The Book Thief

Does he know? Liesel thought. Can he smell we’re hiding a Jew?

Papa came from the sink with a wet cloth and soaked it onto Liesel’s knee. “Does it sting?” His silver eyes were caring and calm. The scare in them could easily be mistaken as concern for the injury.

Rosa called across the kitchen, “It can’t sting enough. Maybe it will teach her a lesson.”

The party man stood and laughed. “I don’t think this girl is learning any lessons out there, Frau …?”

“Hubermann.” The cardboard contorted.

“… Frau Hubermann—I think she teaches lessons.” He handed Liesel a smile. “To all those boys. Am I right, young girl?”

Papa shoved the cloth into the graze and Liesel winced rather than answered. It was Hans who spoke. A quiet “sorry,” to the girl.

There was the discomfort of silence then, and the party man remembered his purpose. “If you don’t mind,” he explained, “I need to inspect your basement, just for a minute or two, to see if it’s suitable for a shelter.”

Papa gave Liesel’s knee a final dab. “You’ll have a nice bruise there, too, Liesel.” Casually, he acknowledged the man above them. “Certainly. First door on the right. Please excuse the mess.”

“I wouldn’t worry—it can’t be worse than some of the others I’ve seen today …. This one?”

“That’s it.”

THE LONGEST THREE MINUTES

IN HUBERMANN HISTORY

Papa sat at the table. Rosa prayed in the corner,

mouthing the words. Liesel was cooked: her knee,

her chest, the muscles in her arms. I doubt any

of them had the audacity to consider what they’d

do if the basement was appointed as a shelter.

They had to survive the inspection first.

They listened to Nazi footsteps in the basement. There was the sound of measuring tape. Liesel could not ward off the thought of Max sitting beneath the steps, huddled around his sketchbook, hugging it to his chest.

Papa stood. Another idea.

He walked to the hall and called out, “Everything good down there?”

The a

nswer ascended the steps, on top of Max Vandenburg. “Another minute, perhaps!”

“Would you like some coffee, some tea?”

“No thank you!”

When Papa returned, he ordered Liesel to fetch a book and for Rosa to start cooking. He decided the last thing they should do was sit around looking worried. “Well, come on,” he said loudly, “move it, Liesel. I don’t care if your knee hurts. You have to finish that book, like you said.”

Liesel tried not to break. “Yes, Papa.”

“What are you waiting for?” It took great effort to wink at her, she could tell.

In the corridor, she nearly collided with the party man.