Page 217 - The Book Thief

With Papa still in her bedroom, Liesel sat on the other side of the fireplace from

Max. Behind them, Mama loudly slept. She gave the snorer on the train a good
run for her money.

The fire was nothing now but a funeral of smoke, dead and dying,
simultaneously. On this particular morning, there were also voices.

THE SWAPPING OF NIGHTMARES
The girl: Tell me. What do you see
when you dream like that?
The Few: . . . I see myself turning
around, and waving goodbye.
The girl: I also have nightmares.
The Few: What do you see?
The girl: A train, and my dead brother.
The Few: Your brother?
The girl: He died when I moved
here, on the way.
The girl and the Few, together: Fa yes.

It would be nice to say that after this small breakthrough, neither Liesel nor Max

dreamed their bad visions again. It would be nice but untrue. The nightmares
arrived like they always did, much like the best player in the opposition when
youve heard rumors that he might be injured or sickbut there he is, warming up
with the rest of them, ready to take the field. Or like a timetabled train, arriving
at a nightly platform, pulling the memories behind it on a rope. A lot of
dragging. A lot of awkward bounces.

The only thing that changed was that Liesel told her papa that she should be old
enough now to cope on her own with the dreams. For a moment, he looked a
little hurt, but as always with Papa, he gave the right thing to say his best shot.

Well, thank God. He halfway grinned. At least now I can get some proper sleep.
That chair was killing me. He put his arm around the girl and they walked to the

kitchen.