Thirteen presents

 
 It was Maxs arrival, revisited.
 
 Feathers turned to twigs again. Smooth face turned to rough. The proof she needed was there. He was alive.
 
 The first few days, she sat and talked to him. On her birthday, she told him there was an enormous cake waiting in the kitchen, if only hed wake up.
 
 There was no waking.
 
 There was no cake.
 

A LATE-NIGHT EXCERPT
 I realized much later that I actually visited
 33 Himmel Street in that period of time.
 It must have been one of the few moments when the
 girl was not there with him, for all I saw was a
 man in bed. I knelt. I readied myself to insert
 my hands through the blankets. Then there was a
 

resurgencean immense struggle against my weight.
 I withdrew, and with so much work ahead of me,
 it was nice to be fought off in that dark little room.
 I even managed a short, closed-eyed pause of
 serenity before I made my way out.
 

 
 On the fifth day, there was much excitement when Max opened his eyes, if only for a few moments. What he predominantly saw (and what a frightening version it must have been close-up) was Rosa Hubermann, practically slinging an armful of soup into his mouth. Swallow, she advised him. Dont think. Just swallow. As soon as Mama handed back the bowl, Liesel tried to see his face again, but there was a soup-feeders backside in the way.
 
 Is he still awake?
 
 When she turned, Rosa did not have to answer.
 
 After close to a week, Max woke up a second time, on this occasion with Liesel and Papa in the room. They were both watching the body in the bed when there was a small groan. If its possible, Papa fell upward, out of the chair.
 
 Look, Liesel gasped. Stay awake, Max, stay awake.
 
 He looked at her briefly, but there was no recognition. The eyes studied her as if she were a riddle. Then gone again.
 
 Papa, what happened?
 
 Hans dropped, back to the chair.
 
 Later, he suggested that perhaps she should read to him. Come on, Liesel, youre such a good reader these dayseven if its a mystery to all of us where that book came from.
 
 I told you, Papa. One of the nuns at school gave it to me.
 
 Papa held his hands up in mock-protest. I know, I know. He sighed, from a height. Just. . . He chose his words gradually. Dont get caught. This from a man whod stolen a Jew.
 
 From that day on, Liesel read The Whistler aloud to Max as he occupied her bed. The one frustration was that she kept having to skip whole chapters on account of many of the pages being stuck together. It had not dried well. Still, she struggled on, to the point where she was nearly three-quarters of the way through it. The book was 396 pages.
 
 In the outside world, Liesel rushed from school each day in the hope that Max was feeling better. Has he woken up? Has he eaten?
 
 Go back out, Mama begged her. Youre chewing a hole in my stomach with all this talking. Go on. Get out there and play soccer, for Gods sake.
 
 Yes, Mama. She was about to open the door. But youll come and get me if he wakes up, wont you? Just make something up. Scream out like Ive done something wrong. Start swearing at me. Everyone will believe it, dont worry.
 
 Even Rosa had to smile at that. She placed her knuckles on her hips and explained that Liesel wasnt too old yet to avoid a Watschen for talking in such a way. And score a goal, she threatened, or dont come home at all.
 
 Sure, Mama.
 
 Make that two goals, Saumensch!
 
 Yes, Mama.
 
 And stop answering back!
 
 Liesel considered, but she ran onto the street, to oppose Rudy on the mud-slippery road.
 
 About time, ass scratcher. He welcomed her in the customary way as they fought for the ball. Where have you been?
 
 Half an hour later, when the ball was squashed by the rare passage of a car on Himmel Street, Liesel had found her first present for Max Vandenburg. After judging it irreparable, all of the kids walked home in disgust, leaving the ball twitching on the cold, blistered road. Liesel and Rudy remained stooped over the carcass. There was a gaping hole on its side like a mouth.
 
 You want it? Liesel asked.
 
 Rudy shrugged. What do I want with this squashed shit heap of a ball? Theres no chance of getting air into it now, is there?
 
 Do you want it or not?
 
 No thanks. Rudy prodded it cautiously with his foot, as if it were a dead animal. Or an animal that might be dead.
 
 As he walked home, Liesel picked the ball up and placed it under her arm. She could hear him call out, Hey, Saumensch. She waited. Saumensch!
 
 She relented. What?
 
 Ive got a bike without wheels here, too, if you want it.
 
 Stick your bike.
 
 From her position on the street, the last thing she heard was the laughter of that Saukerl, Rudy Steiner.
 
 Inside, she made her way to the bedroom. She took the ball in to Max and placed it at the end of the bed.
 
 Im sorry, she said, its not much. But when you wake up, Ill tell you all about it. Ill tell you it was the grayest afternoon you can imagine, and this car without its lights on ran straight over the ball. Then the man got out and yelled at us. And then he asked for directions. The nerve of him. . .
 
 Wake up! she wanted to scream.
 
 Or shake him.
 
 She didnt.
 
 All Liesel could do was watch the ball and its trampled, flaking skin. It was the first gift of many.
 

PRESENTS #2#5
 One ribbon, one pinecone.
 One button, one stone.
 

 
 The soccer ball had given her an idea.
 
 Whenever she walked to and from school now, Liesel was on the lookout for discarded items that might be valuable to a dying man. She wondered at first why it mattered so much. How could something so seemingly insignificant give comfort to someone? A ribbon in a gutter. A pinecone on the street. A button leaning casually against a classroom wall. A flat round stone from the river. If nothing else, it showed that she cared, and it might give them something to talk about when Max woke up.
 
 When she was alone, she would conduct those conversations.
 
 So whats all this? Max would say. Whats all this junk?
 
 Junk? In her mind, she was sitting on the side of the bed. This isnt junk, Max. These are what made you wake up.
 

PRESENTS #6#9
 One feather, two newspapers.
 A candy wrapper. A cloud.
 

 
 The feather was lovely and trapped, in the door hinges of the church on Munich Street. It poked itself crookedly out and Liesel hurried over to rescue it. The fibers were combed flat on the left, but the right side was made of delicate edges and sections of jagged triangles. There was no other way of describing it.
 
 The newspapers came from the cold depths of a garbage can (enough said), and the candy wrapper was flat and faded. She found it near the school and held it up to the light. It contained a collage of shoe prints.
 
 Then the cloud.
 
 How do you give someone a piece of sky?
 
 Late in February, she stood on Munich Street and watched a single giant cloud come over the hills like a white monster. It climbed the mountains. The sun was eclipsed, and in its place, a white beast with a gray heart watched the town.
 
 Would you look at that? she said to Papa.
 
 Hans cocked his head and stated what he felt was the obvious. You should give it to Max, Liesel. See if you can leave it on the bedside table, like all the other things.
 
 Liesel watched him as if hed gone insane. How, though?
 
 Lightly, he tapped her skull with his knuckles. Memorize it. Then write it down for him.
 
 . . . It was like a great white beast, she said at her next bedside vigil, and it came from over the mountains.
 
 When the sentence was completed with several different adjustments and additions, Liesel felt like shed done it. She imagined the vision of it passing from her hand to his, through the blankets, and she wrote it down on a scrap of paper, placing the stone on top of it.
 

PRESENTS #10#13
 One toy soldier.
 One miraculous leaf.
 A finished whistler.
 A slab of grief.
 

 
 The soldier was buried in the dirt, not far from Tommy Mllers place. It was scratched and trodden, which, to Liesel, was the whole point. Even with injury, it could still stand up.
 
 The leaf was a maple and she found it in the school broom closet, among the buckets and feather dusters. The door was slightly ajar. The leaf was dry and hard, like toasted bread, and there were hills and valleys all over its skin. Somehow, the leaf had made its way into the school hallway and into that closet. Like half a star with a stem. Liesel reached in and twirled it in her fingers.
 
 Unlike the other items, she did not place the leaf on the bedside table. She pinned it to the closed curtain, just before reading the final thirty-four pages of The Whistler.
 
 She did not have dinner that afternoon or go to the toilet. She didnt drink. All day at school, she had promised herself that she would finish reading the book today, and Max Vandenburg was going to listen. He was going to wake up.
 
 Papa sat on the floor, in the corner, workless as usual. Luckily, he would soon be leaving for the Knoller with his accordion. His chin resting on his knees, he listened to the girl hed struggled to teach the alphabet. Reading proudly, she unloaded the final frightening words of the book to Max Vandenburg.
 

THE LAST REMNANTS OF
 THE WHISTLER
 

 
 The Viennese air was fogging up the windows of the train that morning, and as the people traveled obliviously to work, a murderer whistled his happy tune. He bought his ticket. There were polite greetings with fellow passengers and the conductor. He even gave up his seat for an elderly lady and made polite conversation with a gambler who spoke of Amer ican horses. After all, the whistler loved talking. He talked to people and fooled them into liking him, trusting him. He talked to them while he was killing them, torturing and turn ing the knife. It was only when there was no one to talk to that he whistled, which was why he did so after a murder. . . .
 
 So you think the track will suit number seven, do you?
 
 Of course. The gambler grinned. Trust was already there. Hell come from behind and kill the whole lot of them! He shouted it above the noise of the train.
 
 If you insist. The whistler smirked, and he wondered at length when they would find the inspectors body in that brand-new BMW.
 
 Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Hans couldnt resist an incredulous tone. A nun gave you that? He stood up and made his way over, kissing her forehead. Bye, Liesel, the Knoller awaits.
 
 Bye, Papa.
 
 Liesel!
 
 She ignored it.
 
 Come and eat something!
 
 She answered now. Im coming, Mama. She actually spoke those words to Max as she came closer and placed the finished book on the bedside table, with everything else. As she hovered above him, she couldnt help herself. Come on, Max, she whispered, and even the sound of Mamas arrival at her back did not stop her from silently crying. It didnt stop her from pulling a lump of salt water from her eye and feeding it onto Max Vandenburgs face.
 
 Mama took her.
 
 Her arms swallowed her.
 
 I know, she said.
 
 She knew.
 
 
 
  
 

FRESH AIR, AN OLD NIGHTMARE, AND WHAT TO DO WITH A JEWISH CORPSE

 
 They were by the Amper River and Liesel had just told Rudy that she was interested in attaining another book from the mayors house. In place of The Whistler, shed read The Standover Man several times at Maxs bedside. That was only a few minutes per reading. Shed also tried The Shoulder Shrug, even The Grave Diggers Handbook, but none of it seemed quite right. I want something new, she thought.
 
 Did you even read the last one?
 
 Of course I did.
 
 Rudy threw a stone into the water. Was it any good?
 
 Of course it was.
 
 Of course I did, of course it was. He tried to dig another rock out of the ground but cut his finger.
 
 Thatll teach you.
 
 Saumensch.
 
 When a persons last response was Saumensch or Saukerl or Arschloch, you knew you had them beaten.
 
 In terms of stealing, conditions were perfect. It was a gloomy afternoon early in March and only a few degrees above freezingalways more uncomfortable than ten degrees below. Very few people were out on the streets. Rain like gray pencil shavings.
 
 Are we going?
 
 Bikes, said Rudy. You can use one of ours.
 
 On this occasion, Rudy was considerably more enthusiastic about being the enterer. Today its my turn, he said as their fingers froze to the bike handles.
 
 Liesel thought fast. Maybe you shouldnt, Rudy. Theres stuff all over the place in there. And its dark. An idiot like you is bound to trip over or run into something.
 
 Thanks very much. In this mood, Rudy was hard to contain.
 
 Theres the drop, too. Its deeper than you think.
 
 Are you saying you dont think I can do it?
 
 Liesel stood up on the pedals. Not at all.
 
 They crossed the bridge and serpentined up the hill to Grande Strasse. The window was open.
 
 Like last time, they surveyed the house. Vaguely, they could see inside, to where a light was on downstairs, in what was probably the kitchen. A shadow moved back and forth.
 
 Well just ride around the block a few times, Rudy said. Lucky we brought the bikes, huh?
 
 Just make sure you remember to take yours home.
 
 Very funny, Saumensch. Its a bit bigger than your filthy shoes.
 
 They rode for perhaps fifteen minutes, and still, the mayors wife was downstairs, a little too close for comfort. How dare she occupy the kitchen with such vigilance! For Rudy, the kitchen was undoubtedly the actual goal. Hed have gone in, robbed as much food as was physically possible, then if (and only if) he had a last moment to spare, he would stuff a book down his pants on the way out. Any book would do.
 
 Rudys weakness, however, was impatience. Its getting late, he said, and began to ride off. You coming?
 
 Liesel didnt come.
 
 There was no decision to be made. Shed lugged that rusty bike all the way up there and she wasnt leaving without a book. She placed the handlebars in the gutter, looked out for any neighbors, and walked to the window. There was good speed but no hurry. She took her shoes off using her feet, treading on the heels with her toes.
 
 Her fingers tightened on the wood and she made her way inside.
 
 This time, if only slightly, she felt more at ease. In a few precious moments, she circled the room, looking for a title that grabbed her. On three or four occasions, she nearly reached out. She even considered taking more than one, but again, she didnt want to abuse what was a kind of system. For now, only one book was necessary. She studied the shelves and waited.
 
 An extra darkness climbed through the window behind her. The smell of dust and theft loitered in the background, and she saw it.
 
 The book was red, with black writing on the spine. Der Traumtrger. The Dream Carrier. She thought of Max Vandenburg and his dreams. Of guilt. Surviving. Leaving his family. Fighting the Fhrer. She also thought of her own dreamher brother, dead on the train, and his appearance on the steps just around the corner from this very room. The book thief watched his bloodied knee from the shove of her own hand.
 
 She slid the book from the shelf, tucked it under her arm, climbed to the window ledge, and jumped out, all in one motion.
 
 Rudy had her shoes. He had her bike ready. Once the shoes were on, they rode.
 
 Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Meminger. Hed never called her Meminger before. Youre an absolute lunatic. Do you know that?
 
 Liesel agreed as she pedaled like hell. I know it.
 
 At the bridge, Rudy summed up the afternoons proceedings. Those people are either completely crazy, he said, or they just like their fresh air.
 

A SMALL SUGGESTION
 Or maybe there was a woman on
 Grande Strasse who now kept her
 library window open for another
 reasonbut thats just me being
 cynical, or hopeful. Or both.
 

 
 Liesel placed The Dream Carrier beneath her jacket and began reading it the minute she returned home. In the wooden chair next to her bed, she opened the book and whispered, Its a new one, Max. Just for you. She started reading. Chapter one: It was quite fitting that the entire town was sleeping when the dream carrier was born. . . .
 
 Every day, Liesel read two chapters of the book. One in the morning before school and one as soon as she came home. On certain nights, when she was not able to sleep, she read half of a third chapter as well. Sometimes she would fall asleep slumped forward onto the side of the bed.
 
 It became her mission.
 
 She gave The Dream Carrier to Max as if the words alone could nourish him. On a Tuesday, she thought there was movement. She could have sworn his eyes had opened. If they had, it was only momentarily, and it was more likely just her imagination and wishful thinking.
 
 By mid-March, the cracks began to appear.
 
 Rosa Hubermannthe good woman for a crisiswas at breaking point one afternoon in the kitchen. She raised her voice, then brought it quickly down. Liesel stopped reading and made her way quietly to the hall. As close as she stood, she could still barely make out her mamas words. When she was able to hear them, she wished she hadnt, for what she heard was horrific. It was reality.
 

THE CONTENTS OF MAMAS VOICE
 What if he doesnt wake up?
 What if he dies here, Hansi?
 Tell me. What in Gods name will
 we do with the body? We cant
 leave him here, the smell will
 kill us. . . and we cant carry
 him out the door and drag him up
 the street, either. We cant just
 say, Youll never guess what we
 found in our basement this morning. . . .
 Theyll put us away for good.
 

 
 She was absolutely right.
 
 A Jewish corpse was a major problem. The Hubermanns needed to revive Max Vandenburg not only for his sake, but for their own. Even Papa, who was always the ultimate calming influence, was feeling the pressure.
 
 Look. His voice was quiet but heavy. If it happensif he dieswell simply need to find a way. Liesel could have sworn she heard him swallow. A gulp like a blow to the windpipe. My paint cart, some drop sheets. . .
 
 Liesel entered the kitchen.
 
 Not now, Liesel. It was Papa who spoke, though he did not look at her. He was watching his warped face in a turned-over spoon. His elbows were buried into the table.
 
 The book thief did not retreat. She took a few extra steps and sat down. Her cold hands felt for her sleeves and a sentence dropped from her mouth. Hes not dead yet. The words landed on the table and positioned themselves in the middle. All three people looked at them. Half hopes didnt dare rise any higher. He isnt dead yet. He isnt dead yet. It was Rosa who spoke next.
 
 Whos hungry?
 
 Possibly the only time that Maxs illness didnt hurt was at dinner. There was no denying it as the three of them sat at the kitchen table with their extra bread and extra soup or potatoes. They all thought it, but no one spoke.
 
 In the night, just a few hours later, Liesel awoke and wondered at the height of her heart. (She had learned that expression from The Dream Carrier, which was essentially the complete antithesis of The Whistler a book about an abandoned child who wanted to be a priest. ) She sat up and sucked deeply at the nighttime air.
 
 Liesel? Papa rolled over. What is it?
 
 Nothing, Papa, everythings good. But the very moment shed finished the sentence, she saw exactly what had happened in her dream.
 

ONE SMALL IMAGE
 For the most part, all is identical.
 The train moves at the same speed.
 Copiously, her brother coughs. This
 time, however, Liesel cannot see his
 face watching the floor. Slowly,
 she leans over. Her hand lifts him
 gently, from his chin, and there
 in front of her is the wide-eyed face
 of Max Vandenburg. He stares at her.
 A feather drops to the floor. The
 body is bigger now, matching the
 size of the face. The train screams.
 

 
 Liesel?
 
 I said everythings good.
 
 Shivering, she climbed from the mattress. Stupid with fear, she walked through the hallway to Max. After many minutes at his side, when everything slowed, she attempted to interpret the dream. Was it a premonition of Maxs death? Or was it merely a reaction to the afternoon conversation in the kitchen? Had Max now replaced her brother? And if so, how could she discard her own flesh and blood in such a way? Perhaps it was even a deep-seated wish for Max to die. After all, if it was good enough for Werner, her brother, it was good enough for this Jew.
 
 Is that what you think? she whispered, standing above the bed. No. She could not believe it. Her answer was sustained as the numbness of the dark waned and outlined the various shapes, big and small, on the bedside table. The presents.
 
 Wake up, she said.
 
 Max did not wake up.
 
 For eight more days.
 
 At school, there was a rapping of knuckles on the door.
 
 Come in, called Frau Olendrich.
 
 The door opened and the entire classroom of children looked on in surprise as Rosa Hubermann stood in the doorway. One or two gasped at the sighta small wardrobe of a woman with a lipstick sneer and chlorine eyes. This. Was the legend. She was wearing her best clothes, but her hair was a mess, and it was a towel of elastic gray strands.
 
 The teacher was obviously afraid. Frau Hubermann. . . Her movements were cluttered. She searched through the class. Liesel?
 
 Liesel looked at Rudy, stood, and walked quickly toward the door to end the embarrassment as fast as possible. It shut behind her, and now she was alone, in the corridor, with Rosa.
 
 Rosa faced the other way.
 
 What, Mama?
 
 She turned. Dont you what Mama me, you little Saumensch! Liesel was gored by the speed of it. My hairbrush! A trickle of laughter rolled from under the door, but it was drawn instantly back.
 
 Mama?
 
 Her face was severe, but it was smiling. What the hell did you do with my hairbrush, you stupid Saumensch, you little thief? Ive told you a hundred times to leave that thing alone, but do you listen? Of course not!
 
 The tirade went on for perhaps another minute, with Liesel making a desperate suggestion or two about the possible location of the said brush. It ended abruptly, with Rosa pulling Liesel close, just for a few seconds. Her whisper was almost impossible to hear, even at such close proximity. You told me to yell at you. You said theyd all believe it. She looked left and right, her voice like needle and thread. He woke up, Liesel. Hes awake. From her pocket, she pulled out the toy soldier with the scratched exterior. He said to give you this. It was his favorite. She handed it over, held her arms tightly, and smiled. Before Liesel had a chance to answer, she finished it off. Well? Answer me! Do you have any other idea where you might have left it?
 
 Hes alive, Liesel thought. . . . No, Mama. Im sorry, Mama, I
 
 Well, what good are you, then? She let go, nodded, and walked away.
 
 For a few moments, Liesel stood. The corridor was huge. She examined the soldier in her palm. Instinct told her to run home immediately, but common sense did not allow it. Instead, she placed the ragged soldier in her pocket and returned to the classroom.
 
 Everyone waited.
 
 Stupid cow, she whispered under her breath.
 
 Again, kids laughed. Frau Olendrich did not.
 
 What was that?
 
 Liesel was on such a high that she felt indestructible. I said, she beamed, stupid cow, and she didnt have to wait a single moment for the teachers hand to slap her.
 
 Dont speak about your mother like that, she said, but it had little effect. The girl merely stood there and attempted to hold off the grin. After all, she could take a Watschen with the best of them. Now get to your seat.
 
 Yes, Frau Olendrich.
 
 Next to her, Rudy dared to speak.
 
 Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he whispered, I can see her hand on your face. A big red hand. Five fingers!
 
 Good, said Liesel, because Max was alive.
 
 When she made it home that afternoon, he was sitting up in bed with the deflated soccer ball on his lap. His beard itched him and his swampy eyes fought to stay open. An empty bowl of soup was next to the gifts.
 
 They did not say hello.
 
 It was more like edges.
 
 The door creaked, the girl came in, and she stood before him, looking at the bowl. Is Mama forcing it down your throat?
 
 He nodded, content, fatigued. It was very good, though.
 
 Mamas soup? Really?
 
 It was not a smile he gave her. Thank you for the presents. More just a slight tear of the mouth. Thank you for the cloud. Your papa explained that one a little further.
 
 After an hour, Liesel also made an attempt on the truth. We didnt know what wed do if youd died, Max. We
 
 It didnt take him long. You mean, how to get rid of me?
 
 Im sorry.
 
 No. He was not offended. You were right. He played weakly with the ball. You were right to think that way. In your situation, a dead Jew is just as dangerous as a live one, if not worse.
 
 I also dreamed. In detail, she explained it, with the soldier in her grip. She was on the verge of apologizing again when Max intervened.
 
 Liesel. He made her look at him. Dont ever apologize to me. It should be me who apologizes to you. He looked at everything shed brought him. Look at all this. These gifts. He held the button in his hand. And Rosa said you read to me twice every day, sometimes three times. Now he looked at the curtains as if he could see out of them. He sat up a little higher and paused for a dozen silent sentences. Trepidation found its way onto his face and he made a confession to the girl. Liesel? He moved slightly to the right. Im afraid, he said, of falling asleep again.
 
 Liesel was resolute. Then Ill read to you. And Ill slap your face if you start dozing off. Ill close the book and shake you till you wake up.
 
 That afternoon, and well into the night, Liesel read to Max Vandenburg. He sat in bed and absorbed the words, awake this time, until just after ten oclock. When Liesel took a quick rest from The Dream Carrier, she looked over the book and Max was asleep. Nervously, she nudged him with it. He awoke.
 
 Another three times, he fell asleep. Twice more, she woke him.
 
 For the next four days, he woke up every morning in Liesels bed, then next to the fireplace, and eventually, by mid-April, in the basement. His health had improved, the beard was gone, and small scraps of weight had returned.
 
 In Liesels inside world, there was great relief in that time. Outside, things were starting to look shaky. Late in March, a place called Lbeck was hailed with bombs. Next in line would be Cologne, and soon enough, many more German cities, including Munich.
 
 Yes, the boss was at my shoulder.
 
 Get it done, get it done.
 
 The bombs were comingand so was I.