. You know what you can do with your thanks. At the corner, Frau Diller watched defensively from her shop window and Liesel took Papas hand. She held it all the way along Munich Street, to the Bahnhof. The train was already there. They stood on the platform. Rosa embraced him first. No words. Her head was buried tightly into his chest, then gone. Then the girl. Papa? Nothing. Dont go, Papa. Just dont go. Let them come for you if you stay. But dont go, please dont go. Papa?

THE TRAIN STATION, 3 P.M. No hours, no minutes till goodbye: He holds her. To say something, to say anything , he speaks over her shoulder. Could you look after my accordion, Liesel? I decided not to take it. Now he finds something he truly means. And if there are more raids, keep reading in the shelter. The girl feels the continued sign of her slightly growing chest. It hurts as it touches the bottom of his ribs. Yes, Papa. A millimeter from her eyes, she stares at the fabric of his suit. She speaks into him. Will you play us something when you come home?

Hans Hubermann smiled at his daughter then and the train was ready to leave. He reached out and gently held her face in his hand. I promise, he said, and he made his way into the carriage. They watched each other as the train pulled away. Liesel and Rosa waved. Hans Hubermann grew smaller and smaller, and his hand held nothing now but empty air. On the platform, people disappeared around them until no one else was left. There was only the wardrobe-shaped woman and the thirteen-year-old girl. For the next few weeks, while Hans Hubermann and Alex Steiner were at their various fast-tracked training camps, Himmel Street was swollen. Rudy was not the samehe didnt talk. Mama was not the sameshe didnt berate. Liesel, too, was feeling the effects. There was no desire to steal a book, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it would cheer her up. After twelve days of Alex Steiners absence, Rudy decided hed had enough. He hurried through the gate and knocked on Liesels door. Kommst? Ja. She didnt care where he was going or what he was planning, but he would not be going without her. They walked up Himmel, along Munich Street and out of Molching altogether. It was after approximately an hour that Liesel asked the vital question. Up till then, shed only glanced over at Rudys determined face, or examined his stiff arms and the fisted hands in his pockets. Where are we going? Isnt it obvious? She struggled to keep up. Well, to tell you the truthnot really. Im going to find him. Your papa? Yes. He thought about it. Actually, no. I think Ill find the Fhrer instead. Faster footsteps. Why? Rudy stopped. Because I want to kill him. He even turned on the spot, to the rest of the world. Did you hear that, you bastards? he shouted. I want to kill the Fhrer! They resumed walking and made it another few miles or so. That was when Liesel felt the urge to turn around. Itll be dark soon, Rudy. He walked on. So what? Im going back. Rudy stopped and watched her now as if she were betraying him. Thats right, book thief. Leave me now. I bet if there was a lousy book at the end of this road, youd keep walking. Wouldnt you? For a while, neither of them spoke, but Liesel soon found the will. You think youre the only one, Saukerl? She turned away. And you only lost your father. . . . What does that mean? Liesel took a moment to count. Her mother. Her brother. Max Vandenburg. Hans Hubermann. All of them gone. And shed never even had a real father. It means, she said, Im going home. For fifteen minutes she walked alone, and even when Rudy arrived at her side with jogging breath and sweaty cheeks, not another word was said for more than an hour. They only walked home together with aching feet and tired hearts. There was a chapter called Tired Hearts in A Song in the Dark. A romantic girl had promised herself to a young man, but it appeared that he had run away with her best friend. Liesel was sure it was chapter thirteen. My heart is so tired, the girl had said. She was sitting in a chapel, writing in her diary. No, thought Liesel as she walked. Its my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldnt feel like this. When they reached the perimeter of Molching, Liesel threw some words across. She could see Hubert Oval. Remember when we raced there, Rudy? Of course. I was just thinking about that myselfhow we both fell. You said you were covered in shit. It was only mud. He couldnt hold his amusement now. I was covered in shit at Hitler Youth. Youre getting mixed up, Saumensch. Im not mixed up at all. Im only telling you what you said. What someone says and what happened are usually two different things, Rudy, especially when it comes to you. This was better. When they walked down Munich Street again, Rudy stopped and looked into the window of his fathers shop. Before Alex left, he and Barbara had discussed whether she should keep it running in his absence. They decided against it, considering that work had been slow lately anyway, and there was at least a partial threat of party members making their presence felt. Business was never good for agitators. The army pay would have to do. Suits hung from the rails and the mannequins held their ridiculous poses. I think that one likes you, Liesel said after a while. It was her way of telling him it was time to keep going. On Himmel Street, Rosa Hubermann and Barbara Steiner stood together on the footpath. Oh, Maria, Liesel said. Do they look worried? They look mad. There were many questions when they arrived, mainly of the Just where in the hell have you two been? nature, but the anger quickly gave way to relief. It was Barbara who pursued the answers. Well, Rudy? Liesel answered for him. He was killing the Fhrer, she said, and Rudy looked genuinely happy for a long enough moment to please her. Bye, Liesel. Several hours later, there was a noise in the living room. It stretched toward Liesel in bed. She awoke and remained still, thinking ghosts and Papa and intruders and Max. There was the sound of opening and dragging, and then the fuzzy silence who followed. The silence was always the greatest temptation. Dont move. She thought that thought many times, but she didnt think it enough. Her feet scolded the floor. Air breathed up her pajama sleeves. She walked through the corridor darkness in the direction of silence that had once been noisy, toward the thread of moonlight standing in the living room. She stopped, feeling the bareness of her ankles and toes. She watched. It took longer than she expected for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, there was no denying the fact that Rosa Hubermann was sitting on the edge of the bed with her husbands accordion tied to her chest. Her fingers hovered above the keys. She did not move. She didnt even appear to be breathing. The sight of it propelled itself to the girl in the hallway.

A PAINTED IMAGE Rosa with Accordion. Moonlight on Dark. 51 Instrument Silence.

Liesel stayed and watched. Many minutes dripped past. The book thiefs desire to hear a note was exhausting, and still, it would not come. The keys were not struck. The bellows didnt breathe. There was only the moonlight, like a long strand of hair in the curtain, and there was Rosa. The accordion remained strapped to her chest. When she bowed her head, it sank to her lap. Liesel watched. She knew that for the next few days, Mama would be walking around with the imprint of an accordion on her body. There was also an acknowledgment that there was great beauty in what she was currently witnessing, and she chose not to disturb it. She returned to bed and fell asleep to the vision of Mama and the silent music. Later, when she woke up from her usual dream and crept again to the hallway, Rosa was still there, as was the accordion. Like an anchor, it pulled her forward. Her body was sinking. She appeared dead. She cant possibly be breathing in that position, Liesel thought, but when she made her way closer, she could hear it. Mama was snoring again. Who needs bellows, she thought, when youve got a pair of lungs like that? Eventually, when Liesel returned to bed, the image of Rosa Hubermann and the accordion would not leave her. The book thief s eyes remained open. She waited for the suffocation of sleep. THE COLLECTOR

Neither Hans Hubermann nor Alex Steiner was sent to fight. Alex was sent to Austria, to an army hospital outside Vienna. Given his expertise in tailoring, he was given a job that at least resembled his profession. Cartloads of uniforms and socks and shirts would come in every week and he would mend what needed mending, even if they could only be used as underclothes for the suffering soldiers in Russia. Hans was sent first, quite ironically, to Stuttgart, and later, to Essen. He was given one of the most undesirable positions on the home front. The LSE.

A NECESSARY EXPLANATION LSE Luftwa fe Sondereinheit Air Raid Special Unit

The job of the LSE was to remain aboveground during air raids and put out fires, prop up the walls of buildings, and rescue anyone who had been trapped during the raid. As Hans soon discovered, there was also an alternative definition for the acronym. The men in the unit would explain to him on his first day that it really stood for Leichensammler EinheitDead Body Collectors. When he arrived, Hans could only guess what those men had done to deserve such a task, and in turn, they wondered the same of him. Their leader, Sergeant Boris Schipper, asked him straight out. When Hans explained the bread, the Jews, and the whip, the round-faced sergeant gave out a short spurt of laughter. Youre lucky to be alive. His eyes were also round and he was constantly wiping them. They were either tired or itchy or full of smoke and dust. Just remember that the enemy here is not in front of you. Hans was about to ask the obvious question when a voice arrived from behind. Attached to it was the slender face of a young man with a smile like a sneer. Reinhold Zucker. With us, he said, the enemy isnt over the hill or in any specific direction. Its all around. He returned his focus to the letter he was writing. Youll see. In the messy space of a few months, Reinhold Zucker would be dead. He would be killed by Hans Hubermanns seat. As the war flew into Germany with more intensity, Hans would learn that every one of his shifts started in the same fashion. The men would gather at the truck to be briefed on what had been hit during their break, what was most likely to be hit next, and who was working with whom. Even when no raids were in operation, there would still be a great deal of work to be done. They would drive through broken towns, cleaning up. In the truck, there were twelve slouched men, all rising and falling with the various inconsistencies in the road. From the beginning, it was clear that they all owned a seat. Reinhold Zuckers was in the middle of the left row. Hans Hubermanns was at the very back, where the daylight stretched itself out. He learned quickly to be on the lookout for any rubbish that might be thrown from anywhere in the trucks interior. Hans reserved a special respect for cigarette butts, still burning as they whistled by.

A COMPLETE LETTER HOME To my dear Rosa and Liesel, Everything is fine here. I hope you are both well. With love, Papa

In late November, he had his first smoky taste of an actual raid. The truck was mobbed by rubble and there was much running and shouting. Fires were burning and the ruined cases of buildings were piled up in mounds. Framework leaned. The smoke bombs stood like matchsticks in the ground, filling the citys lungs. Hans Hubermann was in a group of four. They formed a line. Sergeant Boris Schipper was at the front, his arms disappearing into the smoke. Behind him was Kessler, then Brunnenweg, then Hubermann. As the sergeant hosed the fire, the other two men hosed the sergeant, and just to make sure, Hubermann hosed all three of them. Behind him, a building groaned and tripped. It fell face-first, stopping a few meters from his heels. The concrete smelled brand-new, and the wall of powder rushed at them. Gottverdammt, Hubermann! The voice struggled out of the flames. It was followed immediately by three men. Their throats were filled with particles of ash. Even when they made it around the corner, away from the center of the wreckage, the haze of the collapsed building attempted to follow. It was white and warm, and it crept behind them. Slumped in temporary safety, there was much coughing and swearing. The sergeant repeated his earlier sentiments. Goddamn it, Hubermann. He scraped at his lips to loosen them. What the hell was that? It just collapsed, right behind us. That much I know already. The question is, how big was it? It must have been ten stories high. No, sir, just two, I think. Jesus. A coughing fit. Mary and Joseph. Now he yanked at the paste of sweat and powder in his eye sockets. Not much you could do about that. One of the other men wiped his face and said, Just once I want to be there when they hit a pub, for Christs sake. Im dying for a beer. Each man leaned back. They could all taste it, putting out the fires in their throats and softening the smoke. It was a nice dream, and an impossible one. They were all aware that any beer that flowed in these streets would not be beer at all, but a kind of milk shake or porridge. All four men were plastered with the gray-and-white conglomeration of dust. When they stood up fully, to resume work, only small cracks of their uniform could be seen. The sergeant walked to Brunnenweg. He brushed heavily at his chest. Several smacks. Thats better. You had some dust on there, my friend. As Brunnenweg laughed, the sergeant turned to his newest recruit. You first this time, Hubermann. They put the fires out for several hours, and they found anything they could to convince a building to remain standing. In some cases, where the sides were damaged, the remaining edges poked out like elbows. This was Hans Hubermanns strong point. He almost came to enjoy finding a smoldering rafter or disheveled slab of concrete to prop those elbows up, to give them something to rest on. His hands were packed tightly with splinters, and his teeth were caked with residue from the fallout. Both lips were set with moist dust that had hardened, and there wasnt a pocket, a thread, or a hidden crease in his uniform that wasnt covered in a film left by the loaded air. The worst part of the job was the people. Once in a while there was a person roaming doggedly through the fog, mostly single-worded. They always shouted a name. Sometimes it was Wolfgang. Have you seen my Wolfgang? Their handprints would remain on his jacket. Stephanie! Hansi! Gustel! Gustel Stoboi! As the density subsided, the roll call of names limped through the ruptured streets, sometimes ending with an ash-filled embrace or a knelt-down howl of grief. They accumulated, hour by hour, like sweet and sour dreams, waiting to happen. The dangers merged into one. Powder and smoke and the gusty flames. The damaged people. Like the rest of the men in the unit, Hans would need to perfect the art of forgetting. How are you, Hubermann? the sergeant asked at one point. Fire was at his shoulder. Hans nodded, uneasily, at the pair of them. Midway through the shift, there was an old man who staggered defenselessly through the streets. As Hans finished stabilizing a building, he turned to find him at his back, waiting calmly for his turn. A blood-stain was signed across his face. It trailed off down his throat and neck. He was wearing a white shirt with a dark red collar and he held his leg as if it was next to him. Could you prop me up now, young man? Hans picked him up and carried him out of the haze.

A SMALL, SAD NOTE I visited that small city street with the man still in Hans Hubermanns arms. The sky was white-horse gray.

It wasnt until he placed him down on a patch of concrete-coated grass that Hans noticed. What is it? one of the other men asked. Hans could only point. Oh. A hand pulled him away. Get used to it, Hubermann. For the rest of the shift, he threw himself into duty. He tried to ignore the distant echoes of calling people. After perhaps two hours, he rushed from a building with the sergeant and two other men. He didnt watch the ground and tripped. Only when he returned to his haunches and saw the others looking in distress at the obstacle did he realize. The corpse was facedown. It lay in a blanket of powder and dust, and it was holding its ears. It was a boy. Perhaps eleven or twelve years old. Not far away, as they progressed along the street, they found a woman calling the name Rudolf. She was drawn to the four men and met them in the mist. Her body was frail and bent with worry. Have you seen my boy? How old is he? the sergeant asked. Twelve. Oh, Christ. Oh, crucified Christ. They all thought it, but the sergeant could not bring himself to tell her or point the way. As the woman tried to push past, Boris Schipper held her back. Weve just come from that street, he assured her. You wont find him down there. The bent woman still clung to hope. She called over her shoulder as she half walked, half ran. Rudy! Hans Hubermann thought of another Rudy then. The Himmel Street variety. Please, he asked into a sky he couldnt see, let Rudy be safe. His thoughts naturally progressed to Liesel and Rosa and the Steiners, and Max. When they made it to the rest of the men, he dropped down and lay on his back. How was it down there? someone asked. Papas lungs were full of sky. A few hours later, when hed washed and eaten and thrown up, he attempted to write a detailed letter home. His hands were uncontrollable, forcing him to make it short. If he could bring himself, the remainder would be told verbally, when and if he made it home. To my dear Rosa and Liesel, he began. It took many minutes to write those six words down. THE BREAD EATERS

It had been a long and eventful year in Molching, and it was finally drawing to a close. Liesel spent the last few months of 1942 consumed by thoughts of what she called three desperate men. She wondered where they were and what they were doing. One afternoon, she lifted the accordion from its case and polished it with a rag. Only once, just before she put it away, did she take the step that Mama could not. She placed her finger on one of the keys and softly pumped the bellows. Rosa had been right. It only made the room feel emptier. Whenever she met Rudy, she asked if there had been any word from his father. Sometimes he described to her in detail one of Alex Steiners letters. By comparison, the one letter her own papa had sent was somewhat of a disappointment. Max, of course, was entirely up to her imagination. It was with great optimism that she envisioned him walking alone on a deserted road. Once in a while she imagined him falling into a doorway of safety somewhere, his identity card enough to fool the right person. The three men would turn up everywhere. She saw her papa in the window at school. Max often sat with her by the fire. Alex Steiner arrived when she was with Rudy, staring back at them after theyd slammed the bikes down on Munich Street and looked into the shop. Look at those suits, Rudy would say to her, his head and hands against the glass. All going to waste. Strangely, one of Liesels favorite distractions was Frau Holtzapfel. The reading sessions included Wednesday now as well, and theyd finished the water-abridged version of The Whistler and were on to The Dream Carrier. The old woman sometimes made tea or gave Liesel some soup that was infinitely better than Mamas. Less watery. Between October and December, there had been one more parade of Jews, with one to follow. As on the previous occasion, Liesel had rushed to Munich Street, this time to see if Max Vandenburg was among them. She was torn between the obvious urge to see himto know that he was still aliveand an absence that could mean any number of things, one of which being freedom. In mid-December, a small collection of Jews and other miscreants was brought down Munich Street again, to Dachau. Parade number three. Rudy walked purposefully down Himmel Street and returned from number thirty-five with a small bag and two bikes. You game, Saumensch?

THE CONTENTS OF RUDYS BAG Six stale pieces of bread, broken into quarters.

They pedaled ahead of the parade, toward Dachau, and stopped at an empty piece of road. Rudy passed Liesel the bag. Take a handful. Im not sure this is a good idea. He slapped some bread onto her palm. Your papa did. How could she argue? It was worth a whipping. If were fast, we wont get caught. He started distributing the bread. So move it, Saumensch. Liesel couldnt help herself. There was the trace of a grin on her face as she and Rudy Steiner, her best friend, handed out the pieces of bread on the road. When they were finished, they took their bikes and hid among the Christmas trees. The road was cold and straight. It wasnt long till the soldiers came with the Jews. In the tree shadows, Liesel watched the boy. How things had changed, from fruit stealer to bread giver. His blond hair, although darkening, was like a candle. She heard his stomach growland he was giving people bread. Was this Germany? Was this Nazi Germany? The first soldier did not see the breadhe was not hungrybut the first Jew saw it. His ragged hand reached down and picked a piece up and shoved it deliriously to his mouth. Is that Max? Liesel thought. She could not see properly and moved to get a better view. Hey! Rudy was livid. Dont move. If they find us here and match us to the bread, were history. Liesel continued. More Jews were bending down and taking bread from the road, and from the edge of the trees, the book thief examined each and every one of them. Max Vandenburg was not there. Relief was short-lived. It stirred itself around her just as one of the soldiers noticed a prisoner drop a hand to the ground. Everyone was ordered to stop. The road was closely examined. The prisoners chewed as fast and silently as they could. Collectively, they gulped. The soldier picked up a few pieces and studied each side of the road. The prisoners also looked. In there! One of the soldiers was striding over, to the girl by the closest trees. Next he saw the boy. Both began to run. They chose different directions, under the rafters of branches and the tall ceiling of the trees. Dont stop running, Liesel! What about the bikes? Scheiss drauf! Shit on them, who cares! They ran, and after a hundred meters, the hunched breath of the soldier drew closer. It sidled up next to her and she waited for the accompanying hand. She was lucky. All she received was a boot up the ass and a fistful of words. Keep running, little girl, you dont belong here! She ran and she did not stop for at least another mile. Branches sliced her arms, pinecones rolled at her feet, and the taste of Christmas needles chimed inside her lungs. A good forty-five minutes had passed by the time she made it back, and Rudy was sitting by the rusty bikes. Hed collected what was left of the bread and was chewing on a stale, stiff portion. I told you not to get too close, he said. She showed him her backside. Have I got a footprint? THE HIDDEN SKETCHBOOK

A few days before Christmas, there was another raid, although nothing dropped on the town of Molching. According to the radio news, most of the bombs fell in open country. What was most important was the reaction in the Fiedlers shelter. Once the last few patrons had arrived, everyone settled down solemnly and waited. They looked at her, expectantly. Papas voice arrived, loud in her ears. And if there are more raids, keep reading in the shelter. Liesel waited. She needed to be sure that they wanted it. Rudy spoke for everyone. Read, Saumensch. She opened the book, and again, the words found their way upon all those present in the shelter. At home, once the sirens had given permission for everyone to return aboveground, Liesel sat in the kitchen with her mama. A preoccupation was at the forefront of Rosa Hubermanns expression, and it was not long until she picked up a knife and left the room. Come with me. She walked to the living room and took the sheet from the edge of her mattress. In the side, there was a sewn-up slit. If you didnt know beforehand that it was there, there was almost no chance of finding it. Rosa cut it carefully open and inserted her hand, reaching in the length of her entire arm. When it came back out, she was holding Max Vandenburgs sketchbook. He said to give this to you when you were ready, she said. I was thinking your birthday. Then I brought it back to Christmas. Rosa Hubermann stood and there was a strange look on her face. It was not made up of pride. Perhaps it was the thickness, the heaviness of recollection. She said, I think youve always been ready, Liesel. From the moment you arrived here, clinging to that gate, you were meant to have this. Rosa gave her the book. The cover looked like this:

THE WORD SHAKER A Small Collection of Thoughts for Liesel Meminger

Liesel held it with soft hands. She stared. Thanks, Mama. She embraced her. There was also a great longing to tell Rosa Hubermann that she loved her. Its a shame she didnt say it.