Page 172 - The Book Thief

at face value, a strange event saved his life. Another perspective would suggest

that in the nonsense of war, it made perfect sense.

On the whole, his time in the Great War had astonished him from the moment he
entered the army. It was like a serial. Day after day after day. After day:

The conversation of bullets.

Resting men.

The best dirty jokes in the world.

Cold sweatthat malignant little friendoutstaying its welcome in the armpits and
trousers.

He enjoyed the card games the most, followed by the few games of chess,
despite being thoroughly pathetic at it. And the music. Always the music.

It was a man a year older than himselfa German Jew named Erik
Vandenburgwho taught him to play the accordion. The two of them gradually
became friends due to the fact that neither of them was terribly interested in
fighting. They preferred rolling cigarettes to rolling in snow and mud. They
preferred shooting craps to shooting bullets. A firm friendship was built on
gambling, smoking, and music, not to mention a shared desire for survival. The
only trouble with this was that Erik Vandenburg would later be found in several
pieces on a grassy hill. His eyes were open and his wedding ring was stolen. I
shoveled up his soul with the rest of them and we drifted away. The horizon was
the color of milk. Cold and fresh. Poured out among the bodies.

All that was really left of Erik Vandenburg was a few personal items and the

fingerprinted accordion. Everything but the instrument was sent home. It was
considered too big. Almost with self-reproach, it sat on his makeshift bed at the
base camp and was given to his friend, Hans Hubermann, who happened to be
the only man to survive.

HE SURVIVED LIKE THIS
He didnt go into battle that day.