Page 346 - The Book Thief

He took up his glass and urged the others to do the same.

The afternoon had been warm. Liesel was slightly put off by the coolness of her
glass. She looked at Papa for approval. He grinned and said, Prost, Mdelcheers,
girl. Their glasses chimed together and the moment Liesel raised it to her mouth,
she was bitten by the fizzy, sickly sweet taste of champagne. Her reflexes forced
her to spit straight onto her papas overalls, watching it foam and dribble. A shot
of laughter followed from all of them, and Hans encouraged her to give it
another try. On the second attempt she was able to swallow it, and enjoy the
taste of a glorious broken rule. It felt great. The bubbles ate her tongue. They
prickled her stomach. Even as they walked to the next job, she could feel the
warmth of pins and needles inside her.

Dragging the cart, Papa told her that those people claimed to have no money.

So you asked for champagne?

Why not? He looked across, and never had his eyes been so silver. I didnt want
you thinking that champagne bottles are only used for rolling paint. He warned
her, Just dont tell Mama. Agreed?

Can I tell Max?

Sure, you can tell Max.

In the basement, when she wrote about her life, Liesel vowed that she would
never drink champagne again, for it would never taste as good as it did on that
warm afternoon in July.

It was the same with accordions.

Many times, she wanted to ask her papa if he might teach her to play, but
somehow, something always stopped her. Perhaps an unknown intuition told her
that she would never be able to play it like Hans Hubermann. Surely, not even
the worlds greatest accordionists could compare. They could never be equal to
the casual concentration on Papas face. Or there wouldnt be a paintwork-traded
cigarette slouched on the players lips. And they could never make a small
mistake with a three-note laugh of hindsight. Not the way he could.