The Book Thief

BOOK OF FIRE

The dark came in pieces, and with the cigarette brought to an end, Liesel and Hans Hubermann began to walk home. To get out of the square, they had to walk past the bonfire site and through a small side road onto Munich Street. They didn’t make it that far.

A middle-aged carpenter named Wolfgang Edel called out. He’d built the platforms for the Nazi big shots to stand on during the fire and he was in the process now of pulling them down. ‘Hans Hubermann?’ He had long sideburns that pointed to his mouth, and a dark voice. ‘Hansie!’

‘Hey, Wolfal,’ Hans replied. There was an introduction to the girl and a Heil Hitler. ‘Good, Liesel.’

For the first few minutes, Liesel stayed within a five-metre radius of the conversation. Fragments came past her but she didn’t pay too much attention.

‘Getting much work?’

‘No, it’s all tighter now. You know how it is, especially when you’re not a member.’

‘You told me you were joining, Hansie.’

‘I tried, but I made a mistake – I think they’re still considering.’

Liesel wandered towards the mountain of ash. It sat like a magnet, like a freak. Irresistible to the eyes, similar to the road of yellow stars.

As with her previous urge to see the mound’s ignition, she could not look away. All alone, she didn’t have the discipline to keep a safe distance. It sucked her towards it and she began to make her way around.

Above her, the sky was completing its routine of darkening, but far away, over the mountain’s shoulder, there was a dull trace of light.

‘Pass auf, Kind,’ a uniform said to her at one point. ‘Look out, child,’ as he shovelled some more ash onto a cart.

Closer to the town hall, under a light, some shadows stood and talked, most likely exulting in the success of the fire. From Liesel’s position, their voices were only sounds. Not words at all.

For a few minutes, she watched the men shovelling up the pile, at first making it smaller at the sides, to allow more of it to collapse. They came back and forth from a truck, and after three return trips, when the heap was reduced near the bottom, a small section of living material slipped from inside the ash.

THE MATERIAL

Perhaps they were damp. Perhaps the fire didn’t burn long enough to fully reach the depth where they sat. Whatever the reason, they were huddled amongst the ashes, shaken. Survivors.

‘Three books.’ Liesel spoke softly and she looked at the backs of the men.

‘Come on,’ said one of them. ‘Hurry up, will you, I’m starving.’

They moved towards the truck.

The threesome of books poked their noses out.

Liesel moved in.

The heat was still strong enough to warm her when she stood at the foot of the ash heap. When she reached in, her hand was bitten, but on the second attempt, she made sure she was fast enough. She latched onto the closest of the books. It was blue, and burned at the edges, but otherwise unhurt.

The cover felt like it was woven with hundreds of tightly drawn strings and clamped down. Red letters were pressed into those fibres. The only word Liesel had time to read was Shoulder. There wasn’t enough time for the rest, and there was a problem. The smoke.

Smoke lifted from the cover as she juggled it and hurried away. Her head was pulled down, and the sick beauty of nerves proved more ghastly with each stride. There were fourteen steps till the voice.

It propped itself up behind her.

‘Hey!’

That was when she nearly ran back and tossed the book onto the mound, but she was unable. The only movement at her disposal was the act of turning.

‘There are some things here that didn’t burn!’ It was one of the clean-up men. He was not facing the girl, but rather, the people standing by the town hall.

‘Well burn them again!’ came the reply. ‘And watch them burn!’

‘I think they’re wet!’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, do I have to do everything myself?’ The sound of footsteps passed by. It was the mayor, wearing a black coat over his Nazi uniform. He didn’t notice the girl who stood absolutely still only a short distance away.

A REALISATION

She sank.

The thrill of being ignored!

The book felt cool enough now to slip inside her uniform. At first, it was nice and warm against her chest. As she began walking, though, it began to heat up again.

By the time she made it back to Papa and Wolfgang Edel, the book was starting to burn her. It seemed to be igniting.

Both men looked in her direction.

She smiled.

Immediately, when the smile shrank from her lips, she could feel something else. Or more to the point, someone else. There was no mistaking the watched feeling. It was all over her, and it was confirmed when she dared to face the shadows over at the town hall. To the side of the collection of silhouettes, another one stood, a few metres removed, and Liesel realised two things.

A FEW SMALL PIECES OF RECOGNITION

The shadow’s hands were in its coat pockets.

It had fluffy hair.

If it had a face, the expression on it would have been one of injury.

‘Gott verdammt,’ Liesel said, only loud enough for herself. ‘God damn it.’

‘Are we ready to go?’

In the previous moments of stupendous danger, Papa had said goodbye to Wolfgang Edel and was ready to accompany Liesel home.

‘Ready,’ she answered.

They began to leave the scene of the crime, and the book was well and truly burning her now. The Shoulder Shrug had applied itself to her ribcage.

As they walked past the precarious town hall shadows, the book thief winced.

‘What’s wrong?’ Papa asked.

‘Nothing.’

Quite a few things, however, were most definitely wrong:

Smoke was rising out of Liesel’s collar.

A necklace of sweat had formed around her throat.

Beneath her shirt, a book was eating her up.