Page 171 - The Book Thief

Full of blood and violencebut also full of stories that are equally difficult to
fathom. Its true, people will mutter. I dont care if you dont believe me. It was
that fox who saved my life, or, They died on either side of me and I was left
standing there, the only one without a bullet between my eyes. Why me? Why
me and not them?

Hans Hubermanns story was a little like that. When I found it within the book
thiefs words, I realized that we passed each other once in a while during that
period, though neither of us scheduled a meeting. Personally, I had a lot of work
to do. As for Hans, I think he was doing his best to avoid me.

The first time we were in the vicinity of each other, Hans was twenty-two years
old, fighting in France. The majority of young men in his platoon were eager to
fight. Hans wasnt so sure. I had taken a few of them along the way, but you
could say I never even came close to touching Hans Hubermann. He was either
too lucky, or he deserved to live, or there was a good reason for him to live.

In the army, he didnt stick out at either end. He ran in the middle, climbed in the
middle, and he could shoot straight enough so as not to affront his superiors. Nor
did he excel enough to be one of the first chosen to run straight at me.

A SMALL BUT NOTEWORTHY NOTE
Ive seen so many young men
over the years who think theyre
running at other young men.

They are not.
Theyre running at me.

Hed been in the fight for almost six months when he ended up in France, where,