Page 259 - The Book Thief

was close to the gate, she screwed it up as tightly as she could and threw it at the

door, as if it were a rock. I have no idea what the book thief expected, but the
ball of paper hit the mighty sheet of wood and twittered back down the steps. It
landed at her feet.

Typical, she stated, kicking it onto the grass. Useless.

On the way home this time, she imagined the fate of that paper the next time it
rained, when the mended glass house of Molching was turned upside down. She
could already see the words dissolving letter by letter, till there was nothing left.
Just paper. Just earth.

At home, as luck would have it, when Liesel walked through the door, Rosa was
in the kitchen. And? she asked. Wheres the washing?

No washing today, Liesel told her.

Rosa came and sat down at the kitchen table. She knew. Suddenly, she appeared
much older. Liesel imagined what shed look like if she untied her bun, to let it
fall out onto her shoulders. A gray towel of elastic hair.

What did you do there, you little Saumensch? The sentence was numb. She
could not muster her usual venom.

It was my fault, Liesel answered. Completely. I insulted the mayors wife and
told her to stop crying over her dead son. I called her pathetic. That was when
they fired you. Here. She walked to the wooden spoons, grabbed a handful, and
placed them in front of her. Take your pick.

Rosa touched one and picked it up, but she did not wield it. I dont believe you.

Liesel was torn between distress and total mystification. The one time she
desperately wanted a Watschen and she couldnt get one! Its my fault.

Its not your fault, Mama said, and she even stood and stroked Liesels waxy,
unwashed hair. I know you wouldnt say those things.

I said them!