Page 251 - The Book Thief

Sometimes I turn out the light. Then I stand here and wait.

For what?

Max corrected her. Not for what. For whom.

For a few moments, Liesel said nothing. It was one of those conversations that
require some time to elapse between exchanges. Who do you wait for?

Max did not move. The Fhrer. He was very matter-of-fact about this. Thats why
Im in training.

The push-ups?

Thats right. He walked to the concrete stairway. Every night, I wait in the dark
and the Fhrer comes down these steps. He walks down and he and I, we fight for
hours.

Liesel was standing now. Who wins?

At first, he was going to answer that no one did, but then he noticed the paint
cans, the drop sheets, and the growing pile of newspapers in the periphery of his
vision. He watched the words, the long cloud, and the figures on the wall.

I do, he said.

It was as though hed opened her palm, given her the words, and closed it up
again.

Under the ground, in Molching, Germany, two people stood and spoke in a

basement. It sounds like the beginning of a joke:

Theres a Jew and a German standing in a basement, right? . . .

This, however, was no joke.