Page 87 - The Book Thief

Liesel, half-wrapped in blanket, studied the black book in her hand and its silver

lettering. She nodded, dry-mouthed and early-morning hungry. It was one of
those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at
hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

Papa stretched with his fists closed and his eyes grinding shut, and it was a
morning that didnt dare to be rainy. They each stood and walked to the kitchen,
and through the fog and frost of the window, they were able to see the pink bars
of light on the snowy banks of Himmel Streets rooftops.

Look at the colors, Papa said. Its hard not to like a man who not only notices the
colors, but speaks them.

Liesel still held the book. She gripped it tighter as the snow turned orange. On
one of the rooftops, she could see a small boy, sitting, looking at the sky. His
name was Werner, she mentioned. The words trotted out, involuntarily.

Papa said, Yes.

At school during that time, there had been no more reading tests, but as Liesel
slowly gathered confidence, she did pick up a stray textbook before class one
morning to see if she could read it without trouble. She could read every word,
but she remained stranded at a much slower pace than that of her classmates. Its
much easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it.
This would still take time.

One afternoon, she was tempted to steal a book from the class bookshelf, but
frankly, the prospect of another corridor Watschen at the hands of Sister Maria
was a powerful enough deterrent. On top of that, there was actually no real
desire in her to take the books from school. It was most likely the intensity of her

November failure that caused this lack of interest, but Liesel wasnt sure. She
only knew that it was there.

In class, she did not speak.

She didnt so much as look the wrong way.

As winter set in, she was no longer a victim of Sister Marias frustrations,
preferring to watch as others were marched out to the corridor and given their