Even in the night, Liesel could see that Rudy was growing. His face was lengthening. The blond shock of hair was darkening ever so slightly and his features seemed to be changing shape. But there was one thing that would never change. It was impossible to be angry at him for long.
“Anything good to eat at your place tonight?” he asked.
“I doubt it.”
“Me neither. It’s a shame you can’t eat books. Arthur Berg said something like that once. Remember?”
They recounted the good old days for the remainder of the walk, Liesel often glancing down at The Whistler, at the gray cover and the black imprinted title.
Before they went into their respective homes, Rudy stopped a moment and said, “Goodbye, Saumensch.” He laughed. “Good night, book thief.”
It was the first time Liesel had been branded with her title, and she couldn’t hide the fact that she liked it very much. As we’re both aware, she’d stolen books previously, but in late October 1941, it became official. That night, Liesel Meminger truly became the book thief.
THREE ACTS OF STUPIDITY BY RUDY STEINER
RUDY STEINER, PURE GENIUS
1. He stole the biggest potato from Mamer’s, the local grocer.
2. Taking on Franz Deutscher on Munich Street.
3. Skipping the Hitler Youth meetings altogether.
The problem with Rudy’s first act was greed. It was a typically dreary afternoon in mid-November 1941.
Earlier, he’d woven through the women with their coupons quite brilliantly, almost, dare I say it, with a touch of criminal genius. He nearly went completely unnoticed.
Inconspicuous as he was, however, he managed to take hold of the biggest potato of the lot—the very same one that several people in the line had been watching. They all looked on as a thirteen-year-old fist rose up and grabbed it. A choir of heavyset Helgas pointed him out, and Thomas Mamer came storming toward the dirty fruit.
“Meine Erdäpfel,” he said. “My earth apples.”
The potato was still in Rudy’s hands (he couldn’t hold it in just the one), and the women gathered around him like a troop of wrestlers. Some fast talking was required.
“My family,” Rudy explained. A convenient stream of clear fluid began to trickle from his nose. He made a point of not wiping it away. “We’re all starving. My sister needed a new coat. The last one was stolen.”
Mamer was no fool. Still holding Rudy by the collar, he said, “And you plan to dress her with a potato?”
“No, sir.” He looked diagonally into the one eye he could see of his captor. Mamer was a barrel of a man, with two small bullet holes to look out of. His teeth were like a soccer crowd, crammed in. “We traded all our points for the coat three weeks ago and now we have nothing to eat.”
The grocer held Rudy in one hand and the potato in the other. He called out the dreaded word to his wife. “Polizei.”
“No,” Rudy begged, “please.” He would tell Liesel later on that he was not the slightest bit afraid, but his heart was certainly bursting at that moment, I’m sure. “Not the police. Please, not the police.”
“Polizei.” Mamer remained unmoved as the boy wriggled and fought with the air.
Also in the line that afternoon was a teacher, Herr Link. He was in the percentage of teachers at school who were not priests or nuns. Rudy found him and accosted him in the eyes.
“Herr Link.” This was his last chance. “Herr Link, tell him, please. Tell him how poor I am.”
The grocer looked at the teacher with inquiring eyes.
Herr Link stepped forward and said, “Yes, Herr Mamer. This boy is poor. He’s from Himmel Street.” The crowd of predominantly women conferred at that point, knowing that Himmel Street was not exactly the epitome of idyllic Molching living. It was well known as a relatively poor neighborhood. “He has eight brothers and sisters.”
Eight!
Rudy had to hold back a smile, though he wasn’t in the clear yet. At least he had the teacher lying now. He’d somehow managed to add three more children to the Steiner family.
“Often, he comes to school without breakfast,” and the crowd of women was conferring again. It was like a coat of paint on the situation, adding a little extra potency and atmosphere.