THE SMELL OF FRIENDSHIP

 
 It continued.
 
 Over the next few weeks and into summer, the midnight class began at the end of each nightmare. There were two more bed-wetting occurrences, but Hans Hubermann merely repeated his previous cleanup heroics and got down to the task of reading, sketching, and reciting. In the mornings early hours, quiet voices were loud.
 
 On a Thursday, just after 3 p. m., Mama told Liesel to get ready to come with her and deliver some ironing. Papa had other ideas.
 
 He walked into the kitchen and said, Sorry, Mama, shes not going with you today.
 
 Mama didnt even bother looking up from the washing bag. Who asked you, Arschloch? Come on, Liesel.
 
 Shes reading, he said. Papa handed Liesel a steadfast smile and a wink. With me. Im teaching her. Were going to the Amper upstream, where I used to practice the accordion.
 
 Now he had her attention.
 
 Mama placed the washing on the table and eagerly worked herself up to the appropriate level of cynicism. What did you say?
 
 I think you heard me, Rosa.
 
 Mama laughed. What the hell could you teach her? A cardboard grin. Uppercut words. Like you could read so much, you Saukerl.
 
 The kitchen waited. Papa counterpunched. Well take your ironing for you.
 
 You filthy She stopped. The words propped in her mouth as she considered it. Be back before dark.
 
 We cant read in the dark, Mama, Liesel said.
 
 What was that, Saumensch?
 
 Nothing, Mama.
 
 Papa grinned and pointed at the girl. Book, sandpaper, pencil, he ordered her, and accordion! once she was already gone. Soon, they were on Himmel Street, carrying the words, the music, the washing.
 
 As they walked toward Frau Dillers, they turned around a few times to see if Mama was still at the gate, checking on them. She was. At one point, she called out, Liesel, hold that ironing straight! Dont crease it!
 
 Yes, Mama!
 
 A few steps later: Liesel, are you dressed warm enough?!
 
 What did you say?
 
 Saumensch dreckiges, you never hear anything! Are you dressed warm enough? It might get cold later!
 
 Around the corner, Papa bent down to do up a shoelace. Liesel, he said, could you roll me a cigarette?
 
 Nothing would give her greater pleasure.
 
 Once the ironing was delivered, they made their way back to the Amper River, which flanked the town. It worked its way past, pointing in the direction of Dachau, the concentration camp.
 
 There was a wooden-planked bridge.
 
 They sat maybe thirty meters down from it, in the grass, writing the words and reading them aloud, and when darkness was near, Hans pulled out the accordion. Liesel looked at him and listened, though she did not immediately notice the perplexed expression on her papas face that evening as he played.
 

PAPAS FACE
 It traveled and wondered,
 but it disclosed no answers.
 Not yet.
 

 
 There had been a change in him. A slight shift.
 
 She saw it but didnt realize until later, when all the stories came together. She didnt see him watching as he played, having no idea that Hans Hubermanns accordion was a story. In the times ahead, that story would arrive at 33 Himmel Street in the early hours of morning, wearing ruffled shoulders and a shivering jacket. It would carry a suitcase, a book, and two questions. A story. Story after story. Story within story.
 
 For now, there was only the one as far as Liesel was concerned, and she was enjoying it.
 
 She settled into the long arms of grass, lying back.
 
 She closed her eyes and her ears held the notes.
 
 There were, of course, some problems as well. A few times, Papa nearly yelled at her. Come on, Liesel, hed say. You know this word; you know it! Just when progress seemed to be flowing well, somehow things would become lodged.
 
 When the weather was good, theyd go to the Amper in the afternoon. In bad weather, it was the basement. This was mainly on account of Mama. At first, they tried in the kitchen, but there was no way.
 
 Rosa, Hans said to her at one point. Quietly, his words cut through one of her sentences. Could you do me a favor?
 
 She looked up from the stove. What?
 
 Im asking you, Im begging you, could you please shut your mouth for just five minutes?
 
 You can imagine the reaction.
 
 They ended up in the basement.
 
 There was no lighting there, so they took a kerosene lamp, and slowly, between school and home, from the river to the basement, from the good days to the bad, Liesel was learning to read and write.
 
 Soon, Papa told her, youll be able to read that awful graves book with your eyes closed.
 
 And I can get out of that midget class.
 
 She spoke those words with a grim kind of ownership.
 
 In one of their basement sessions, Papa dispensed with the sandpaper (it was running out fast) and pulled out a brush. There were few luxuries in the Hubermann household, but there was an oversupply of paint, and it became more than useful for Liesels learning. Papa would say a word and the girl would have to spell it aloud and then paint it on the wall, as long as she got it right. After a month, the wall was recoated. A fresh cement page.
 
 Some nights, after working in the basement, Liesel would sit crouched in the bath and hear the same utterances from the kitchen.
 
 You stink, Mama would say to Hans. Like cigarettes and kerosene.
 
 Sitting in the water, she imagined the smell of it, mapped out on her papas clothes. More than anything, it was the smell of friendship, and she could find it on herself, too. Liesel loved that smell. She would sniff her arm and smile as the water cooled around her.
 
 
 
  

THE HEAVY WEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE SCHOOL-YARD

 
 The summer of 39 was in a hurry, or perhaps Liesel was. She spent her time playing soccer with Rudy and the other kids on Himmel Street (a year-round pastime), taking ironing around town with Mama, and learning words. It felt like it was over a few days after it began.
 
 In the latter part of the year, two things happened.
 

SEPTEMBERNOVEMBER 1939

 
 World War Two begins.
 
 Liesel Meminger becomes the heavyweight champion of the school yard.
 
 The beginning of September.
 
 It was a cool day in Molching when the war began and my workload increased.
 
 The world talked it over.
 
 Newspaper headlines reveled in it.
 
 The Fhrers voice roared from German radios. We will not give up. We will not rest. We will be victorious. Our time has come.
 
 The German invasion of Poland had begun and people were gathered everywhere, listening to the news of it. Munich Street, like every other main street in Germany, was alive with war. The smell, the voice. Rationing had begun a few days earlierthe writing on the walland now it was official. England and France had made their declaration on Germany. To steal a phrase from Hans Hubermann:
 
 The fun begins.
 
 The day of the announcement, Papa was lucky enough to have some work. On his way home, he picked up a discarded newspaper, and rather than stopping to shove it between paint cans in his cart, he folded it up and slipped it beneath his shirt. By the time he made it home and removed it, his sweat had drawn the ink onto his skin. The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo. Holding the shirt open, he looked down in the unsure kitchen light.
 
 What does it say? Liesel asked him. She was looking back and forth, from the black outlines on his skin to the paper.
 
 Hitler takes Poland, he answered, and Hans Hubermann slumped into a chair. Deutschland ber Alles, he whispered, and his voice was not remotely patriotic.
 
 The face was there againhis accordion face.
 
 That was one war started.
 
 Liesel would soon be in another.
 
 Nearly a month after school resumed, she was moved up to her rightful year level. You might think this was due to her improved reading, but it wasnt. Despite the advancement, she still read with great difficulty. Sentences were strewn everywhere. Words fooled her. The reason she was elevated had more to do with the fact that she became disruptive in the younger class. She answered questions directed to other children and called out. A few times, she was given what was known as a Watschen (pronounced varchen) in the corridor.
 

A DEFINITION
 Watschen = a good hiding
 

 
 She was taken up, put in a chair at the side, and told to keep her mouth shut by the teacher, who also happened to be a nun. At the other end of the classroom, Rudy looked across and waved. Liesel waved back and tried not to smile.
 
 At home, she was well into reading The Grave Diggers Handbook with Papa. They would circle the words she couldnt understand and take them down to the basement the next day. She thought it was enough. It was not enough.
 
 Somewhere at the start of November, there were some progress tests at school. One of them was for reading. Every child was made to stand at the front of the room and read from a passage the teacher gave them. It was a frosty morning but bright with sun. Children scrunched their eyes. A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the wayI like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me. )
 
 In the sun-heavy classroom, names were rattled off at random.
 
 Waldenheim, Lehmann, Steiner.
 
 They all stood up and did a reading, all at different levels of capability. Rudy was surprisingly good.
 
 Throughout the test, Liesel sat with a mixture of hot anticipation and excruciating fear. She wanted desperately to measure herself, to find out once and for all how her learning was advancing. Was she up to it? Could she even come close to Rudy and the rest of them?
 
 Each time Sister Maria looked at her list, a string of nerves tightened in Liesels ribs. It started in her stomach but had worked its way up. Soon, it would be around her neck, thick as rope.
 
 When Tommy Mller finished his mediocre attempt, she looked around the room. Everyone had read. She was the only one left.
 
 Very good. Sister Maria nodded, perusing the list. Thats everyone.
 
 What?
 
 No!
 
 A voice practically appeared on the other side of the room. Attached to it was a lemon-haired boy whose bony knees knocked in his pants under the desk. He stretched his hand up and said, Sister Maria, I think you forgot Liesel.
 
 Sister Maria.
 
 Was not impressed.
 
 She plonked her folder on the table in front of her and inspected Rudy with sighing disapproval. It was almost melancholic. Why, she lamented, did she have to put up with Rudy Steiner? He simply couldnt keep his mouth shut. Why, God, why?
 
 No, she said, with finality. Her small belly leaned forward with the rest of her. Im afraid Liesel cannot do it, Rudy. The teacher looked across, for confirmation. She will read for me later.
 
 The girl cleared her throat and spoke with quiet defiance. I can do it now, Sister. The majority of other kids watched in silence. A few of them performed the beautiful childhood art of snickering.
 
 The sister had had enough. No, you cannot! . . . What are you doing?
 
 For Liesel was out of her chair and walking slowly, stiffly toward the front of the room. She picked up the book and opened it to a random page.
 
 All right, then, said Sister Maria. You want to do it? Do it.
 
 Yes, Sister. After a quick glance at Rudy, Liesel lowered her eyes and examined the page.
 
 When she looked up again, the room was pulled apart, then squashed back together. All the kids were mashed, right before her eyes, and in a moment of brilliance, she imagined herself reading the entire page in faultless, fluency-filled triumph.
 

A KEY WORD
 Imagined
 

 
 Come on, Liesel!
 
 Rudy broke the silence.
 
 The book thief looked down again, at the words.
 
 Come on. Rudy mouthed it this time. Come on, Liesel.
 
 Her blood loudened. The sentences blurred.
 
 The white page was suddenly written in another tongue, and it didnt help that tears were now forming in her eyes. She couldnt even see the words anymore.
 
 And the sun. That awful sun. It burst through the windowthe glass was everywhereand shone directly onto the useless girl. It shouted in her face. You can steal a book, but you cant read one!
 
 It came to her. A solution.
 
 Breathing, breathing, she started to read, but not from the book in front of her. It was something from The Grave Diggers Handbook. Chapter three: In the Event of Snow. Shed memorized it from her papas voice.
 
 In the event of snow, she spoke, you must make sure you use a good shovel. You must dig deep; you cannot be lazy. You cannot cut corners. Again, she sucked in a large clump of air. Of course, it is easier to wait for the warmest part of the day, when
 
 It ended.
 
 The book was snatched from her grasp and she was told. Lieselthe corridor.
 
 As she was given a small Watschen, she could hear them all laughing in the classroom, between Sister Marias striking hand. She saw them. All those mashed children. Grinning and laughing. Bathed in sunshine. Everyone laughing but Rudy.
 
 In the break, she was taunted. A boy named Ludwig Schmeikl came up to her with a book. Hey, Liesel, he said to her, Im having trouble with this word. Could you read it for me? He laugheda ten-year-old, smugness laughter. You Dummkopfyou idiot.
 
 Clouds were filing in now, big and clumsy, and more kids were calling out to her, watching her seethe.
 
 Dont listen to them, Rudy advised.
 
 Easy for you to say. Youre not the stupid one.
 
 Nearing the end of the break, the tally of comments stood at nineteen. By the twentieth, she snapped. It was Schmeikl, back for more. Come on, Liesel. He stuck the book under her nose. Help me out, will you?
 
 Liesel helped him out, all right.
 
 She stood up and took the book from him, and as he smiled over his shoulder at some other kids, she threw it away and kicked him as hard as she could in the vicinity of the groin.
 
 Well, as you might imagine, Ludwig Schmeikl certainly buckled, and on the way down, he was punched in the ear. When he landed, he was set upon. When he was set upon, he was slapped and clawed and obliterated by a girl who was utterly consumed with rage. His skin was so warm and soft. Her knuckles and fingernails were so frighteningly tough, despite their smallness. You Saukerl. Her voice, too, was able to scratch him. You Arschloch. Can you spell Arschloch for me?
 
 Oh, how the clouds stumbled in and assembled stupidly in the sky.
 
 Great obese clouds.
 
 Dark and plump.
 
 Bumping into each other. Apologizing. Moving on and finding room.
 
 Children were there, quick as, well, quick as kids gravitating toward a fight. A stew of arms and legs, of shouts and cheers grew thicker around them. They were watching Liesel Meminger give Ludwig Schmeikl the hiding of a lifetime. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, a girl commentated with a shriek, shes going to kill him!
 
 Liesel did not kill him.
 
 But she came close.
 
 In fact, probably the only thing that stopped her was the twitchingly pathetic, grinning face of Tommy Mller. Still crowded with adrenaline, Liesel caught sight of him smiling with such absurdity that she dragged him down and started beating him up as well.
 
 What are you doing?! he wailed, and only then, after the third or fourth slap and a trickle of bright blood from his nose, did she stop.
 
 On her knees, she sucked in the air and listened to the groans beneath her. She watched the whirlpool of faces, left and right, and she announced, Im not stupid.
 
 No one argued.
 
 It was only when everyone moved back inside and Sister Maria saw the state of Ludwig Schmeikl that the fight resumed. First, it was Rudy and a few others who bore the brunt of suspicion. They were always at each other. Hands, each boy was ordered, but every pair was clean.
 
 I dont believe this, the sister muttered. It cant be, because sure enough, when Liesel stepped forward to show her hands, Ludwig Schmeikl was all over them, rusting by the moment. The corridor, she stated for the second time that day. For the second time that hour, actually.
 
 This time, it was not a small Watschen. It was not an average one. This time, it was the mother of all corridor Watschens, one sting of the stick after another, so that Liesel would barely be able to sit down for a week. And there was no laughter from the room. More the silent fear of listening in.
 
 At the end of the school day, Liesel walked home with Rudy and the other Steiner children. Nearing Himmel Street, in a hurry of thoughts, a culmination of misery swept over herthe failed recital of The Grave Diggers Handbook, the demolition of her family, her nightmares, the humiliation of the dayand she crouched in the gutter and wept. It all led here.
 
 Rudy stood there, next to her.
 
 It began to rain, nice and hard.
 
 Kurt Steiner called out, but neither of them moved. One sat painfully now, among the falling chunks of rain, and the other stood next to her, waiting.
 
 Why did he have to die? she asked, but still, Rudy did nothing; he said nothing.
 
 When finally she finished and stood herself up, he put his arm around her, best-buddy style, and they walked on. There was no request for a kiss. Nothing like that. You can love Rudy for that, if you like.
 
 Just dont kick me in the eggs.
 
 Thats what he was thinking, but he didnt tell Liesel that. It was nearly four years later that he offered that information.
 
 For now, Rudy and Liesel made their way onto Himmel Street in the rain.
 
 He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world.
 
 She was the book thief without the words.
 
 Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.