Page 70 - The Book Thief

THE SMELL OF FRIENDSHIP

It continued.

Over the next few weeks and into summer, the midnight class began at the end
of each nightmare. There were two more bed-wetting occurrences, but Hans
Hubermann merely repeated his previous cleanup heroics and got down to the
task of reading, sketching, and reciting. In the mornings early hours, quiet voices
were loud.

On a Thursday, just after 3 p.m., Mama told Liesel to get ready to come with her

and deliver some ironing. Papa had other ideas.

He walked into the kitchen and said, Sorry, Mama, shes not going with you
today.

Mama didnt even bother looking up from the washing bag. Who asked you,
Arschloch? Come on, Liesel.

Shes reading, he said. Papa handed Liesel a steadfast smile and a wink. With me.
Im teaching her. Were going to the Amper upstream, where I used to practice the
accordion.

Now he had her attention.

Mama placed the washing on the table and eagerly worked herself up to the
appropriate level of cynicism. What did you say?

I think you heard me, Rosa.

Mama laughed. What the hell could you teach her? A cardboard grin. Uppercut
words. Like you could read so much, you Saukerl.

The kitchen waited. Papa counterpunched. Well take your ironing for you.

You filthy She stopped. The words propped in her mouth as she considered it.