Page 215 - The Book Thief

light on Maxs eggshell face and even taste the human flavor of his words. The

course of his survival was related, piece by piece, as if he were cutting each part
out of him and presenting it on a plate.

Im so selfish.

When he said that, he used his forearm to shield his face. Leaving people behind.
Coming here. Putting all of you in danger . . . He dropped everything out of him
and started pleading with them. Sorrow and desolation were clouted across his
face. Im sorry. Do you believe me? Im so sorry, Im so sorry, Im!

His arm touched the fire and he snapped it back.

They all watched him, silent, until Papa stood and walked closer. He sat next to
him.

Did you burn your elbow?

One evening, Hans, Max, and Liesel were sitting in front of the fire. Mama was
in the kitchen. Max was reading Mein Kampf again.

You know something? Hans said. He leaned toward the fire. Liesels actually a
good little reader herself. Max lowered the book. And she has more in common
with you than you might think. Papa checked that Rosa wasnt coming. She likes
a good fistfight, too.

Papa!

Liesel, at the high end of eleven, and still rake-skinny as she sat against the wall,
was devastated. Ive never been in a fight!

Shhh, Papa laughed. He waved at her to keep her voice down and tilted again,
this time to the girl. Well, what about the hiding you gave Ludwig Schmeikl,
huh?

I never She was caught. Further denial was useless. How did you find out about
that?

I saw his papa at the Knoller.