The Book Thief Part 43

leave him here, the smell will

kill us ... and we can't carry

him out the door and drag him up

the street, either. We can't just

say, 'You'll never guess what we

found in our bas.e.m.e.nt this morning ....'

They'll put us away for good."

She was absolutely right.

A Jewish corpse was a major problem. The Hubermanns needed to revive Max Vandenburg not only for his sake, but for their own. Even Papa, who was always the ultimate calming influence, was feeling the pressure.

"Look." His voice was quiet but heavy. "If it happens-if he dies-we'll simply need to find a way." Liesel could have sworn she heard him swallow. A gulp like a blow to the windpipe. "My paint cart, some drop sheets ..."

Liesel entered the kitchen.

"Not now, Liesel." It was Papa who spoke, though he did not look at her. He was watching his warped face in a turned-over spoon. His elbows were buried into the table.

The book thief did not retreat. She took a few extra steps and sat down. Her cold hands felt for her sleeves and a sentence dropped from her mouth. "He's not dead yet." The words landed on the table and positioned themselves in the middle. All three people looked at them. Half hopes didn't dare rise any higher. He isn't dead yet. He isn't dead yet. It was Rosa who spoke next.

"Who's hungry?"

Possibly the only time that Max's illness didn't hurt was at dinner. There was no denying it as the three of them sat at the kitchen table with their extra bread and extra soup or potatoes. They all thought it, but no one spoke.

In the night, just a few hours later, Liesel awoke and wondered at the height of her heart. (She had learned that expression from The Dream Carrier, which was essentially the complete ant.i.thesis of The Whistler-a book about an abandoned child who wanted to be a priest.) She sat up and sucked deeply at the nighttime air.

"Liesel?" Papa rolled over. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Papa, everything's good." But the very moment she'd finished the sentence, she saw exactly what had happened in her dream.

ONE SMALL IMAGE.

For the most part, all is identical.

The train moves at the same speed.

Copiously, her brother coughs. This

time, however, Liesel cannot see his

face watching the floor. Slowly,

she leans over. Her hand lifts him

gently, from his chin, and there

in front of her is the wide-eyed face

of Max Vandenburg. He stares at her.

A feather drops to the floor. The

body is bigger now, matching the

size of the face. The train screams.

"Liesel?"

"I said everything's good."

s.h.i.+vering, she climbed from the mattress. Stupid with fear, she walked through the hallway to Max. After many minutes at his side, when everything slowed, she attempted to interpret the dream. Was it a premonition of Max's death? Or was it merely a reaction to the afternoon conversation in the kitchen? Had Max now replaced her brother? And if so, how could she discard her own flesh and blood in such a way? Perhaps it was even a deep-seated wish for Max to die. After all, if it was good enough for Werner, her brother, it was good enough for this Jew.

"Is that what you think?" she whispered, standing above the bed. "No." She could not believe it. Her answer was sustained as the numbness of the dark waned and outlined the various shapes, big and small, on the bedside table. The presents.

"Wake up," she said.

Max did not wake up.

For eight more days.

At school, there was a rapping of knuckles on the door.

"Come in," called Frau Olendrich.

The door opened and the entire cla.s.sroom of children looked on in surprise as Rosa Hubermann stood in the doorway. One or two gasped at the sight-a small wardrobe of a woman with a lipstick sneer and chlorine eyes. This. Was the legend. She was wearing her best clothes, but her hair was a mess, and it was a towel of elastic gray strands.

The teacher was obviously afraid. "Frau Hubermann ..." Her movements were cluttered. She searched through the cla.s.s. "Liesel?"

Liesel looked at Rudy, stood, and walked quickly toward the door to end the embarra.s.sment as fast as possible. It shut behind her, and now she was alone, in the corridor, with Rosa.

Rosa faced the other way.

"What, Mama?"

She turned. "Don't you 'what Mama' me, you little Saumensch!" Liesel was gored by the speed of it. "My hairbrus.h.!.+" A trickle of laughter rolled from under the door, but it was drawn instantly back.

"Mama?"

Her face was severe, but it was smiling. "What the h.e.l.l did you do with my hairbrush, you stupid Saumensch, you little thief? I've told you a hundred times to leave that thing alone, but do you listen? Of course not!"

The tirade went on for perhaps another minute, with Liesel making a desperate suggestion or two about the possible location of the said brush. It ended abruptly, with Rosa pulling Liesel close, just for a few seconds. Her whisper was almost impossible to hear, even at such close proximity. "You told me to yell at you. You said they'd all believe it." She looked left and right, her voice like needle and thread. "He woke up, Liesel. He's awake." From her pocket, she pulled out the toy soldier with the scratched exterior. "He said to give you this. It was his favorite." She handed it over, held her arms tightly, and smiled. Before Liesel had a chance to answer, she finished it off. "Well? Answer me! Do you have any other idea where you might have left it?"

He's alive, Liesel thought. "... No, Mama. I'm sorry, Mama, I-"

"Well, what good are you, then?" She let go, nodded, and walked away.

For a few moments, Liesel stood. The corridor was huge. She examined the soldier in her palm. Instinct told her to run home immediately, but common sense did not allow it. Instead, she placed the ragged soldier in her pocket and returned to the cla.s.sroom.

Everyone waited.

"Stupid cow," she whispered under her breath.

Again, kids laughed. Frau Olendrich did not.

"What was that?"

Liesel was on such a high that she felt indestructible. "I said," she beamed, "stupid cow," and she didn't have to wait a single moment for the teacher's hand to slap her.

"Don't speak about your mother like that," she said, but it had little effect. The girl merely stood there and attempted to hold off the grin. After all, she could take a Watschen with the best of them. "Now get to your seat."