Page 420 - The Book Thief

They could all taste it, putting out the fires in their throats and softening the

smoke. It was a nice dream, and an impossible one. They were all aware that any
beer that flowed in these streets would not be beer at all, but a kind of milk shake
or porridge.

All four men were plastered with the gray-and-white conglomeration of dust.
When they stood up fully, to resume work, only small cracks of their uniform
could be seen.

The sergeant walked to Brunnenweg. He brushed heavily at his chest. Several
smacks. Thats better. You had some dust on there, my friend. As Brunnenweg
laughed, the sergeant turned to his newest recruit. You first this time,
Hubermann.

They put the fires out for several hours, and they found anything they could to
convince a building to remain standing. In some cases, where the sides were
damaged, the remaining edges poked out like elbows. This was Hans

Hubermanns strong point. He almost came to enjoy finding a smoldering rafter
or disheveled slab of concrete to prop those elbows up, to give them something
to rest on.

His hands were packed tightly with splinters, and his teeth were caked with
residue from the fallout. Both lips were set with moist dust that had hardened,
and there wasnt a pocket, a thread, or a hidden crease in his uniform that wasnt
covered in a film left by the loaded air.

The worst part of the job was the people.

Once in a while there was a person roaming doggedly through the fog, mostly
single-worded. They always shouted a name.

Sometimes it was Wolfgang.

Have you seen my Wolfgang?

Their handprints would remain on his jacket.

Stephanie!