Page 106 - The Book Thief

In the evening, it would be wrung out and bleached again, ready for the

next dawn.

And that was when the fighting was only during the day.

With his son gone, Hans Hubermann stood for a few moments longer. The street
looked so big.

When he reappeared inside, Mama fixed her gaze on him, but no words were
exchanged. She didnt admonish him at all, which, as you know, was highly
unusual. Perhaps she decided he was injured enough, having been labeled a
coward by his only son.

For a while, he remained silently at the table after the eating was finished. Was
he really a coward, as his son had so brutally pointed out? Certainly, in World
War I, he considered himself one. He attributed his survival to it. But then, is
there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad

that you lived?

His thoughts crisscrossed the table as he stared into it.

Papa? Liesel asked, but he did not look at her. What was he talking about? What
did he mean when . . .

Nothing, Papa answered. He spoke quiet and calm, to the table. Its nothing.
Forget about him, Liesel. It took perhaps a minute for him to speak again.
Shouldnt you be getting ready? He looked at her this time. Dont you have a
bonfire to go to?

Yes, Papa.

The book thief went and changed into her Hitler Youth uniform, and half an
hour later, they left, walking to the BDM headquarters. From there, the children
would be taken to the town square in their groups.

Speeches would be made.

A fire would be lit.