Her fingers tightened on the wood and she made her way inside.
This time, if only slightly, she felt more at ease. In a few precious moments, she circled the room, looking for a title that grabbed her. On three or four occasions, she nearly reached out. She even considered taking more than one, but again, she didn’t want to abuse what was a kind of system. For now, only one book was necessary. She studied the shelves and waited.
An extra darkness climbed through the window behind her. The smell of dust and theft loitered in the background, and she saw it.
The book was red, with black writing on the spine. Der Traumträger. The Dream Carrier. She thought of Max Vandenburg and his dreams. Of guilt. Surviving. Leaving his family. Fighting the Führer. She also thought of her own dream—her brother, dead on the train, and his appearance on the steps just around the corner from this very room. The book thief watched his bloodied knee from the shove of her own hand.
She slid the book from the shelf, tucked it under her arm, climbed to the window ledge, and jumped out, all in one motion.
Rudy had her shoes. He had her bike ready. Once the shoes were on, they rode.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Meminger.” He’d never called her Meminger before. “You’re an absolute lunatic. Do you know that?”
Liesel agreed as she pedaled like hell. “I know it.”
At the bridge, Rudy summed up the afternoon’s proceedings. “Those people are either completely crazy,” he said, “or they just like their fresh air.”
A SMALL SUGGESTION
Or maybe there was a woman on
Grande Strasse who now kept her
library window open for another
reason—but that’s just me being
cynical, or hopeful. Or both.
Liesel placed The Dream Carrier beneath her jacket and began reading it the minute she returned home. In the wooden chair next to her bed, she opened the book and whispered, “It’s a new one, Max. Just for you.” She started reading. “‘Chapter one: It was quite fitting that the entire town was sleeping when the dream carrier was born ….’”
Every day, Liesel read two chapters of the book. One in the morning before school and one as soon as she came home. On certain nights, when she was not able to sleep, she read half of a third chapter as well. Sometimes she would fall asleep slumped forward onto the side of the bed.
It became her mission.
She gave The Dream Carrier to Max as if the words alone could nourish him. On a Tuesday, she thought there was movement. She could have sworn his eyes had opened. If they had, it was only momentarily, and it was more likely just her imagination and wishful thinking.
By mid-March, the cracks began to appear.
Rosa Hubermann—the good woman for a crisis—was at breaking point one afternoon in the kitchen. She raised her voice, then brought it quickly down. Liesel stopped reading and made her way quietly to the hall. As close as she stood, she could still barely make out her mama’s words. When she was able to hear them, she wished she hadn’t, for what she heard was horrific. It was reality.
THE CONTENTS OF MAMA’S VOICE
“What if he doesn’t wake up?
What if he dies here, Hansi?
Tell me. What in God’s name will
we do with the body? We can’t
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