The Book Thief by Markus Zusak Page A

after the eating was finished. Was he really a
coward, as his son had so brutally pointed out? Certainly, in World War I, he
considered himself one. He attributed his survival to it. But then, is there
cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that
you lived?
    His thoughts
crisscrossed the table as he stared into it.
    “Papa?” Liesel
asked, but he did not look at her. “What was he talking about? What did he mean
when . . .”
    “Nothing,” Papa
answered. He spoke quiet and calm, to the table. “It’s nothing. Forget about
him, Liesel.” It took perhaps a minute for him to speak again. “Shouldn’t you
be getting ready?” He looked at her this time. “Don’t you have a bonfire to go
to?”
    “Yes, Papa.”
    The book thief
went and changed into her Hitler Youth uniform, and half an hour later, they
left, walking to the BDM headquarters. From there, the children would be taken
to the town square in their groups.
    Speeches would
be made.
    A fire would be
lit.
    A book would be
stolen.

     
     
    100 PERCENT PURE GERMAN SWEAT
    People lined the
streets as the youth of Germany marched toward the town hall and the square. On
quite a few occasions Liesel forgot about her mother and any other problem of
which she currently held ownership. There was a swell in her chest as the
people clapped them on. Some kids waved to their parents, but only briefly—it
was an explicit instruction that they march straight and
don’t look or wave
to
the crowd.
    When Rudy’s
group came into the square and was instructed to halt, there was a discrepancy.
Tommy Müller. The rest of the regiment stopped marching and Tommy plowed
directly into the boy in front of him.
    “Dummkopf !”
the boy spat
before turning around.
    “I’m sorry,”
said Tommy, arms held apologetically out. His face tripped over itself. “I
couldn’t hear.” It was only a small moment, but it was also a preview of
troubles to come. For Tommy. For Rudy.
    At the end of
the marching, the Hitler Youth divisions were allowed to disperse. It would
have been near impossible to keep them all together as the bonfire burned in
their eyes and excited them. Together, they cried one united “
heil
Hitler”
and were free to wander. Liesel looked for Rudy, but once the crowd of children
scattered, she was caught inside a mess of uniforms and high-pitched words.
Kids calling out to other kids.
    By four-thirty,
the air had cooled considerably.
    People joked
that they needed warming up. “That’s all this trash is good for anyway.”
    Carts were used
to wheel it all in. It was dumped in the middle of the town square and dowsed
with something sweet. Books and paper and other material would slide or tumble
down, only to be thrown back onto the pile. From further away, it looked like
something volcanic. Or something grotesque and alien that had somehow landed
miraculously in the middle of town and needed to be snuffed out, and fast.
    The applied
smell leaned toward the crowd, who were kept at a good distance. There were
well in excess of a thousand people, on the ground, on the town hall steps, on
the rooftops that surrounded the square.
    When Liesel
tried to make her way through, a crackling sound prompted her to think that the
fire had already begun. It hadn’t. The sound was kinetic humans, flowing,
charging up.
    They’ve started
without me!
    Although
something inside told her that this was a crime—after all, her three books were
the most precious items she owned—she was compelled to see the thing lit. She
couldn’t help it. I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand
castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin. Their great skill is their
capacity to escalate.
    The thought of
missing it was eased when she found a gap in the bodies and was able to see the
mound of guilt, still intact. It was prodded and splashed, even spat on. It
reminded her of an unpopular child,