The Book Thief Read Free

To stem the flow of truth. Her heart at that point was slippery and hot, and loud, so loud so loud.
    Stupidly, I stayed. I watched.
    Next, her mother.
    She woke her up with the same distraught shake.
    If you can’t imagine it, think clumsy silence. Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.
    •   •   •
    Snow had been falling consistently, and the service to Munich was forced to stop due to faulty track work. There was a woman wailing. A girl stood numbly next to her.
    In panic, the mother opened the door.
    She climbed down into the snow, holding the small body.
    What could the girl do but follow?
    As you’ve been informed, two guards also exited the train. They discussed and argued over what to do. The situation was unsavory to say the least. It was eventually decided that all three of them should be taken to the next township and left there to sort things out.
    This time, the train limped through the snowed-in country.
    It hobbled in and stopped.
    They stepped onto the platform, the body in her mother’s arms.
    They stood.
    The boy was getting heavy.
    Liesel had no idea where she was. All was white, and as they remained at the station, she could only stare at the faded lettering of the sign in front of her. For Liesel, the town was nameless, and it was there that her brother, Werner, was buried two days later. Witnesses included a priest and two shivering grave diggers.
    AN OBSERVATION
A pair of train guards .
A pair of grave diggers .
When it came down to it, one of them called the shots .
The other did what he was told .
The question is, what if the other is a lot more than one?
    Mistakes, mistakes, it’s all I seem capable of at times.
    For two days, I went about my business. I traveled the globe as always, handing souls to the conveyor belt of eternity. I watched them trundle passively on. Several times, I warned myself that I should keep a good distance from the burial of Liesel Meminger’s brother. I did not heed my advice.
    From miles away, as I approached, I could already see the small group of humans standing frigidly among the wasteland of snow. The cemetery welcomed me like a friend, and soon, I was with them. I bowed my head.
    Standing to Liesel’s left, the grave diggers were rubbing their hands together and whining about the snow and the current digging conditions. “So hard getting through all the ice,” and so forth. One of them couldn’t have been more than fourteen. An apprentice. When he walked away, after a few dozen paces, a black book fell innocuously from his coat pocket without his knowledge.
    A few minutes later, Liesel’s mother started leaving with the priest. She was thanking him for his performance of the ceremony.
    The girl, however, stayed.
    Her knees entered the ground. Her moment had arrived.
    Still in disbelief, she started to dig. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t—
    Within seconds, snow was carved into her skin.
    Frozen blood was cracked across her hands.
    Somewhere in all the snow, she could see her broken heart, in two pieces. Each half was glowing, and beating under all that white. She realized her mother had come back for her only when she felt the boniness of a hand on her shoulder. She was being dragged away. A warm scream filled her throat.
    A SMALL IMAGE, PERHAPS
TWENTY METERS AWAY
When the dragging was done, the mother and the girl stood and breathed .
There was something black and rectangular lodged in the snow .
Only the girl saw it .
She bent down and picked it up and held it firmly in her fingers .
The book had silver writing on it .
    They held hands.
    A final, soaking farewell was let go of, and they turned and left the cemetery, looking back several times.
    As for me, I remained a few moments longer.
    I waved.
    No one waved back.
    Mother and daughter vacated the cemetery and made their way toward the next train to Munich.
    Both were skinny and pale.
    Both had sores on their lips.
    Liesel noticed it in