Page 233 - The Book Thief

There was nothing but the near silence of his feet as he came closer to the bed
and placed the pages on the floor, next to her socks. The pages crackled. Just
slightly. One edge of them curled into the floor.

Hello?

This time there was a response.

She couldnt tell exactly where the words came from. What mattered was that
they reached her. They arrived and kneeled next to the bed.

A late birthday gift. Look in the morning. Good night.

For a while, she drifted in and out of sleep, not sure anymore whether shed
dreamed of Max coming in.

In the morning, when she woke and rolled over, she saw the pages sitting on the
floor. She reached down and picked them up, listening to the paper as it rippled
in her early-morning hands.

All my life, Ive been scared of men standing over me. . . .

As she turned them, the pages were noisy, like static around the written story.

Three days, they told me . . . and what did I find when I woke up?

There were the erased pages of Mein Kampf, gagging, suffocating under the
paint as they turned.

It makes me understand that the best standover man Ive ever known . . .

Liesel read and viewed Max Vandenburgs gift three times, noticing a different
brush line or word with each one. When the third reading was finished, she
climbed as quietly as she could from her bed and walked to Mama and Papas
room. The allocated space next to the fire was vacant.

As she thought about it, she realized it was actually appropriate, or even
betterperfectto thank him where the pages were made.