Page 176 - The Book Thief

This is Max, the woman said, but the boy was too young and shy to say
anything. He was skinny, with soft hair, and his thick, murky eyes watched as
the stranger played one more song in the heavy room. From face to face, he
looked on as the man played and the woman wept. The different notes handled
her eyes. Such sadness.

Hans left.

You never told me, he said to a dead Erik Vandenburg and the Stuttgart skyline.
You never told me you had a son.

After a momentary, head-shaken stoppage, Hans returned to Munich, expecting
never to hear from those people again. What he didnt know was that his help
would most definitely be needed, but not for painting, and not for another twenty
years or so.

There were a few weeks before he started painting. In the good-weather months,
he worked vigorously, and even in winter, he often said to Rosa that business
might not be pouring, but it would at least drizzle now and again.

For more than a decade, it all worked.

Hans Junior and Trudy were born. They grew up making visits to their papa at
work, slapping paint on walls and cleaning brushes.

When Hitler rose to power in 1933, though, the painting business fell slightly
awry. Hans didnt join the NSDAP like the majority of people did. He put a lot of
thought into his decision.

THE THOUGHT PROCESS OF
HANS HUBERMANN

He was not well-educated or political, but if
nothing else, he was a man who appreciated
fairness. A Jew had once saved his life and
he couldnt forget that. He couldnt join a
party that antagonized people in such a way.
Also, much like Alex Steiner, some of his