Page 173 - The Book Thief

For that, he had Erik Vandenburg to thank. Or more to the point, Erik
Vandenburg and the sergeants toothbrush.

That particular morning, not too long before they were leaving, Sergeant
Stephan Schneider paced into the sleeping quarters and called everyone to
attention. He was popular with the men for his sense of humor and practical
jokes, but more so for the fact that he never followed anyone into the fire. He
always went first.

On certain days, he was inclined to enter the room of resting men and say
something like, Who comes from Pasing? or, Whos good with mathematics? or,
in the fateful case of Hans Hubermann, Whos got neat handwriting?

No one ever volunteered, not after the first time he did it. On that day, an eager
young soldier named Philipp Schlink stood proudly up and said, Yes, sir, I come

from Pasing. He was promptly handed a toothbrush and told to clean the shit
house.

When the sergeant asked who had the best penmanship, you can surely
understand why no one was keen to step forward. They thought they might be
first to receive a full hygiene inspection or scrub an eccentric lieutenants shit-
trampled boots before they left.

Now come on, Schneider toyed with them. Slapped down with oil, his hair
gleamed, though a small piece was always upright and vigilant at the apex of his
head. At least one of you useless bastards must be able to write properly.

In the distance, there was gunfire.

It triggered a reaction.

Look, said Schneider, this isnt like the others. It will take all morning, maybe
longer. He couldnt resist a smile. Schlink was polishing that shit house while the
rest of you were playing cards, but this time, youre going out there.

Life or pride.