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under the counter and donate the money to the Nazi Party. On the wall behind her usual sitting position was a framed photo of the
Führer
. If you walked into her shop and didn’t say
“heil
Hitler,” you wouldn’t be served. As they walked by, Rudy drew Liesel’s attention to the bulletproof eyes leering from the shop window.
    “Say ‘
heil
’ when you go in there,” he warned her stiffly. “Unless you want to walk a little farther.” Even when they were well past the shop, 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 of Molching) was strewn with slosh.
    As was often the case, a few rows of troops in training came marching past. Their uniforms walked upright and their black boots further polluted the snow. Their faces were fixed ahead in concentration.
    Once they’d watched the soldiers disappear, the group of Steiners and Liesel walked past some shop windows and the imposing town hall, which in later years would be chopped off at the knees and buried. A few of the shops were abandoned and still labeled with yellow stars and anti-Jewish slurs. Farther down, the church aimed itself at the sky, its rooftop a study of collaborated tiles. The street, overall, was a lengthy tube of gray—a corridor of dampness, people stooped 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 it belonged to Rudy’s father. The shop was not yet open, but inside, a man was preparing articles of clothing behind the counter. He looked up and waved.
    “My papa,” Rudy informed her, and they were soon among a crowd of various-sized Steiners, each waving or blowing kisses at their father or simply standing and nodding hello (in the case of the oldest ones), then moving on, toward the final landmark before school.
    THE LAST STOP
The road of yellow stars
    It was a place nobody wanted to stay and look at, but almost everyone did. Shaped like a long, broken arm, the road contained several houses with lacerated windows and bruised walls. The Star of David was painted on their doors. Those houses were almost like lepers. 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 made them look like ghosts. Not humans, but shapes, moving about beneath the lead-colored clouds.
    “Come on, you two,” Kurt (the oldest of the Steiner children) called back, and Rudy and Liesel walked quickly toward him.
    At school, Rudy made a special point of seeking Liesel out during the breaks. He didn’t care that others made noises about the new girl’s stupidity. He was there for her at the beginning, and he would be there later on, when Liesel’s frustration boiled over. But he wouldn’t do it for free.
    THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN
A BOY WHO HATES YOU
A boy who loves you .
    In late April, when they’d returned from school for the day, Rudy and Liesel waited on Himmel Street for the usual game of soccer. They were slightly early, and no other kids had turned up yet. The one person they saw was the gutter-mouthed Pfiffikus.
    “Look there.” Rudy pointed.
    A PORTRAIT OF PFIFFIKUS
He was a delicate frame .
He was white hair .
He was a black raincoat, brown pants, decomposing shoes, and a 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 swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent. No one seemed to 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 that name to someone who likes to whistle, which Pfiffikus most definitely did.