Page 498 - The Book Thief

THE RIB-CAGE PLANES

Her hand was sore by page three.

Words are so heavy, she thought, but as the night wore on, she was able to
complete eleven pages.

PAGE 1
I try to ignore it, but I know this all
started with the train and the snow and my
coughing brother. I stole my first book that
day. It was a manual for digging graves and
I stole it on my way to Himmel Street. . . .

She fell asleep down there, on a bed of drop sheets, with the paper curling at the
edges, up on the taller paint can. In the morning, Mama stood above her, her
chlorinated eyes questioning.

Liesel, she said, what on earth are you doing down here?

Im writing, Mama.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Rosa stomped back up the steps. Be back up in five
minutes or you get the bucket treatment. Verstehst?

I understand.

Every night, Liesel made her way down to the basement. She kept the book with
her at all times. For hours, she wrote, attempting each night to complete ten
pages of her life. There was so much to consider, so many things in danger of
being left out. Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the
strength of her writing fist grew.