A middle-aged carpenter named Wolfgang Edel called out. He'd built the platforms for the Nazi big shots to stand on during the fire and he was in the process now of pulling them down. "Hans Hubermann?" He had long sideburns that pointed to his mouth and a dark voice. "Hansi!"

"Getting much work?"

"No, it's all tighter now. You know how it is, especially when you're not a member."

"Hey, Wolfal," Hans replied. There was an introduction to the girl and a "heil Hitler." "Good, Liesel."

For the first few minutes, Liesel stayed within a five-meter radius of the conversation. Fragments came past her, but she didn't pay too much attention.

Liesel wandered toward the mountain of ash. It sat like a magnet, like a freak. Irresistible to the eyes, similar to the road of yellow stars.

The dark came in pieces, and with the cigarette brought to an end, Liesel and Hans Hubermann began to walk home. To get out of the square, they would walk past the bonfire site and through a small side road onto Munich Street. They didn't make it that far.

"You told me you were joining, Hansi."

"I tried, but I made a mistake -- I think they're still considering."

Above her, the sky was completing its routine of darkening, but far away, over the mountain's shoulder, there was a dull trace of light.

As with her previous urge to see the mound's ignition, she could not look away. All alone, she didn't have the discipline to keep a safe distance. It sucked her toward it and she began to make her way around.

"Pass auf, Kind," a uniform said to her at one point. "Look out, child," as he shoveled some more ash onto a cart.

For a few minutes, she watched the men shoveling up the pile, at first making it smaller at the sides to allow more of it to collapse. They came back and forth from a truck, and after three return trips, when the heap was reduced near the bottom, a small section of living material slipped from inside the ash.

Closer to the town hall, under a light, some shadows stood and talked, most likely exulting in the success of the fire. From Liesel's position, their voices were only sounds. Not words at all.

Half a red flag, two posters advertising a Jewish poet, three books, and a wooden sign with something written on it in Hebrew

THE MATERIAL

The heat was still strong enough to warm her when she stood at the foot of the ash heap. When she reached her hand in, she was bitten, but on the second attempt, she made sure she was fast enough. She latched onto the closest of the books. It was hot, but it was also wet, burned only at the edges, but otherwise unhurt. It was blue.

"Three books." Liesel spoke softly and she looked at the backs of the men.

"Come on," said one of them. "Hurry up, will you, I'm starving."

Smoke lifted from the cover as she juggled it and hurried away. Her head was pulled down, and the sick beauty of nerves proved more ghastly with each stride. There were fourteen steps till the voice.

Perhaps they were damp. Perhaps the fire didn't burn long enough to fully reach the depth where they sat. Whatever the reason, they were huddled among the ashes, shaken. Survivors.

The threesome of books poked their noses out.

Liesel moved in.

The cover felt like it was woven with hundreds of tightly drawn strings and clamped down. Red letters were pressed into those fibers. The only word Liesel had time to read was Shoulder. There wasn't enough time for the rest, and there was a problem. The smoke.

They moved toward the truck.

The book felt cool enough now to slip inside her uniform. At first, it was nice and warm against her chest. As she began walking, though, it began to heat up again.

That was when she nearly ran back and tossed the book onto the mound, but she was unable. The only movement at her disposal was the act of turning.

The thrill of being ignored!

"Well, burn them again!" came the reply. "And watch them burn!"

"I think they're wet!"

She sank.

A statue of the book thief stood in the courtyard…

It propped itself up behind her.

A REALIZATION

It's very rare, don't you think, for a statue to appear before its subject has become famous.

"Hey!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, do I have to do everything myself?" The sound of footsteps passed by. It was the mayor, wearing a black coat over his Nazi uniform. He didn't notice the girl who stood absolutely still only a short distance away.

"There are some things here that didn't burn!" It was one of the cleanup men. He was not facing the girl, but rather, the people standing by the town hall.

In the previous moments of stupendous danger, Papa had said goodbye to Wolfgang Edel and was ready to accompany Liesel home.

The shadow's hands were in its coat pockets.

Immediately, when the smile shrank from her lips, she could feel something else. Or more to the point, someone else. There was no mistaking the watched feeling. It was all over her, and it was confirmed when she dared to face the shadows over at the town hall. To the side of the collection of silhouettes, another one stood, a few meters removed, and Liesel realized two things.

1. The shadow's identity and

"Are we ready to go?"

2. The fact that it had seen everything

Both men looked at her.

If it had a face, the expression on it would have been one of injury.

By the time she made it back to Papa and Wolfgang Edel, the book was starting to burn her. It seemed to be igniting.

It had fluffy hair.

A FEW SMALL PIECES OF RECOGNITION

She smiled.

"Gottverdammt," Liesel said, only loud enough for herself. "Goddamn it."

"Ready," she answered.

As they walked past the precarious town hall shadows, the book thief winced.

Quite a few things, however, were most definitely wrong:

Smoke was rising out of Liesel's collar.

"Nothing."

"What's wrong?" Papa asked.

They began to leave the scene of the crime, and the book was well and truly burning her now. The Shoulder Shrug had applied itself to her rib cage.

A necklace of sweat had formed around her throat.

Beneath her shirt, a book was eating her up.