The Book Thief

short remark, statement,

or conversation.

Related words: term,

name, expression.

Out of respect, the adults kept everyone quiet, and Liesel finished chapter one of The Whistler.

On their way up the stairs, the children rushed by her, but many of the older people—even Frau Holtzapfel, even Pfiffikus (how appropriate, considering the title she read from)—thanked the girl for the distraction. They did so as they made their way past and hurried from the house to see if Himmel Street had sustained any damage.

Himmel Street was untouched.

The only sign of war was a cloud of dust migrating from east to west. It looked through the windows, trying to find a way inside, and as it simultaneously thickened and spread, it turned the trail of humans into apparitions.

There were no people on the street anymore.

They were rumors carrying bags.

At home, Papa told Max all about it. “There’s fog and ash—I think they let us out too early.” He looked to Rosa. “Should I go out? To see if they need help where the bombs dropped?”

Rosa was not impressed. “Don’t be so idiotic,” she said. “You’ll choke on the dust. No, no, Saukerl, you’re staying here.” A thought came to her. She looked at Hans very seriously now. In fact, her face was crayoned with pride. “Stay here and tell him about the girl.” Her voice loudened, just slightly. “About the book.”

Max gave her some added attention.

“The Whistler,” Rosa informed him. “Chapter one.” She explained exactly what had happened in the shelter.

As Liesel stood in a corner of the basement, Max watched her and rubbed a hand along his jaw. Personally, I think that was the moment he conceived the next body of work for his sketchbook.

The Word Shaker.

He imagined the girl reading in the shelter. He must have watched her literally handing out the words. However, as always, he must also have seen the shadow of Hitler. He could probably already hear his footsteps coming toward Himmel Street and the basement, for later.

After a lengthy pause, he looked ready to speak, but Liesel beat him to it.

“Did you see the sky tonight?”

“No.” Max looked at the wall and pointed. On it, they all watched the words and the picture he’d painted more than a year earlier—the rope and the dripping sun. “Only that one tonight,” and from there, no more was spoken. Nothing but thoughts.

Max, Hans, and Rosa I cannot account for, but I know that Liesel Meminger was thinking that if the bombs ever landed on Himmel Street, not only did Max have less chance of survival than everyone else, but he would die completely alone.

FRAU HOLTZAPFEL’S OFFER

In the morning, the damage was inspected. No one died, but two apartment blocks were reduced to pyramids of rubble, and Rudy’s favorite Hitler Youth field had an enormous bowl spooned out of it. Half the town stood around its circumference. People estimated its depth, to compare it with their shelt

ers. Several boys and girls spat into it.

Rudy was standing next to Liesel. “Looks like they need to fertilize again.”

When the next few weeks were raid-free, life almost returned to normal. Two telling moments, however, were on their way.

THE DUAL EVENTS

OF OCTOBER

The hands of Frau Holtzapfel.

The parade of Jews.