Page 47 - The Book Thief

Mama shoved her. Dont you what me, Saumensch. Move it.

Liesel moved it. She walked the path, climbed the steps, hesitated, and knocked.

A bathrobe answered the door.

Inside it, a woman with startled eyes, hair like fluff, and the posture of defeat
stood in front of her. She saw Mama at the gate and handed the girl a bag of
washing. Thank you, Liesel said, but there was no reply. Only the door. It
closed.

You see? said Mama when she returned to the gate. This is what I have to put up
with. These rich bastards, these lazy swine . . .

Holding the washing as they walked away, Liesel looked back. The brass
knocker eyed her from the door.

When she finished berating the people she worked for, Rosa Hubermann would
usually move on to her other favorite theme of abuse. Her husband. Looking at
the bag of washing and the hunched houses, she would talk, and talk, and talk. If
your papa was any good, she informed Liesel every time they walked through
Molching, I wouldnt have to do this. She sniffed with derision. A painter! Why
marry that Arschloch ? Thats what they told memy family, that is. Their
footsteps crunched along the path. And here I am, walking the streets and
slaving in my kitchen because that Saukerl never has any work. No real work,
anyway. Just that pathetic accordion in those dirt holes every night.

Yes, Mama.

Is that all youve got to say? Mamas eyes were like pale blue cutouts, pasted to

her face.

Theyd walk on.

With Liesel carrying the sack.

At home, it was washed in a boiler next to the stove, hung up by the fireplace in
the living room, and then ironed in the kitchen. The kitchen was where the action
was.