Page 453 - The Book Thief

THE ACCIDENT

It was a surprisingly clear afternoon and the men were climbing into the truck.
Hans Hubermann had just sat down in his appointed seat. Reinhold Zucker was
standing above him.

Move it, he said.

Bitte? Excuse me?

Zucker was hunched beneath the vehicles ceiling. I said move it, Arschloch. The

greasy jungle of his fringe fell in clumps onto his forehead. Im swapping seats
with you.

Hans was confused. The backseat was probably the most uncomfortable of the
lot. It was the draftiest, the coldest. Why?

Does it matter? Zucker was losing patience. Maybe I want to get off first to use
the shit house.

Hans was quickly aware that the rest of the unit was already watching this pitiful
struggle between two supposed grown men. He didnt want to lose, but he didnt
want to be petty, either. Also, theyd just finished a tiring shift and he didnt have

the energy to go on with it. Bent-backed, he made his way forward to the vacant
seat in the middle of the truck.

Why did you give in to that Scheisskopf ? the man next to him asked.

Hans lit a match and offered a share of the cigarette. The draft back there goes
straight through my ears.

The olive green truck was on its way toward the camp, maybe ten miles away.
Brunnenweg was telling a joke about a French waitress when the left front wheel
was punctured and the driver lost control. The vehicle rolled many times and the
men swore as they tumbled with the air, the light, the trash, and the tobacco.
Outside, the blue sky changed from ceiling to floor as they clambered for