Page 174 - The Book Thief

He was clearly hoping that one of his men would have the intelligence to take

life.

Erik Vandenburg and Hans Hubermann glanced at each other. If someone
stepped forward now, the platoon would make his life a living hell for the rest of
their time together. No one likes a coward. On the other hand, if someone was to
be nominated . . .

Still no one stepped forward, but a voice stooped out and ambled toward the
sergeant. It sat at his feet, waiting for a good kicking. It said, Hubermann, sir.
The voice belonged to Erik Vandenburg. He obviously thought that today wasnt
the appropriate time for his friend to die.

The sergeant paced up and down the passage of soldiers.

Who said that?

He was a superb pacer, Stephan Schneidera small man who spoke, moved, and
acted in a hurry. As he strode up and down the two lines, Hans looked on,
waiting for the news. Perhaps one of the nurses was sick and they needed
someone to strip and replace bandages on the infected limbs of injured soldiers.
Perhaps a thousand envelopes were to be licked and sealed and sent home with
death notices in them.

At that moment, the voice was put forward again, moving a few others to make
themselves heard. Hubermann, they echoed. Erik even said, Immaculate
handwriting, sir, immaculate.

Its settled, then. There was a circular, small-mouthed grin. Hubermann. Youre it.

The gangly young soldier made his way forward and asked what his duty might
be.

The sergeant sighed. The captain needs a few dozen letters written for him. Hes
got terrible rheumatism in his fingers. Or arthritis. Youll be writing them for
him.

This was no time to argue, especially when Schlink was sent to clean the toilets
and the other one, Pflegger, nearly killed himself licking envelopes. His tongue