Page 207 - The Book Thief

they progressed into the more senior Hitler Youth division.

Max, following her attention, also examined the book.

Is? she whispered.

There was a queer strand in her voice, planed off and curly in her mouth.

The Jew moved only his head a little closer. Bitte? Excuse me?

She handed him the pea soup and returned upstairs, red, rushed, and foolish.

Is it a good book?

She practiced what shed wanted to say in the washroom, in the small mirror. The
smell of urine was still about her, as Max had just used the paint can before shed
come down. So ein Gschtank, she thought. What a stink.

No ones urine smells as good as your own.

The days hobbled on.

Each night, before the descent into sleep, she would hear Mama and Papa in the
kitchen, discussing what had been done, what they were doing now, and what
needed to happen next. All the while, an image of Max hovered next to her. It
was always the injured, thankful expression on his face and the swamp-filled
eyes.

Only once was there an outburst in the kitchen.

Papa.

I know!

His voice was abrasive, but he brought it back to a muffled whisper in a hurry.

I have to keep going, though, at least a few times a week. I cant be here all the
time. We need the money, and if I quit playing there, theyll get suspicious. They
might wonder why Ive stopped. I told them you were sick last week, but now we