“The field at Hitler Youth just got fertilized.” He gave his shirt another halfhearted, disgusted appraisal. “It’s cow manure, I think.”
“Did what’s-his-name—Deutscher—know it was there?”
“He says he didn’t. But he was grinning.”
“Jesus, Mary, and—”
“Could you stop saying that?!”
What Rudy needed at this point in time was a victory. He had lost in his dealings with Viktor Chemmel. He’d endured problem after problem at the Hitler Youth. All he wanted was a small scrap of triumph, and he was determined to get it.
He continued home, but when he reached the concrete step, he changed his mind and came slowly, purposefully back to the girl.
Careful and quiet, he spoke. “You know what would cheer me up?”
Liesel cringed. “If you think I’m going to—in that state …”
He seemed disappointed in her. “No, not that.” He sighed and stepped closer. “Something else.” After a moment’s thought, he raised his head, just a touch. “Look at me. I’m filthy. I stink like cow shit, or dog shit, whatever your opinion, and as usual, I’m absolutely starving.” He paused. “I need a win, Liesel. Honestly.”
Liesel knew.
She’d have gone closer but for the smell of him.
Stealing.
They had to steal something.
No.
They had to steal something back. It didn’t matter what. It needed only to be soon.
“Just you and me this time,” Rudy suggested. “No Chemmels, no Schmeikls. Just you and me.”
The girl couldn’t help it.
Her hands itched, her pulse split, and her mouth smiled all at the same time. “Sounds good.”
“It’s agreed, then,” and although he tried not to, Rudy could not hide the fertilized grin that grew on his face. “Tomorrow?”
Liesel nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Their plan was perfect but for one thing:
They had no idea where to start.
Fruit was out. Rudy snubbed his nose at onions and potatoes, and they drew the line at another attempt on Otto Sturm and his bikeful of farm produce. Once was immoral. Twice was complete bastardry.
“So where the hell do we go?” Rudy asked.
“How should I know? This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t think a little, too. I can’t think of everything.”
“You can barely think of anything. …”
They argued on as they walked through town. On the outskirts, they witn
essed the first of the farms and the trees standing like emaciated statues. The branches were gray and when they looked up at them, there was nothing but ragged limbs and empty sky.