Page 245 - The Book Thief

dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On the ropy

cloud, he drew two figuresa thin girl and a withering Jewand they were walking,
arms balanced, toward that dripping sun. Beneath the picture, he wrote the
following sentence.

THE WALL-WRITTEN WORDS
OF MAX VANDENBURG
It was a Monday, and they walked
on a tightrope to the sun.

The Boxer: End of May

For Max Vandenburg, there was cool cement and plenty of time to spend with it.

The minutes were cruel.

Hours were punishing.

Standing above him at all moments of awakeness was the hand of time, and it
didnt hesitate to wring him out. It smiled and squeezed and let him live. What
great malice there could be in allowing something to live.

At least once a day, Hans Hubermann would descend the basement steps and
share a conversation. Rosa would occasionally bring a spare crust of bread. It
was when Liesel came down, however, that Max found himself most interested
in life again. Initially, he tried to resist, but it was harder every day that the girl
appeared, each time with a new weather report, either of pure blue sky,
cardboard clouds, or a sun that had broken through like God sitting down after