Page 66 - The Book Thief

Do you want to read it?

Again, Yes, Papa.
A tired smile.
Metallic eyes, melting.
Well, wed better read it, then.

Four years later, when she came to write in the basement, two thoughts struck
Liesel about the trauma of wetting the bed. First, she felt extremely lucky that it
was Papa who discovered the book. (Fortunately, when the sheets had been
washed previously, Rosa had made Liesel strip the bed and make it up. And be
quick about it, Saumensch! Does it look like weve got all day?) Second, she was
clearly proud of Hans Hubermanns part in her education. You wouldnt think it,
she wrote, but it was not so much the school who helped me to read. It was
Papa. People think hes not so smart, and its true that he doesnt read too fast, but
I would soon learn that words and writing actually saved his life once. Or at
least, words and a man who taught him the accordion . . .

First things first, Hans Hubermann said that night. He washed the sheets and

hung them up. Now, he said upon his return. Lets get this midnight class started.

The yellow light was alive with dust.

Liesel sat on cold clean sheets, ashamed, elated. The thought of bed-wetting
prodded her, but she was going to read. She was going to read the book.

The excitement stood up in her.

Visions of a ten-year-old reading genius were set alight.

If only it was that easy.

To tell you the truth, Papa explained upfront, I am not such a good reader
myself.

But it didnt matter that he read slowly. If anything, it might have helped that his
own reading pace was slower than average. Perhaps it would cause less