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“And what trash is this girl reading? She should be reading Mein Kampf.” Liesel looked up. “Don’t worry, Liesel,” Papa said. “Just keep reading. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate.
“Saukerl,” she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch. I think that’s as close to love as eleven-year-olds can get.
I’ve seen so many young men over the years who think they’re running at other young men. They are not. They’re running at me.
“Don’t be afraid,” she heard Papa whisper. “She’s a good girl.”
One wild card was yet to be played.
The girl: “Tell me. What do you see when you dream like that?” The Jew: “… I see myself turning around, and waving goodbye.” The girl: “I also have nightmares.” The Jew: “What do you see?” The girl: “A train, and my dead brother.” The Jew: “Your brother?” The girl: “He died when I moved here, on the way.” The girl and the Jew, together: “Ja—yes.”
And she walked over and hugged him for the first time. “Thanks, Max.”
Jew and the girl slept, hand to shoulder.
It was as though he’d opened her palm, given her the words, and closed it up again.
He must have loved her so incredibly hard.
the new boss who expects the impossible. He stands over your shoulder repeating one thing, incessantly: “Get it done, get it done.” So you work harder. You get the job done. The boss, however, does not thank you. He asks for more.
I plow through my library of stories.
snow as a present for Max. “Close your eyes,” she’d said. “Hold out your hands.” As soon as the snow was transferred, Max shivered and laughed, but he still didn’t open his eyes. He only gave the snow a quick taste, allowing it to sink into his lips. “Is this today’s weather report?”
Liesel stood next to him. Gently, she touched his arm. He raised it again to his mouth. “Thanks, Liesel.” It was the beginning of the greatest Christmas ever. Little food. No presents. But there was a snowman in their basement.
CHRISTMAS GREETINGS FROM MAX VANDENBURG “Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hands.”
In the hall, Papa hugged her. She desperately needed it.
“Come on, Max,” she whispered, and even the sound of Mama’s arrival at her back did not stop her from silently crying. It didn’t stop her from pulling a lump of salt water from her eye and feeding it onto Max Vandenburg’s face. Mama took her. Her arms swallowed her. “I know,” she said. She knew.
