The Book Thief Read Online Free PDF

given a used doll that had a
missing leg and yellow hair.
    “It was the best
we could do,” Papa apologized.
    “What are you
talking about? She’s lucky to have
that
much,” Mama corrected him.
    Hans continued
his examination of the remaining leg while Liesel tried on her new uniform. Ten
years old meant Hitler Youth. Hitler Youth meant a small brown uniform. Being
female, Liesel was enrolled into what was called the BDM.
    EXPLANATION
OF THE
     
    ABBREVIATION
     
    It stood for
Bund Deutscher Mädchen
—
     
    Band of German Girls.
    The first thing
they did there was make sure your “
heil
Hitler” was working properly.
Then you were taught to march straight, roll bandages, and sew up clothes. You
were also taken hiking and on other such activities. Wednesday and Saturday
were the designated meeting days, from three in the afternoon until five.
    Each Wednesday
and Saturday, Papa would walk Liesel there and pick her up two hours later.
They never spoke about it much. They just held hands and listened to their
feet, and Papa had a cigarette or two.
    The only anxiety
Papa brought her was the fact that he was constantly leaving. Many evenings, he
would walk into the living room (which doubled as the Hubermanns’ bedroom),
pull the accordion from the old cupboard, and squeeze past in the kitchen to
the front door.
    As he walked up
Himmel Street, Mama would open the window and cry out, “Don’t be home too
late!”
    “Not so loud,”
he would turn and call back.
    “
Saukerl!
Lick
my ass! I’ll speak as loud as I want!”
    The echo of her
swearing followed him up the street. He never looked back, or at least, not
until he was sure his wife was gone. On those evenings, at the end of the
street, accordion case in hand, he would turn around, just before Frau Diller’s
corner shop, and see the figure who had replaced his wife in the window.
Briefly, his long, ghostly hand would rise before he turned again and walked
slowly on. The next time Liesel saw him would be at two in the morning, when he
dragged her gently from her nightmare.
    Evenings in the
small kitchen were raucous, without fail. Rosa Hubermann was always talking,
and when she was talking, it took the form of
schimpfen.
She was
constantly arguing and complaining. There was no one to really argue with, but
Mama managed it expertly every chance she had. She could argue with the entire
world in that kitchen, and almost every evening, she did. Once they had eaten
and Papa was gone, Liesel and Rosa would usually remain there, and Rosa would
do the ironing.
    A few times a
week, Liesel would come home from school and walk the streets of Molching with
her mama, picking up and delivering washing and ironing from the wealthier
parts of town. Knaupt Strasse, Heide Strasse. A few others. Mama would deliver
the ironing or pick up the washing with a dutiful smile, but as soon as the
door was shut and she walked away, she would curse these rich people, with all
their money and laziness.
    “Too
g’schtinkerdt
to wash their own clothes,” she would say, despite her dependence on them.
    “Him,” she
accused Herr Vogel from Heide Strasse. “Made all his money from his father. He
throws it away on women and drink. And washing and ironing, of course.”
    It was like a
roll call of scorn.
    Herr Vogel, Herr
and Frau Pfaffelhürver, Helena Schmidt, the Weingartners. They were all guilty
of
something.
    Apart from his
drunkenness and expensive lechery, Ernst Vogel, according to Rosa, was
constantly scratching his louse-ridden hair, licking his fingers, and then
handing over the money. “I should wash it before I come home,” was her
summation.
    The
Pfaffelhürvers scrutinized the results. “ ‘Not one crease in these shirts,
please,’ ” Rosa imitated them. “ ‘Not one wrinkle in this suit.’ And then they
stand there and inspect it all, right in front of me. Right under my nose! What
a
G’sindel
—what trash.”
    The