Page 145 - The Book Thief

refused to let go of her, she succumbed to it. She embraced it.

She could have shot herself, scratched herself, or indulged in other forms of self-
mutilation, but she chose what she probably felt was the weakest optionto at
least endure the discomfort of the weather. For all Liesel knew, she prayed for
summer days that were cold and wet. For the most part, she lived in the right
place.

When Liesel left that day, she said something with great uneasiness. In
translation, two giant words were struggled with, carried on her shoulder, and
dropped as a bungling pair at Ilsa Hermanns feet. They fell off sideways as the
girl veered with them and could no longer sustain their weight. Together, they
sat on the floor, large and loud and clumsy.

TWO GIANTWORDS
IM SORRY

Again, the mayors wife watched the space next to her. A blank-page face.

For what? she asked, but time had elapsed by then. The girl was already well out
of the room. She was nearly at the front door. When she heard it, Liesel stopped,

but she chose not to go back, preferring to make her way noiselessly from the
house and down the steps. She took in the view of Molching before disappearing
down into it, and she pitied the mayors wife for quite a while.

At times, Liesel wondered if she should simply leave the woman alone, but Ilsa
Hermann was too interesting, and the pull of the books was too strong. Once,
words had rendered Liesel useless, but now, when she sat on the floor, with the
mayors wife at her husbands desk, she felt an innate sense of power. It happened
every time she deciphered a new word or pieced together a sentence.

She was a girl.

In Nazi Germany.