The first event in the book was a murder. A stabbing. A Vienna street. Not far from the Stephansdom—the cathedral in the main square.
A SMALL EXCERPT FROM
THE WHISTLER
She lay there, frightened, in a pool of blood, a strange tune singing in her ear. She recalled the knife, in and out, and a smile. As always, the whistler had smiled as he ran away, into a dark and murderous night ….
Liesel was unsure whether it was the words or the open window that caused her to tremble. Every time she picked up or delivered from the mayor’s house, she read three pages and shivered, but she could not last forever.
Similarly, Max Vandenburg could not withstand the basement much longer. He didn’t complain—he had no right—but he could slowly feel himself deteriorating in the cold. As it turned out, his rescue owed itself to some reading and writing, and a book called The Shoulder Shrug.
“Liesel,” said Hans one night. “Come on.”
Since Max’s arrival, there had been a considerable hiatus in the reading practice of Liesel and her papa. He clearly felt that now was a good time to resume. “Na, komm,” he told her. “I don’t want you slacking off. Go and get one of your books. How about The Shoulder Shrug?”
The disturbing element in all of this was that when she came back, book in hand, Papa was motioning that she should follow him down to their old workroom. The basement.
“But, Papa,” she tried to tell him. “We can’t—”
“What? Is there a monster down there?”
It was early December and the day had been icy. The basement became unfriendlier with each concrete step.
“It’s too cold, Papa.”
“That never bothered you before.”
“Yes, but it was never this cold ….”
When they made their way down, Papa whispered to Max, “Can we borrow the lamplight, please?”
With trepidation, the sheets and cans moved and the light was passed out, exchanging hands. Looking at the flame, Hans shook his head and followed it with some words. “Es ist ja Wahnsinn, net? This is crazy, no?” Before the hand from within could reposition the sheets, he caught it. “Bring yourself, too. Please, Max.”
Slowly then, the drop sheets were dragged aside and the emaciated body and face of Max Vandenburg appeared. In the moist light, he stood with a magic discomfort. He shivered.
Hans touched his arm, to bring him closer.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You cannot stay down here. You’ll freeze to death.” He turned. “Liesel, fill up the tub. Not too hot. Make it just like it is when it starts cooling down.”
Liesel ran up.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
She heard it again when she reached the hallway.
When he was in the pint-sized bath, Liesel listened at the washroom door, imagining the tepid water turning to steam as it warmed his iceberg body. Mama and Papa were at the climax of debate in the combined bedroom and living room, their quiet voices trapped inside the corridor wall.
“He’ll die down there, I promise you.”
“But what if someone sees in?”
“No, no, he only comes up at night. In the day, we leave everything open. Nothing to hide. And we use this room rather than the kitchen. Best to keep away from the front door.”
Silence.
Then Mama. “All right … Yes, you’re right.”
“If we gamble on a Jew,” said Papa soon after, “I would prefer to gamble on a live one,” and from that moment, a new routine was born.