Everyone nodded or said yes. “Two. One in the tree, one below. Someone has to collect.” He rubbed his hands
together. He was enjoying this. “Three. If you see someone coming, you call out loud enough to wake the dead
—and we all run. Richtig? ”
“Richtig.” It was a chorus.
TWO DEBUTANTAPPLE THIEVES,
WHISPERING
“Liesel—are you sure? Do you still want to do this?”
“Look at the barbed wire, Rudy. It’s so high.”
“No, no, look, you throw the sack on. See? Like them.”
“All right.”
“Come on then!”
“I can’t!” Hesitation. “Rudy, I—”
“Move it, Saumensch!”
He pushed her toward the fence, threw the empty sack on the wire, and they climbed over, running toward the
others. Rudy made his way up the closest tree and started flinging down the apples. Liesel stood below, putting
them into the sack. By the time it was full, there was another problem.
“How do we get back over the fence?”
The answer came when they noticed Arthur Berg climbing as close to a fence post as possible. “The wire’s
stronger there.” Rudy pointed. He threw the sack over, made Liesel go first, then landed beside her on the other
side, among the fruit that spilled from the bag.
Next to them, the long legs of Arthur Berg stood watching in amusement.
“Not bad,” landed the voice from above. “Not bad at all.”
When they made it back to the river, hidden among the trees, he took the sack and gave Liesel and Rudy a
dozen apples between them.
“Good work,” was his final comment on the matter.
That afternoon, before they returned home, Liesel and Rudy consumed six apples apiece within half an hour. At
first, they entertained thoughts of sharing the fruit at their respective homes, but there was considerable danger
in that. They didn’t particularly relish the opportunity of explaining just where the fruit had come from. Liesel
even thought that perhaps she could get away with only telling Papa, but she didn’t want him thinking that he
had a compulsive criminal on his hands. So she ate.
On the riverbank where she learned to swim, each apple was disposed of. Unaccustomed to such luxury, they
knew it was likely they’d be sick.
They ate anyway.
“Saumensch!” Mama abused her that night. “Why are you vomiting so much?”
“Maybe it’s the pea soup,” Liesel suggested.
“That’s right,” Papa echoed. He was over at the window again. “It must be. I feel a bit sick myself.”“Who asked you, Saukerl?” Quickly, she turned back to face the vomiting Saumensch. “Well? What is it? What
is it, you filthy pig?”
But Liesel?
She said nothing.
The apples, she thought happily. The apples, and she vomited one more time, for luck.They stood outside Frau Diller’s, against the whitewashed wall.
A piece of candy was in Liesel Meminger’s mouth.
The sun was in her eyes.
Despite these difficulties, she was still able to speak and argue.
ANOTHER CONVERSATION *
BETWEEN RUDY AND LIESEL
“Hurry up, Saumensch, that’s ten already.”
“It’s not, it’s only eight—I’ve got two to go.”
“Well, hurry up, then. I told you we should have gotten a knife
and sawn it in half. . . . Come on, that’s two.”
“All right. Here. And don’t swallow it.”
“Do I look like an idiot?”
[A short pause]
“This is great, isn’t it?”
“It sure is, Saumensch. ”
At the end of August and summer, they found one pfennig on the ground. Pure excitement.
It was sitting half rotten in some dirt, on the washing and ironing route. A solitary corroded coin.
“Take a look at that!”
Rudy swooped on it. The excitement almost stung as they rushed back to Frau Diller’s, not even considering
that a single pfennig might not be the right price. They burst through the door and stood in front of the Aryan
shopkeeper, who regarded them with contempt.
“I’m waiting,” she said. Her hair was tied back and her black dress choked her body. The framed photo of the
Führer kept watch from the wall.
“Heil Hitler,” Rudy led.
“Heil Hitler,” she responded, straightening taller behind the counter. “And you?” She glared at Liesel, who
promptly gave her a “heil Hitler” of her own.
It didn’t take Rudy long to dig the coin from his pocket and place it firmly on the counter. He looked straight
into Frau Diller’s spectacled eyes and said, “Mixed candy, please.”
Frau Diller smiled. Her teeth elbowed each other for room in her mouth, and her unexpected kindness made
Rudy and Liesel smile as well. Not for long.
She bent down, did some searching, and came back. “Here,” she said, tossing a single piece of candy onto the
counter. “Mix it yourself.”Outside, they unwrapped it and tried biting it in half, but the sugar was like glass. Far too tough, even for
Rudy’s animal-like choppers. Instead, they had to trade sucks on it until it was finished. Ten sucks for Rudy.
Ten for Liesel. Back and forth.
“This,” Rudy announced at one point, with a candy-toothed grin, “is the good life,” and Liesel didn’t disagree.
By the time they were finished, both their mouths were an exaggerated red, and as they walked home, they
reminded each other to keep their eyes peeled, in case they found another coin.
Naturally, they found nothing. No one can be that lucky twice in one year, let alone a single afternoon.
Still, with red tongues and teeth, they walked down Himmel Street, happily searching the ground as they went.
The day had been a great one, and Nazi Germany was a wondrous place.We move forward now, to a cold night struggle. We’ll let the book thief catch up later.
It was November 3, and the floor of the train held on to his feet. In front of him, he read from the copy of Mein
Kampf. His savior. Sweat was swimming out of his hands. Fingermarks clutched the book.
BOOK THIEF PRODUCTIONS
OFFICIALLY PRESENTS
Mein Kampf
(My Struggle)
by
Adolf Hitler
Behind Max Vandenburg, the city of Stuttgart opened its arms in mockery.
He was not welcome there, and he tried not to look back as the stale bread disintegrated in his stomach. A few
times, he shifted again and watched the lights become only a handful and then disappear altogether.
Look proud, he advised himself. You cannot look afraid. Read the book. Smile at it. It’s a great book—the
greatest book you’ve ever read. Ignore that woman on the other side. She’s asleep now anyway. Come on, Max,
you’re only a few hours away.
As it had turned out, the promised return visit in the room of darkness didn’t take days; it had taken a week and
a half. Then another week till the next, and another, until he lost all sense of the passing of days and hours. He
was relocated once more, to another small storage room, where there was more light, more visits, and more
food. Time, however, was running out.
“I’m leaving soon,” his friend Walter Kugler told him. “You know how it is—the army.”
“I’m sorry, Walter.”
Walter Kugler, Max’s friend from childhood, placed his hand on the Jew’s shoulder. “It could be worse.” He
looked his friend in his Jewish eyes. “I could be you.”
That was their last meeting. A final package was left in the corner, and this time, there was a ticket. Walter
opened Mein Kampf and slid it inside, next to the map he’d brought with the book itself. “Page thirteen.” He
smiled. “For luck, yes?”
“For luck,” and the two of them embraced.
When the door shut, Max opened the book and examined the ticket. Stuttgart to Munich to Pasing. It left in two
days, in the night, just in time to make the last connection. From there, he would walk. The map was already in
his head, folded in quarters. The key was still taped to the inside cover.
He sat for half an hour before stepping toward the bag and opening it. Apart from food, a few other items sat
inside.