Page 345 - The Book Thief

together, sitting on their cans of paint, and with the last mouthfuls still in the

chewing stages, Papa would be wiping his fingers, unbuckling the accordion
case.

Traces of bread crumbs were in the creases of his overalls. Paint-specked hands
made their way across the buttons and raked over the keys, or held on to a note
for a while. His arms worked the bellows, giving the instrument the air it needed
to breathe.

Liesel would sit each day with her hands between her knees, in the long legs of
daylight. She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with
disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.

As far as the painting itself was concerned, probably the most interesting aspect
for Liesel was the mixing. Like most people, she assumed her papa simply took
his cart to the paint shop or hardware store and asked for the right color and
away he went. She didnt realize that most of the paint was in lumps, in the shape

of a brick. It was then rolled out with an empty champagne bottle. (Champagne
bottles, Hans explained, were ideal for the job, as their glass was slightly thicker
than that of an ordinary bottle of wine.) Once that was completed, there was the
addition of water, whiting, and glue, not to mention the complexities of
matching the right color.

The science of Papas trade brought him an even greater level of respect. It was
well and good to share bread and music, but it was nice for Liesel to know that
he was also more than capable in his occupation. Competence was attractive.

One afternoon, a few days after Papas explanation of the mixing, they were
working at one of the wealthier houses just east of Munich Street. Papa called
Liesel inside in the early afternoon. They were just about to move on to another

job when she heard the unusual volume in his voice.

Once inside, she was taken to the kitchen, where two older women and a man sat
on delicate, highly civilized chairs. The women were well dressed. The man had
white hair and sideburns like hedges. Tall glasses stood on the table. They were
filled with crackling liquid.

Well, said the man, here we go.