Page 180 - The Book Thief

What probably saved him was that people knew he was at least waiting for his

application to be approved. For this, he was tolerated, if not endorsed as the
competent painter he was.

Then there was his other savior.

It was the accordion that most likely spared him from total ostracism. Painters
there were, from all over Munich, but under the brief tutorage of Erik
Vandenburg and nearly two decades of his own steady practice, there was no one
in Molching who could play exactly like him. It was a style not of perfection, but
warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them.

He heil Hitlered when it was asked of him and he flew the flag on the right days.
There was no apparent problem.

Then, on June 16, 1939 (the date was like cement now), just over six months
after Liesels arrival on Himmel Street, an event occurred that altered the life of

Hans Hubermann irreversibly.

It was a day in which he had some work.

He left the house at 7 a.m. sharp.

He towed his paint cart behind him, oblivious to the fact that he was being
followed.

When he arrived at the work site, a young stranger walked up to him. He was
blond and tall, and serious.

The pair watched each other.

Would you be Hans Hubermann?

Hans gave him a single nod. He was reaching for a paintbrush. Yes, I would.

Do you play the accordion, by any chance?

This time, Hans stopped, leaving the brush where it was. Again, he nodded.