Page 404 - The Book Thief

stands casually by the door. It could easily be smoking.

In truth, Liesel only saw the typewriter later, when she wrote. She wondered
how many letters like that were sent out as punishment to Germanys Hans
Hubermanns and Alex Steinersto those who helped the helpless, and those who
refused to let go of their children.

It was a sign of the German armys growing desperation.

They were losing in Russia.

Their cities were being bombed.

More people were needed, as were ways of attaining them, and in most cases,
the worst possible jobs would be given to the worst possible people.

As her eyes scanned the paper, Liesel could see through the punched letter holes
to the wooden table. Words like compulsory and duty were beaten into the page.

Saliva was triggered. It was the urge to vomit. What is this?

Papas answer was quiet. I thought I taught you to read, my girl. He did not speak
with anger or sarcasm. It was a voice of vacancy, to match his face.

Liesel looked now to Mama.

Rosa had a small rip beneath her right eye, and within the minute, her cardboard
face was broken. Not down the center, but to the right. It gnarled down her cheek
in an arc, finishing at her chin.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER:
A GIRL ON HIMMEL STREET
She looks up. She speaks in a whisper.
The sky is soft today, Max. The clouds

are so soft and sad, and . . . She looks
away and crosses her arms. She thinks