Page 93 - The Book Thief

Yes, Mama.

Yes, Mama. Rosa Hubermann was a great imitator, and a fervent one. Youd
better not, Saumensch. Ill find out if you do; you know that, dont you?

Yes, Mama.

Saying those two words was often the best way to survive, as was doing what
she was told, and from there, Liesel walked the streets of Molching, from the
poor end to the rich, picking up and delivering the washing. At first, it was a
solitary job, which she never complained about. After all, the very first time she
took the sack through town, she turned the corner onto Munich Street, looked
both ways, and gave it one enormous swinga whole revolutionand then checked
the contents inside. Thankfully, there were no creases. No wrinkles. Just a smile,
and a promise never to swing it again.

Overall, Liesel enjoyed it. There was no share of the pay, but she was out of the

house, and walking the streets without Mama was heaven in itself. No finger-
pointing or cursing. No people staring at them as she was sworn at for holding
the bag wrong. Nothing but serenity.

She came to like the people, too:

The Pfaffelhrvers, inspecting the clothes and saying, Ja, ja, sehr gut, sehr gut.
Liesel imagined that they did everything twice.

Gentle Helena Schmidt, handing the money over with an arthritic curl of the
hand.

The Weingartners, whose bent-whiskered cat always answered the door with

them. Little Goebbels, thats what they called him, after Hitlers right-hand man.

And Frau Hermann, the mayors wife, standing fluffy-haired and shivery in her
enormous, cold-aired doorway. Always silent. Always alone. No words, not
once.

Sometimes Rudy came along.

How much money do you have there? he asked one afternoon. It was nearly dark