Page 208 - The Book Thief

have to do everything like we always have.

Therein lay the problem.

Life had altered in the wildest possible way, but it was imperative that they act
as if nothing at all had happened.

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours
a day.

That was the business of hiding a Jew.

As days turned into weeks, there was now, if nothing else, a beleaguered
acceptance of what had transpiredall the result of war, a promise keeper, and one
piano accordion. Also, in the space of just over half a year, the Hubermanns had
lost a son and gained a replacement of epically dangerous proportions.

What shocked Liesel most was the change in her mama. Whether it was the
calculated way in which she divided the food, or the considerable muzzling of
her notorious mouth, or even the gentler expression on her cardboard face, one
thing was becoming clear.

AN ATTRIBUTE OF ROSA HUBERMANN
She was a good woman for a crisis.

Even when the arthritic Helena Schmidt canceled the washing and ironing
service, a month after Maxs debut on Himmel Street, she simply sat at the table
and brought the bowl toward her. Good soup tonight.

The soup was terrible.

Every morning when Liesel left for school, or on the days she ventured out to
play soccer or complete what was left of the washing round, Rosa would speak
quietly to the girl. And remember, Liesel . . . She would point to her mouth and

that was all. When Liesel nodded, she would say, Good girl, Saumensch. Now