“Anything else? Any milk?”
“What?”
“Milk,” he repeated, a little louder this time. If he’d recognized the offended tone in Liesel’s voice, he certainly wasn’t showing it.
The book thief’s face appeared above him again. “Are you stupid? Can I just steal the book?”
“Of course. All I’m saying is …”
Liesel moved toward the far shelf, behind the desk. She found some paper and a pen in the top drawer and wrote Thank you, leaving the note on top.
To her right, a book protruded like a bone. Its paleness was almost scarred by the dark lettering of the title. Die Letzte Menschliche Fremde—The Last Human Stranger. It whispered softly as she removed it from the shelf. Some dust showered down.
At the window, just as she was about to make her way out, the library door creaked apart.
Her knee was up and her book-stealing hand was poised against the window frame. When she faced the noise, she found the mayor’s wife in a brand-new bathrobe and slippers. On the breast pocket of the robe sat an embroidered swastika. Propaganda even reached the bathroom.
They watched each other.
Liesel looked at Ilsa Hermann’s breast and raised her arm. “Heil Hitler.”
She was just about to leave when a realization struck her.
The cookies.
They’d been there for weeks.
That meant that if the mayor himself used the library, he must have seen them. He must have asked why they were there. Or—and as soon as Liesel felt this thought, it filled her with a strange optimism—perhaps it wasn’t the mayor’s library at all; it was hers. Ilsa Hermann’s.
She didn’t know why it was so important, but she enjoyed the fact that the roomful of books belonged to the woman. It was she who introduced her to the library in the first place and gave her the initial, even literal, window of opportunity. This way was better. It all seemed to fit.
Just as she began to move again, she propped everything and asked, “This is your room, isn’t it?”
The mayor’s wife tightened. “I used to read in here, with my son. But then …”
Liesel’s hand touched the air behind her. She saw a mother reading on the floor with a young boy pointing at the pictures and the words. Then she saw a war at the window. “I know.”
An exclamation entered from outside.
“What did you say?!”
Liesel spoke in a harsh whisper, behind her. “Keep quiet, Saukerl, and watch the street.” To Ilsa Hermann, she handed the words slowly across. “So all these books …”
“They’re mostly mine. Some are my husband’s, some were my son’s, as you know.”
There was embarrassment now on Liesel’s behalf. Her cheeks were set alight. “I always thought this was the mayor’s room.”
“Why?” The woman seemed amused.
Liesel noticed that there were also swastikas on the toes of her slippers. “He’s the mayor. I thought he’d read a lot.”
The mayor’s wife placed her hands in her side pockets. “Lately, it’s you who gets the most use out of this room.”
“Have you read this one?” Liesel held up The Last Human Stranger.
Ilsa looked more closely at the title. “I have, yes.”
“Any good?”