RUDY STEINERHe was eight months older than Liesel and had bony legs, sharpteeth, gangly blue eyes, and hair the color of a lemon.One of six Steiner children, he was permanently hungry.On Himmel Street, he was considered a little crazy.This was on account of an event that was rarely spoken aboutbut widely regarded as “The Jesse Owens Incident,” in which hepainted himself charcoal black and ran the 100 meters at thelocal playing field one night.Insane or not, Rudy was always destined to be Liesel’s best friend. Asnowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lastingfriendship.A few days after Liesel started school, she went along with theSteiners. Rudy’s mother, Barbara, made him promise to walk with thenew girl, mainly because she’d heard about the snowball. To Rudy’scredit, he was happy enough to comply. He was not the juniormisogynistic type of boy at all. He liked girls a lot, and he liked Liesel(hence, the snowball). In fact, Rudy Steiner was one of thoseaudacious little bastards who actually fancied himself with the ladies.Every childhood seems to have exactly such a juvenile in its midstand mists. He’s the boy who refuses to fear the opposite sex, purelybecause everyone else embraces that particular fear, and he’s the typewho is unafraid to make a decision. In this case, Rudy had alreadymade up his mind about Liesel Meminger.On the way to school, he tried to point out certain landmarks in thetown, or at least, he managed to slip it all in, somewhere betweentelling his younger siblings to shut their faces and the older onestelling him to shut his. His first point of interest was a small windowon the second floor of an apartment block.“That’s where Tommy Müller lives.” He realized that Liesel didn’tremember him. “The twitcher? When he was five years old, he got lost at the markets on the coldest day of the year. Three hours later,when they found him, he was frozen solid and had an awful earachefrom the cold. After a while, his ears were all infected inside and hehad three or four operations and the doctors wrecked his nerves. Sonow he twitches.”Liesel chimed in, “And he’s bad at soccer.”“The worst.”Next was the corner shop at the end of Himmel Street. Frau Diller’s.AN IMPORTANT NOTEABOUT FRAU DILLERShe had one golden rule.Frau Diller was a sharp-edged woman with fat glasses and a nefariousglare. She developed this evil look to discourage the very idea ofstealing from her shop, which she occupied with soldierlike posture, arefrigerated voice, and even breath that smelled like “heil Hitler.” Theshop itself was white and cold, and completely bloodless. The smallhouse compressed beside it shivered with a little more severity thanthe other buildings on Himmel Street. Frau Diller administered thisfeeling, dishing it out as the only free item from her premises. Shelived for her shop and her shop lived for the Third Reich. Even whenrationing started later in the year, she was known to sell certain hardto-get items under the counter and donate the money to the NaziParty. On the wall behind her usual sitting position was a framedphoto of the Führer. If you walked into her shop and didn’t say “heilHitler,” you wouldn’t be served. As they walked by, Rudy drewLiesel’s attention to the bulletproof eyes leering from the shopwindow.“Say ‘heil’ when you go in there,” he warned her stiffly. “Unless youwant to walk a little farther.” Even when they were well past theshop, Liesel looked back and the magnified eyes were still there,fastened to the window.Around the corner, Munich Street (the main road in and out ofMolching) was strewn with slosh.As was often the case, a few rows of troops in training camemarching past. Their uniforms walked upright and their black bootsfurther polluted the snow. Their faces were fixed ahead inconcentration.Once they’d watched the soldiers disappear, the group of Steinersand Liesel walked past some shop windows and the imposing townhall, which in later years would be chopped off at the knees andburied. A few of the shops were abandoned and still labeled withyellow stars and anti-Jewish slurs. Farther down, the church aimeditself at the sky, its rooftop a study of collaborated tiles. The street,overall, was a lengthy tube of gray—a corridor of dampness, peoplestooped in the cold, and the splashed sound of watery footsteps.At one stage, Rudy rushed ahead, dragging Liesel with him.He knocked on the window of a tailor’s shop.Had she been able to read the sign, she would have noticed that itbelonged to Rudy’s father. The shop was not yet open, but inside, aman was preparing articles of clothing behind the counter. He lookedup and waved.“My papa,” Rudy informed her, and they were soon among a crowdof various-sized Steiners, each waving or blowing kisses at theirfather or simply standing and nodding hello (in the case of the oldestones), then moving on, toward the final landmark before school.THE LAST STOPThe road of yellow starsIt was a place nobody wanted to stay and look at, but almosteveryone did. Shaped like a long, broken arm, the road containedseveral houses with lacerated windows and bruised walls. The Star ofDavid was painted on their doors. Those houses were almost likelepers. At the very least, they were infected sores on the injured German terrain.“Schiller Strasse,” Rudy said. “The road of yellow stars.”At the bottom, some people were moving around. The drizzle madethem look like ghosts. Not humans, but shapes, moving about beneaththe lead-colored clouds.“Come on, you two,” Kurt (the oldest of the Steiner children) calledback, and Rudy and Liesel walked quickly toward him.At school, Rudy made a special point of seeking Liesel out during thebreaks. He didn’t care that others made noises about the new girl’sstupidity. He was there for her at the beginning, and he would bethere later on, when Liesel’s frustration boiled over. But he wouldn’tdo it for free.THE ONLY THING WORSE THANA BOY WHO HATES YOUA boy who loves you.In late April, when they’d returned from school for the day, Rudy andLiesel waited on Himmel Street for the usual game of soccer. Theywere slightly early, and no other kids had turned up yet. The oneperson they saw was the gutter-mouthed Pfiffikus.“Look there.” Rudy pointed.A PORTRAIT OF PFIFFIKUSHe was a delicate frame.He was white hair.He was a black raincoat, brown pants, decomposing shoes, anda mouth—and what a mouth it was.“Hey, Pfiffikus!”As the distant figure turned, Rudy started whistling.The old man simultaneously straightened and proceeded to swearwith a ferocity that can only be described as a talent. No one seemedto know the real name that belonged to him, or at least if they did,they never used it. He was only called Pfiffikus because you give thatname to someone who likes to whistle, which Pfiffikus most definitelydid. He was constantly whistling a tune called the Radetzky March,and all the kids in town would call out to him and duplicate thattune. At that precise moment, Pfiffikus would abandon his usualwalking style (bent forward, taking large, lanky steps, arms behindhis raincoated back) and erect himself to deliver abuse. It was thenthat any impression of serenity was violently interrupted, for hisvoice was brimming with rage.On this occasion, Liesel followed Rudy’s taunt almost as a reflexaction.“Pfiffikus!” she echoed, quickly adopting the appropriate crueltythat childhood seems to require. Her whistling was awful, but therewas no time to perfect it.He chased them, calling out. It started with “Geh’ scheissen!” anddeteriorated rapidly from there. At first, he leveled his abuse only atthe boy, but soon enough, it was Liesel’s turn.“You little slut!” he roared at her. The words clobbered her in theback. “I’ve never seen you before!” Fancy calling a ten-year-old girl aslut. That was Pfiffikus. It was widely agreed that he and FrauHoltzapfel would have made a lovely couple. “Get back here!” werethe last words Liesel and Rudy heard as they continued running. Theyran until they were on Munich Street.“Come on,” Rudy said, once they’d recovered their breath. “Just downhere a little.”