Authors: Markus Zusak
Tags: #Fiction, #death, #Storytelling, #General, #Europe, #Historical, #Juvenile Fiction, #Holocaust, #Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), #Religious, #Books and reading, #Historical - Holocaust, #Social Issues, #Jewish, #Books & Libraries, #Military & Wars, #Books and reading/ Fiction, #Storytelling/ Fiction, #Historical Fiction (Young Adult), #Death & Dying, #Death/ Fiction, #Juvenile Fiction / Historical / Holocaust
The Book Thief (25 page)
In late
February, when Liesel woke up in the early hours of morning, a figure made its
way into her bedroom. Typical of Max, it was as close as possible to a
noiseless shadow.
February, when Liesel woke up in the early hours of morning, a figure made its
way into her bedroom. Typical of Max, it was as close as possible to a
noiseless shadow.
Liesel, searching
through the dark, could only vaguely sense the man coming toward her.
through the dark, could only vaguely sense the man coming toward her.
“Hello?”
There was no
reply.
reply.
There was
nothing but the near silence of his feet as he came closer to the bed and
placed the pages on the floor, next to her socks. The pages crackled. Just
slightly. One edge of them curled into the floor.
nothing but the near silence of his feet as he came closer to the bed and
placed the pages on the floor, next to her socks. The pages crackled. Just
slightly. One edge of them curled into the floor.
“Hello?”
This time there
was a response.
was a response.
She couldn’t
tell exactly where the words came from. What mattered was that they reached
her. They arrived and kneeled next to the bed.
tell exactly where the words came from. What mattered was that they reached
her. They arrived and kneeled next to the bed.
“A late birthday
gift. Look in the morning. Good night.”
gift. Look in the morning. Good night.”
For a while, she
drifted in and out of sleep, not sure anymore whether she’d dreamed of Max
coming in.
drifted in and out of sleep, not sure anymore whether she’d dreamed of Max
coming in.
In the morning,
when she woke and rolled over, she saw the pages sitting on the floor. She
reached down and picked them up, listening to the paper as it rippled in her
early-morning hands.
when she woke and rolled over, she saw the pages sitting on the floor. She
reached down and picked them up, listening to the paper as it rippled in her
early-morning hands.
All my life,
I’ve been scared of men standing over me. . . .
I’ve been scared of men standing over me. . . .
As she turned
them, the pages were noisy, like static around the written story.
them, the pages were noisy, like static around the written story.
Three days, they
told me . . . and what did I find when I woke up?
told me . . . and what did I find when I woke up?
There were the
erased pages of
Mein Kampf,
gagging, suffocating under the paint as they
turned.
erased pages of
Mein Kampf,
gagging, suffocating under the paint as they
turned.
It makes me
understand that the best standover man I’ve ever known . . .
understand that the best standover man I’ve ever known . . .
Liesel read and
viewed Max Vandenburg’s gift three times, noticing a different brush line or
word with each one. When the third reading was finished, she climbed as quietly
as she could from her bed and walked to Mama and Papa’s room. The allocated
space next to the fire was vacant.
viewed Max Vandenburg’s gift three times, noticing a different brush line or
word with each one. When the third reading was finished, she climbed as quietly
as she could from her bed and walked to Mama and Papa’s room. The allocated
space next to the fire was vacant.
As she thought
about it, she realized it was actually appropriate, or even better—perfect—to
thank him where the pages were made.
about it, she realized it was actually appropriate, or even better—perfect—to
thank him where the pages were made.
She walked down
the basement steps. She saw an imaginary framed photo seep into the wall—a
quiet-smiled secret.
the basement steps. She saw an imaginary framed photo seep into the wall—a
quiet-smiled secret.
No more than a
few meters, it was a long walk to the drop sheets and the assortment of paint
cans that shielded Max Vandenburg. She removed the sheets closest to the wall
until there was a small corridor to look through.
few meters, it was a long walk to the drop sheets and the assortment of paint
cans that shielded Max Vandenburg. She removed the sheets closest to the wall
until there was a small corridor to look through.
The first part
of him she saw was his shoulder, and through the slender gap, she slowly,
painfully, inched her hand in until it rested there. His clothing was cool. He
did not wake.
of him she saw was his shoulder, and through the slender gap, she slowly,
painfully, inched her hand in until it rested there. His clothing was cool. He
did not wake.
She could feel
his breathing and his shoulder moving up and down ever so slightly. For a
while, she watched him. Then she sat and leaned back.
his breathing and his shoulder moving up and down ever so slightly. For a
while, she watched him. Then she sat and leaned back.
Sleepy air
seemed to have followed her.
seemed to have followed her.
The scrawled
words of practice stood magnificently on the wall by the stairs, jagged and
childlike and sweet. They looked on as both the hidden Jew and the girl slept,
hand to shoulder.
words of practice stood magnificently on the wall by the stairs, jagged and
childlike and sweet. They looked on as both the hidden Jew and the girl slept,
hand to shoulder.
They breathed.
German and
Jewish lungs.
Jewish lungs.
Next to the
wall,
The Standover Man
sat, numb and gratified, like a beautiful itch
at Liesel Meminger’s feet.
wall,
The Standover Man
sat, numb and gratified, like a beautiful itch
at Liesel Meminger’s feet.
PART FIVE
the
whistler
whistler
featuring:
a floating book—the gamblers—a small ghost—
two haircuts—rudy’s youth—losers and sketches—
a whistler and some shoes—three acts of stupidity—
and a frightened boy with frozen legs
THE FLOATING BOOK (Part I)
A book floated
down the Amper River.
down the Amper River.
A boy jumped in,
caught up to it, and held it in his right hand. He grinned.
caught up to it, and held it in his right hand. He grinned.
He stood
waist-deep in the icy, Decemberish water.
waist-deep in the icy, Decemberish water.
“How about a
kiss,
Saumensch
?” he said.
kiss,
Saumensch
?” he said.
The surrounding
air was a lovely, gorgeous, nauseating cold, not to mention the concrete ache
of the water, thickening from his toes to his hips.
air was a lovely, gorgeous, nauseating cold, not to mention the concrete ache
of the water, thickening from his toes to his hips.
How about a
kiss?
kiss?
How about a
kiss?
kiss?
Poor Rudy.
A
SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT
SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT
ABOUT RUDY STEINER
He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.
In your visions,
you see the sloppy edges of paper still stuck to his fingers. You see a
shivering blond fringe. Preemptively, you conclude, as I would, that Rudy died
that very same day, of hypothermia. He did not. Recollections like those merely
remind me that he was not deserving of the fate that met him a little under two
years later.
you see the sloppy edges of paper still stuck to his fingers. You see a
shivering blond fringe. Preemptively, you conclude, as I would, that Rudy died
that very same day, of hypothermia. He did not. Recollections like those merely
remind me that he was not deserving of the fate that met him a little under two
years later.
On many counts,
taking a boy like Rudy was robbery—so much life, so much to live for—yet
somehow, I’m certain he would have loved to see the frightening rubble and the
swelling of the sky on the night he passed away. He’d have cried and turned and
smiled if only he could have seen the book thief on her hands and knees, next
to his decimated body. He’d have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty,
bomb-hit lips.
taking a boy like Rudy was robbery—so much life, so much to live for—yet
somehow, I’m certain he would have loved to see the frightening rubble and the
swelling of the sky on the night he passed away. He’d have cried and turned and
smiled if only he could have seen the book thief on her hands and knees, next
to his decimated body. He’d have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty,
bomb-hit lips.
Yes, I know it.
In the darkness
of my dark-beating heart, I know. He’d have loved it, all right.
of my dark-beating heart, I know. He’d have loved it, all right.
You see?
Even death has a
heart.
heart.
THE GAMBLERS
(A
SEVEN-SIDED DIE)
SEVEN-SIDED DIE)
Of course, I’m
being rude. I’m spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this
particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don’t
have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know
what happens and so do you. It’s the machinations that wheel us there that
aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.
being rude. I’m spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this
particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don’t
have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know
what happens and so do you. It’s the machinations that wheel us there that
aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.
There are many
things to think of.
things to think of.
There is much
story.
story.
Certainly,
there’s a book called
The Whistler,
which we really need to discuss,
along with exactly how it came to be floating down the Amper River in the time
leading up to Christmas 1941. We should deal with all of that first, don’t you
think?
there’s a book called
The Whistler,
which we really need to discuss,
along with exactly how it came to be floating down the Amper River in the time
leading up to Christmas 1941. We should deal with all of that first, don’t you
think?
It’s settled,
then.
then.
We will.
It started with
gambling. Roll a die by hiding a Jew and this is how you live. This is how it
looks.
gambling. Roll a die by hiding a Jew and this is how you live. This is how it
looks.
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