Page 240 - The Book Thief

to speak again but was distracted by the feathery appearance of Max

Vandenburg, who stood politely, embarrassed, in the doorway. He carried his
own scissors and came forward, handing them not to Hans or Rosa but to the
twelve-year-old girl. She was the calmest option. His mouth quivered a moment
before he said, Would you?

Liesel took the scissors and opened them. They were rusty and shiny in different
areas. She turned to Papa, and when he nodded, she followed Max down to the
basement.

The Jew sat on a paint can. A small drop sheet was wrapped around his
shoulders. As many mistakes as you want, he told her.

Papa parked himself on the steps.

Liesel lifted the first tufts of Max Vandenburgs hair.

As she cut the feathery strands, she wondered at the sound of scissors. Not the
snipping noise, but the grinding of each metal arm as it cropped each group of
fibers.

When the job was done, a little severe in places, a little crooked in others, she
walked upstairs with the hair in her hands and fed it into the stove. She lit a
match and watched as the clump shriveled and sank, orange and red.

Again, Max was in the doorway, this time at the top of the basement steps.
Thanks, Liesel. His voice was tall and husky, with the sound in it of a hidden
smile.

No sooner had he spoken than he disappeared again, back into the ground.

The Newspaper: Early May