Page 474 - The Book Thief

THE NINETY-EIGHTH DAY

For the first ninety-seven days after Hans Hubermanns return in April 1943,
everything was fine. On many occasions he was pensive about the thought of his
son fighting in Stalingrad, but he hoped that some of his luck was in the boys
blood.

On his third night at home, he played the accordion in the kitchen. A promise
was a promise. There was music, soup, and jokes, and the laughter of a fourteen-
year-old girl.

Saumensch, Mama warned her, stop laughing so loud. His jokes arent that funny.
And theyre filthy, too. . . .

After a week, Hans resumed his service, traveling into the city to one of the
army offices. He said that there was a good supply of cigarettes and food there,
and sometimes he was able to bring home some cookies or extra jam. It was like
the good old days. A minor air raid in May. A heil Hitler here or there and
everything was fine.

Until the ninety-eighth day.

A SMALL STATEMENT
BYAN OLD WOMAN
On Munich Street, she said, Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph, I wish they

wouldnt bring them through. These
wretched Jews, theyre rotten luck.
Theyre a bad sign. Every time I see
them, I know well be ruined.

It was the same old lady who announced the Jews the first time Liesel saw them.