Frau holtzapfels offer. The long walk to Dachau

FRAU HOLTZAPFELS OFFER

 
 In the morning, the damage was inspected. No one died, but two apartment blocks were reduced to pyramids of rubble, and Rudys favorite Hitler Youth field had an enormous bowl spooned out of it. Half the town stood around its circumference. People estimated its depth, to compare it with their shelters. Several boys and girls spat into it.
 
 Rudy was standing next to Liesel. Looks like they need to fertilize again.
 
 When the next few weeks were raid-free, life almost returned to normal. Two telling moments, however, were on their way.
 

THE DUAL EVENTS
 OF OCTOBER
 The hands of Frau Holtzapfel.
 The parade of Jews.
 

 
 Her wrinkles were like slander. Her voice was akin to a beating with a stick.
 
 It was actually quite fortunate that they saw Frau Holtzapfel coming from the living room window, for her knuckles on the door were hard and decisive. They meant business.
 
 Liesel heard the words she dreaded.
 
 You go and answer it, Mama said, and the girl, knowing only too well what was good for her, did as she was told.
 
 Is your mama home? Frau Holtzapfel inquired. Constructed of fifty-year-old wire, she stood on the front step, looking back every so often to view the street. Is that swine of a mother of yours here today?
 
 Liesel turned and called out.
 

DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #5
 Gelegenheit Opportunity:
 A chance for advancement or progress.
 Related words:
 prospect, opening, break.
 

 
 Soon, Rosa was behind her. What do you want here? You want to spit on my kitchen floor now, too?
 
 Frau Holtzapfel was not deterred in the slightest. Is that how you greet everyone who shows up at your front door? What a Gsindel.
 
 Liesel watched. She was unfortunate enough to be sandwiched between them. Rosa pulled her out of the way. Well, are you going to tell me why youre here or not?
 
 Frau Holtzapfel looked once more at the street and back. I have an offer for you.
 
 Mama shifted her weight. Is that right?
 
 No, not you. She dismissed Rosa with a shrug of the voice and focused now on Liesel. You.
 
 Why did you ask for me, then?
 
 Well, I at least need your permission.
 
 Oh, Maria, Liesel thought, this is all I need. What the hell can Holtzapfel want with me?
 
 I liked that book you read in the shelter.
 
 No. Youre not getting it. Liesel was convinced of that. Yes?
 
 I was hoping to hear the rest of it in the shelter, but it looks like were safe for now. She rolled her shoulders and straightened the wire in her back. So I want you to come to my place and read it to me.
 
 Youve got some nerve, Holtzapfel. Rosa was deciding whether to be furious or not. If you think
 
 Ill stop spitting on your door, she interrupted. And Ill give you my coffee ration.
 
 Rosa decided against being furious. And some flour?
 
 What, are you a Jew? Just the coffee. You can swap the coffee with someone else for the flour.
 
 It was decided.
 
 By everyone but the girl.
 
 Good, then, its done.
 
 Mama?
 
 Quiet, Saumensch. Go and get the book. Mama faced Frau Holtzapfel again. What days suit you?
 
 Monday and Friday, four oclock. And today, right now.
 
 Liesel followed the regimented footsteps to Frau Holtzapfels lodging next door, which was a mirror image of the Hubermanns. If anything, it was slightly larger.
 
 When she sat down at the kitchen table, Frau Holtzapfel sat directly in front of her but faced the window. Read, she said.
 
 Chapter two?
 
 No, chapter eight. Of course chapter two! Now get reading before I throw you out.
 
 Yes, Frau Holtzapfel.
 
 Never mind the yes, Frau Holtzapfels. Just open the book. We dont have all day.
 
 Good God, Liesel thought. This is my punishment for all that stealing. Its finally caught up with me.
 
 She read for forty-five minutes, and when the chapter was finished, a bag of coffee was deposited on the table.
 
 Thank you, the woman said. Its a good story. She turned toward the stove and started on some potatoes. Without looking back, she said, Are you still here, are you?
 
 Liesel took that as her cue to leave. Danke schn, Frau Holtzapfel. By the door, when she saw the framed photos of two young men in military uniform, she also threw in a heil Hitler, her arm raised in the kitchen.
 
 Yes. Frau Holtzapfel was proud and afraid. Two sons in Russia. Heil Hitler. She put her water down to boil and even found the manners to walk the few steps with Liesel to the front door. Bis morgen?
 
 The next day was Friday. Yes, Frau Holtzapfel. Until tomorrow.
 
 Liesel calculated that there were four more reading sessions like that with Frau Holtzapfel before the Jews were marched through Molching.
 
 They were going to Dachau, to concentrate.
 
 That makes two weeks, she would later write in the basement. Two weeks to change the world, and fourteen days to ruin it.
 
 
 
  

THE LONG WALK TO DACHAU

 
 Some people said that the truck had broken down, but I can personally testify that this was not the case. I was there.
 
 What had happened was an ocean sky, with whitecap clouds.
 
 Also, there was more than just the one vehicle. Three trucks dont all break down at once.
 
 When the soldiers pulled over to share some food and cigarettes and to poke at the package of Jews, one of the prisoners collapsed from starvation and sickness. I have no idea where the convoy had traveled from, but it was perhaps four miles from Molching, and many steps more to the concentration camp at Dachau.
 
 I climbed through the windshield of the truck, found the diseased man, and jumped out the back. His soul was skinny. His beard was a ball and chain. My feet landed loudly in the gravel, though not a sound was heard by a soldier or prisoner. But they could all smell me.
 
 Recollection tells me that there were many wishes in the back of that truck. Inner voices called out to me.
 
 Why him and not me?
 
 Thank God it isnt me.
 
 The soldiers, on the other hand, were occupied with a different discussion. The leader squashed his cigarette and asked the others a smoggy question. When was the last time we took these rats for some fresh air?
 
 His first lieutenant choked back a cough. They could sure use it, couldnt they?
 
 Well, how about it, then? Weve got time, dont we?
 
 Weve always got time, sir.
 
 And its perfect weather for a parade, dont you think?
 
 It is, sir.
 
 So what are you waiting for?
 
 On Himmel Street, Liesel was playing soccer when the noise arrived. Two boys were fighting for the ball in the midfield when everything stopped. Even Tommy Mller could hear it. What is that? he asked from his position in goal.
 
 Everyone turned toward the sound of shuffling feet and regimented voices as they made their way closer.
 
 Is that a herd of cows? Rudy asked. It cant be. It never sounds quite like that, does it?
 
 Slowly at first, the street of children walked toward the magnetic sound, up toward Frau Dillers. Once in a while there was added emphasis in the shouting.
 
 In a tall apartment just around the corner on Munich Street, an old lady with a foreboding voice deciphered for everyone the exact source of the commotion. Up high, in the window, her face appeared like a white flag with moist eyes and an open mouth. Her voice was like suicide, landing with a clunk at Liesels feet.
 
 She had gray hair.
 
 The eyes were dark, dark blue.
 
 Die Juden, she said. The Jews.
 

DUDEN DICTIONARY MEANING #6
 Elend Misery:
 Great suffering,
 unhappiness, and distress.
 Related words:
 anguish, torment, despair,
 wretchedness, desolation.
 

 
 More people appeared on the street, where a collection of Jews and other criminals had already been shoved past. Perhaps the death camps were kept secret, but at times, people were shown the glory of a labor camp like Dachau.
 
 Far up, on the other side, Liesel spotted the man with his paint cart. He was running his hand uncomfortably through his hair.
 
 Up there, she pointed out to Rudy. My papa.
 
 They both crossed and made their way up, and Hans Hubermann attempted at first to take them away. Liesel, he said. Maybe. . .
 
 He realized, however, that the girl was determined to stay, and perhaps it was something she should see. In the breezy autumn air, he stood with her. He did not speak.
 
 On Munich Street, they watched.
 
 Others moved in around and in front of them.
 
 They watched the Jews come down the road like a catalog of colors. That wasnt how the book thief described them, but I can tell you that thats exactly what they were, for many of them would die. They would each greet me like their last true friend, with bones like smoke and their souls trailing behind.
 
 When they arrived in full, the noise of their feet throbbed on top of the road. Their eyes were enormous in their starving skulls. And the dirt. The dirt was molded to them. Their legs staggered as they were pushed by soldiers handsa few wayward steps of forced running before the slow return to a malnourished walk.
 
 Hans watched them above the heads of the crowding audience. Im sure his eyes were silver and strained. Liesel looked through the gaps or over shoulders.
 
 The suffering faces of depleted men and women reached across to them, pleading not so much for helpthey were beyond thatbut for an explanation. Just something to subdue this confusion.
 
 Their feet could barely rise above the ground.
 
 Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. Dont forget your misery. . . In some cases, it grew on them like a vine.
 
 At their side, the soldiers also made their way past, ordering them to hurry up and to stop moaning. Some of those soldiers were only boys. They had the Fhrer in their eyes.
 
 As she watched all of this, Liesel was certain that these were the poorest souls alive. Thats what she wrote about them. Their gaunt faces were stretched with torture. Hunger ate them as they continued forward, some of them watching the ground to avoid the people on the side of the road. Some looked appealingly at those who had come to observe their humiliation, this prelude to their deaths. Others pleaded for someone, anyone, to step forward and catch them in their arms.
 
 No one did.
 
 Whether they watched this parade with pride, temerity, or shame, nobody came forward to interrupt it. Not yet.
 
 Once in a while a man or womanno, they were not men and women; they were Jewswould find Liesels face among the crowd. They would meet her with their defeat, and the book thief could do nothing but watch them back in a long, incurable moment before they were gone again. She could only hope they could read the depth of sorrow in her face, to recognize that it was true, and not fleeting.
 
 I have one of you in my basement! she wanted to say. We built a snowman together! I gave him thirteen presents when he was sick!
 
 Liesel said nothing at all.
 
 What good would it be?
 
 She understood that she was utterly worthless to these people. They could not be saved, and in a few minutes, she would see what would happen to those who might try to help them.
 
 In a small gap in the procession, there was a man, older than the others.
 
 He wore a beard and torn clothes.
 
 His eyes were the color of agony, and weightless as he was, he was too heavy for his legs to carry.
 
 Several times, he fell.
 
 The side of his face was flattened against the road.
 
 On each occasion, a soldier stood above him. Steh auf, he called down. Stand up.
 
 The man rose to his knees and fought his way up. He walked on.
 
 Every time he caught up sufficiently to the back of the line, he would soon lose momentum and stumble again to the ground. There were more behind hima good trucks worthand they threatened to overtake and trample him.
 
 The ache in his arms was unbearable to watch as they shook, trying to lift his body. They gave way one more time before he stood and took another group of steps.
 
 He was dead.
 
 The man was dead.
 
 Just give him five more minutes and he would surely fall into the German gutter and die. They would all let him, and they would all watch.
 
 Then, one human.
 
 Hans Hubermann.
 
 It happened so quickly.
 
 The hand that held firmly on to Liesels let it drop to her side as the man came struggling by. She felt her palm slap her hip.
 
 Papa reached into his paint cart and pulled something out. He made his way through the people, onto the road.
 
 The Jew stood before him, expecting another handful of derision, but he watched with everyone else as Hans Hubermann held his hand out and presented a piece of bread, like magic.
 
 When it changed hands, the Jew slid down. He fell to his knees and held Papas shins. He buried his face between them and thanked him.
 
 Liesel watched.
 
 With tears in her eyes, she saw the man slide farther forward, pushing Papa back to cry into his ankles.
 
 Other Jews walked past, all of them watching this small, futile miracle. They streamed by, like human water. That day, a few would reach the ocean. They would be handed a white cap.
 
 Wading through, a soldier was soon at the scene of the crime. He studied the kneeling man and Papa, and he looked at the crowd. After another moments thought, he took the whip from his belt and began.
 
 The Jew was whipped six times. On his back, his head, and his legs. You filth! You swine! Blood dripped now from his ear.
 
 Then it was Papas turn.
 
 A new hand held Liesels now, and when she looked in horror next to her, Rudy Steiner swallowed as Hans Hubermann was whipped on the street. The sound sickened her and she expected cracks to appear on her papas body. He was struck four times before he, too, hit the ground.
 
 When the elderly Jew climbed to his feet for the last time and continued on, he looked briefly back. He took a last sad glance at the man who was kneeling now himself, whose back was burning with four lines of fire, whose knees were aching on the road. If nothing else, the old man would die like a human. Or at least with the thought that he was a human.
 
 Me?
 
 Im not so sure if thats such a good thing.
 
 When Liesel and Rudy made it through and helped Hans to his feet, there were so many voices. Words and sunlight. Thats how she remembered it. The light sparkling on the road and the words like waves, breaking on her back. Only as they walked away did they notice the bread sitting rejected on the street.
 
 As Rudy attempted to pick it up, a passing Jew snatched it from his hand and another two fought him for it as they continued on their way to Dachau.
 
 Silver eyes were pelted then.
 
 A cart was turned over and paint flowed onto the street.
 
 They called him a Jew lover.
 
 Others were silent, helping him back to safety.
 
 Hans Hubermann leaned forward, arms outstretched against a house wall. He was suddenly overwhelmed by what had just happened.
 
 There was an image, fast and hot.
 
 33 Himmel Streetits basement.
 
 Thoughts of panic were caught between the in-and-out struggle of his breath.
 
 Theyll come now. Theyll come.
 
 Oh, Christ, oh, crucified Christ.
 
 He looked at the girl and closed his eyes.
 
 Are you hurt, Papa?
 
 She received questions rather than an answer.
 
 What was I thinking? His eyes closed tighter and opened again. His overalls creased. There was paint and blood on his hands. And bread crumbs. How different from the bread of summer. Oh my God, Liesel, what have I done?
 
 Yes.
 
 I must agree.
 
 What had Papa done?