The Book Thief

THE HIDDEN SKETCH BOOK

A few days before Christmas, there was another raid, although nothing dropped on the town of Molching. According to the radio news, most of the bombs fell in open country.

What was most important was the reaction in the Fiedlers’ shelter. Once the last few patrons had arrived, everyone settled down solemnly and waited. They looked at her, expectantly.

Papa’s voice arrived, loud in her ears.

‘And if there are more raids, keep reading in the shelter.’

Liesel waited. She needed to be sure that they wanted it.

Rudy spoke for everyone. ‘Read, Saumensch.’

She opened the book and, again, the words found their way upon all those present in the shelter.

At home, once the sirens had given permission for everyone to return above ground, Liesel sat in the kitchen with her mama. A preoccupation was at the forefront of Rosa Hubermann’s expression, and it was not long until she picked up a knife and left the room. ‘Come with me.’

She walked to the living room and took the sheet from the edge of her mattress. In the side, there was a sewn-up slit. If you didn’t know beforehand that it was there, there was almost no chance of finding it. Rosa cut it carefully open and inserted her hand, reaching in the length of her entire arm. When it came back out, she was holding Max Vandenburg’s sketch book.

‘He said to give this to you when you were ready,’ she said. ‘I was thinking your birthday. Then I brought it back to Christmas.’ Rosa Hubermann stood and there was a strange look on her face. It was not made up of pride. Perhaps it was the thickness, the heaviness of recollection. She said, ‘I think you’ve always been ready, Liesel. From the moment you arrived here clinging to that gate, you were meant to have this.’

The book changed hands.

The cover looked like this:

THE WORD SHAKER

Liesel held it with soft hands. She stared. ‘Thanks, Mama.’

She embraced her.

There was also a great longing to tell Rosa Hubermann that she loved her. It’s a shame she didn’t say it.

She wanted to read the book in the basement, for old times’ sake, but Mama convinced her otherwise. ‘There’s a reason Max got sick down there,’ she said, ‘and I can tell you one thing, girl, I’m not letting you get sick.’

She read in the kitchen.

Red and yellow gaps in the stove.

The Word Shaker.

She made her way through the countless sketches and stories, and the pictures with captions. Things like Rudy on a dais with three gold medals slung around his neck. Hair the colour of lemons was written beneath it. The snowman made an appearance, as did a list of the thirteen presents, not to mention the records of countless nights in the basement, or by the fire.

Of course, there were many thoughts, sketches and dreams relating to Stuttgart and Germany and the Führer. Recollections of Max’s family were also there. In the end, he could not resist including them. He had to.

Then came page 117.

That was where The Word Shaker itself made its appearance.

It was a fable or a fairytale. Liesel was not sure which. Even days later, when she looked up both terms in the Duden Dictionary, she couldn’t distinguish between the two.

On the previous page there was a small note.

PAGE 116

She turned the page.