The Book Thief Part 57

Five days later, when she continued her habit of looking at the weather, she did not get a chance to see the sky.

Next door, Barbara Steiner was sitting on the front step with her neatly combed hair. She was smoking a cigarette and shivering. On her way over, Liesel was interrupted by the sight of Kurt. He came out and sat with his mother. When he saw the girl stop, he called out.

"Come on, Liesel. Rudy will be out soon."

After a short pause, she continued walking toward the step.

Barbara smoked.

A wrinkle of ash was teetering at the end of the cigarette. Kurt took it, ashed it, inhaled, then gave it back.

When the cigarette was done, Rudy's mother looked up. She ran a hand through her tidy lines of hair.

"Our papa's going, too," Kurt said.

Quietness then.

A group of kids was kicking a ball, up near Frau Diller's.

"When they come and ask you for one of your children," Barbara Steiner explained, to no one in particular, "you're supposed to say yes."

THE PROMISE KEEPER'S WIFE

THE BAs.e.m.e.nT, 9 A.M.

Six hours till goodbye:

"I played an accordion, Liesel. Someone else's." He closes his eyes: "It brought the house down."

Not counting the gla.s.s of champagne the previous summer, Hans Hubermann had not consumed a drop of alcohol for a decade. Then came the night before he left for training.

He made his way to the Knoller with Alex Steiner in the afternoon and stayed well into the evening. Ignoring the warnings of their wives, both men drank themselves into oblivion. It didn't help that the Knoller's owner, Dieter Westheimer, gave them free drinks.

Apparently, while he was still sober, Hans was invited to the stage to play the accordion. Appropriately, he played the infamous "Gloomy Sunday"-the anthem of suicide from Hungary-and although he aroused all the sadness for which the song was renowned, he brought the house down. Liesel imagined the scene of it, and the sound. Mouths were full. Empty beer gla.s.ses were streaked with foam. The bellows sighed and the song was over. People clapped. Their beer-filled mouths cheered him back to the bar.

When they managed to find their way home, Hans couldn't get his key to fit the door. So he knocked. Repeatedly.

"Rosa!"

It was the wrong door.

Frau Holtzapfel was not thrilled.

"Schwein! You're at the wrong house." She rammed the words through the keyhole. "Next door, you stupid Saukerl."

"Thanks, Frau Holtzapfel."

"You know what you can do with your thanks, you a.s.shole."

"Excuse me?"

"Just go home."

"Thanks, Frau Holtzapfel."

"Didn't I just tell you what you can do with your thanks?"

"Did you?"

(It's amazing what you can piece together from a bas.e.m.e.nt conversation and a reading session in a nasty old woman's kitchen.) "Just get lost, will you!"

When at long last he came home, Papa made his way not to bed, but to Liesel's room. He stood drunkenly in the doorway and watched her sleep. She awoke and thought immediately that it was Max.

"Is it you?" she asked.

"No," he said. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "It's Papa."

He backed out of the room and she heard his footsteps making their way down to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

In the living room, Rosa was snoring with enthusiasm.

Close to nine o'clock the next morning, in the kitchen, Liesel was given an order by Rosa. "Hand me that bucket there."

She filled it with cold water and walked with it down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Liesel followed, in a vain attempt to stop her. "Mama, you can't!"

"Can't I?" She faced her briefly on the steps. "Did I miss something, Saumensch? Do you give the orders around here now?"

Both of them were completely still.

No answer from the girl.

"I thought not."

They continued on and found him on his back, among a bed of drop sheets. He felt he didn't deserve Max's mattress.

"Now, let's see"-Rosa lifted the bucket-"if he's alive."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

The watermark was oval-shaped, from halfway up his chest to his head. His hair was plastered to one side and even his eyelashes dripped. "What was that for?"

"You old drunk!"

"Jesus ..."

Steam was rising weirdly from his clothes. His hangover was visible. It heaved itself to his shoulders and sat there like a bag of wet cement.

Rosa swapped the bucket from left hand to right. "It's lucky you're going to the war," she said. She held her finger in the air and wasn't afraid to wave it. "Otherwise I'd kill you myself, you know that, don't you?"

Papa wiped a stream of water from his throat. "Did you have to do that?"

"Yes. I did." She started up the steps. "If you're not up there in five minutes, you get another bucketful."

Left in the bas.e.m.e.nt with Papa, Liesel busied herself by mopping up the excess water with some drop sheets.

Papa spoke. With his wet hand, he made the girl stop. He held her forearm. "Liesel?" His face clung to her. "Do you think he's alive?"

Liesel sat.

She crossed her legs.

The wet drop sheet soaked onto her knee.

"I hope so, Papa."

It felt like such a stupid thing to say, so obvious, but there seemed little alternative.

To say at least something of value, and to distract them from thoughts of Max, she made herself crouch and placed a finger in a small pool of water on the floor. "Guten Morgen, Papa."

In response, Hans winked at her.

But it was not the usual wink. It was heavier, clumsier. The post-Max version, the hangover version. He sat up and told her about the accordion of the previous night, and Frau Holtzapfel.

THE KITCHEN: 1 P.M.

Two hours till goodbye: "Don't go, Papa. Please."

Her spoon-holding hand is shaking. "First we lost Max.

I can't lose you now, too." In response, the hungover

man digs his elbow into the table and covers his right eye.

"You're half a woman now, Liesel." He wants to break down but

wards it off. He rides through it. "Look after

Mama, will you?" The girl can make only half a nod

to agree. "Yes, Papa."