The Book Thief by Markus Zusak Read Free Book Online Page A

looking for you.”
    Mr. Steiner was a remarkably polite man under normal circumstances. Discovering one of his children smeared charcoal black on a summer evening was not what he considered normal circumstances. “The boy is crazy,” he muttered, although he conceded that with six kids, something like this was bound to happen. At least one of them had to be a bad egg. Right now, he was looking at it, waiting for an explanation. “Well?”
    Rudy panted, bending down and placing his hands on his knees. “I was being Jesse Owens.” He answered as though it was the most natural thing on earth to be doing. There was even something implicit in his tone that suggested something along the lines of, “Whatthe hell does it look like?” The tone vanished, however, when he saw the sleep deprivation whittled under his father’s eyes.
    “Jesse Owens?” Mr. Steiner was the type of man who was very wooden. His voice was angular and true. His body was tall and heavy, like oak. His hair was like splinters. “What about him?”
    “You know, Papa, the Black Magic one.”
    “I’ll give
you
black magic.” He caught his son’s ear between his thumb and forefinger.
    Rudy winced. “Ow, that really hurts.”
    “Does it?” His father was more concerned with the clammy texture of charcoal contaminating his fingers. He covered everything, didn’t he? he thought. It’s even in his ears, for God’s sake. “Come on.”
    On the way home, Mr. Steiner decided to talk politics with the boy as best he could. Only in the years ahead would Rudy understand it all—when it was too late to bother understanding anything.
    THE CONTRADICTORY POLITICS
OF ALEX STEINER
Point One: He was a member of the Nazi Party, but he did not hate the Jews, or anyone else for that matter .
Point Two: Secretly, though, he couldn’t help feeling a percentage of relief (or worse—gladness!) when Jewish shop owners were put out of business—propaganda informed him that it was only a matter of time before a plague of Jewish tailors showed up and stole his customers .
Point Three: But did that mean they should be driven out completely?
Point Four: His family. Surely, he had to do whatever he could to support them. If that meant being in the party, it meant being in the party .
Point Five: Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out .
    They walked around a few corners onto Himmel Street, and Alex said, “Son, you can’t go around painting yourself black, you hear?”
    Rudy was interested, and confused. The moon was undone now, free to move and rise and fall and drip on the boy’s face, making him nice and murky, like his thoughts. “Why not, Papa?”
    “Because they’ll take you away.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you shouldn’t want to be like black people or Jewish people or anyone who is … not
us.”
    “Who are Jewish people?”
    “You know my oldest customer, Mr. Kaufmann? Where we bought your shoes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, he’s Jewish.”
    “I didn’t know that. Do you have to pay to be Jewish? Do you need a license?”
    “No, Rudy.” Mr. Steiner was steering the bike with one hand and Rudy with the other. He was having trouble steering the conversation. He still hadn’t relinquished the hold on his son’s earlobe. He’d forgotten about it. “It’s like you’re German or Catholic.”
    “Oh. Is Jesse Owens Catholic?”
    “I
don’t know!” He tripped on a bike pedal then and released the ear.
    They walked on in silence for a while, until Rudy said, “I just wish I was like Jesse Owens, Papa.”
    This time, Mr. Steiner placed his hand on Rudy’s head and explained,“I know, son—but you’ve got beautiful blond hair and big, safe blue eyes. You should be happy with that; is that clear?”
    But nothing was clear.
    Rudy understood nothing, and that night was the prelude of things to come. Two and a half years later, the Kaufmann Shoe Shop