It's also worthy of mention that every pattern has at least one small bias, and one day it will tip itself over, or fall from one page to another. In this case, the dominant factor was Rudy. Or at least, Rudy and a freshly fertilized sports field.

The same pattern continued through the end of summer and well into autumn. Rudy did his best to survive the Hitler Youth. Max did his push-ups and made his sketches. Liesel found newspapers and wrote her words on the basement wall.

Late in October, all appeared to be usual. A filthy boy was walking down Himmel Street. Within a few minutes, his family would expect his arrival, and he would lie that everyone in his Hitler Youth division was given extra drills in the field. His parents would even expect some laughter. They didn't get it.

"What happened?" she asked as he trudged past.

On this particular Wednesday, when Liesel looked more closely, she could see that Rudy Steiner was shirtless. And he was furious.

He reversed back and held out the shirt. "Smell it," he said.

Today Rudy was all out of laughter and lies.

Careful and quiet, he spoke. "You know what would cheer me up?"

"He says he didn't. But he was grinning."

What Rudy needed at this point in time was a victory. He had lost in his dealings with Viktor Chemmel. He'd endured problem after problem at the Hitler Youth. All he wanted was a small scrap of triumph, and he was determined to get it.

"Are you deaf? I said smell it."

He continued home, but when he reached the concrete step, he changed his mind and came slowly, purposefully back to the girl.

"Jesus, Mary, and --"

"The field at Hitler Youth just got fertilized." He gave his shirt another halfhearted, disgusted appraisal. "It's cow manure, I think."

"What?"

"Could you stop saying that?!"

"Did what's-his-name -- Deutscher -- know it was there?"

The boy nodded. "It's on my chin, too. My chin! I'm lucky I didn't swallow it!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

Reluctantly, Liesel leaned in and caught a ghastly whiff of the brown garment. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is that --?"

Liesel cringed. "If you think I'm going to -- in that state…"

Liesel nodded. "Tomorrow."

She'd have gone closer but for the smell of him.

Liesel knew.

"Just you and me this time," Rudy suggested. "No Chemmels, no Schmeikls. Just you and me."

They had to steal something back. It didn't matter what. It needed only to be soon.

No.

The girl couldn't help it.

Fruit was out. Rudy snubbed his nose at onions and potatoes, and they drew the line at another attempt on Otto Sturm and his bikeful of farm produce. Once was immoral. Twice was complete bastardry.

"It's agreed, then," and although he tried not to, Rudy could not hide the fertilized grin that grew on his face. "Tomorrow?"

They had to steal something.

Their plan was perfect but for one thing:

Her hands itched, her pulse split, and her mouth smiled all at the same time. "Sounds good."

Stealing.

They had no idea where to start.

He seemed disappointed in her. "No, not that." He sighed and stepped closer. "Something else." After a moment's thought, he raised his head, just a touch. "Look at me. I'm filthy. I stink like cow shit, or dog shit, whatever your opinion, and as usual, I'm absolutely starving." He paused. "I need a win, Liesel. Honestly."

Rudy spat.

"You can barely think of anything.…"

They walked back through Molching, making suggestions.

They argued on as they walked through town. On the outskirts, they witnessed the first of the farms and the trees standing like emaciated statues. The branches were gray and when they looked up at them, there was nothing but ragged limbs and empty sky.

"So where the hell do we go?" Rudy asked.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't think a little, too. I can't think of everything."

"What about Frau Diller?"

"How should I know? This was your idea, wasn't it?"

After roaming Munich Street for an hour or so, the daylight was drawing to a close and they were on the verge of giving up. "It's pointless," Rudy said, "and I'm even hungrier now than I've ever been. I'm starving, for Christ's sake." He walked another dozen steps before he stopped and looked back. "What's with you?" because now Liesel was standing completely still, and a moment of realization was strapped to her face.

"Maybe if we say 'heil Hitler' and then steal something, we'll be all right."

"What about her?"

"What is it?" Rudy was becoming impatient. "Saumensch, what's going on?"

At that very moment, Liesel was presented with a decision. Could she truly carry out what she was thinking? Could she really seek revenge on a person like this? Could she despise someone this much?

Why hadn't she thought of it before?

She began walking in the opposite direction. When Rudy caught up, she slowed a little in the vain hope of achieving a little more clarity. After all, the guilt was already there. It was moist. The seed was already bursting into a dark-leafed flower. She weighed up whether she could really go through with this. At a crossroad, she stopped.

On Grande Strasse, they took in the splendor of the houses. The front doors glowed with polish, and the roof tiles sat like toupees, combed to perfection. The walls and windows were manicured and the chimneys almost breathed out smoke rings.

They went over the river and made their way up the hill.

Rudy planted his feet. "The mayor's house?"

Liesel nodded, seriously. A pause. "They fired my mama."

"I know a place."

"Do you mind?" She quickened even more and brushed aside Rudy's commentary. "We just have to wait for the right opportunity." Internally, she shrugged away from a kind of gladness that the window was closed. She berated herself. Why, Liesel? she asked. Why did you have to explode when they fired Mama? Why couldn't you just keep your big mouth shut? For all you know, the mayor's wife is now completely reformed after you yelled and screamed at her. Maybe she's straightened herself out, picked herself up. Maybe she'll never let herself shiver in that house again and the window will be shut forever… You stupid Saumensch!

When they angled toward it, Rudy asked just how in God's name they were going to get inside, but Liesel knew. "Local knowledge," she answered. "Local --" But when they were able to see the window to the library at the far end of the house, she was greeted with a shock. The window was closed.

"I knew it." He caught up. "I knew it, you filthy Saumensch. You couldn't get in there even if you had the key."

"Well?" Rudy asked.

Liesel swiveled slowly and hurried off. "Not today," she said. Rudy laughed.

That was all it would take.

She didn't care about the food. Rudy, no matter how hard she tried to resist the idea, was secondary to her plan. It was the book she wanted. The Whistler. She wouldn't tolerate having it given to her by a lonely, pathetic old woman. Stealing it, on the other hand, seemed a little more acceptable. Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.

The open window breathed a slice of air in.

It was Rudy who stopped first. He tapped Liesel in the ribs, with the back of his hand. "Is that window," he whispered, "open?" The eagerness in his voice leaned from his mouth, like a forearm onto Liesel's shoulder.

A week later, however, on their fifth visit to the upper part of Molching, it was there.

And how her heart began to heat.

"Jawohl," she answered. "It sure is."

No, the repugnant truth was this:

On each previous occasion, when they found the window clamped firmly shut, Liesel's outer disappointment had masked a ferocious relief. Would she have had the neck to go in? And who and what, in fact, was she going in for? For Rudy? To locate some food?

They scouted the street and crossed the yard silently.

"Still hungry, Saumensch?"

Liesel replied. "Starving." For a book.

"Look -- a light just came on upstairs."

She said it. "It has to be me."

They laughed nervously for a moment before going through the motions of who should go in and who should stand watch. As the male in the operation, Rudy clearly felt that he should be the aggressor, but it was obvious that Liesel knew this place. It was she who was going in. She knew what was on the other side of the window.

Now they were crouched beneath the slit in the window on the ground floor. The sound of their breathing amplified.

"I see it."

The light was changing in blocks of shade.

The pair of them gravitated toward the immaculate, bulky house. They rustled their thoughts.

Liesel closed her eyes. Tightly.

She compelled herself to remember, to see visions of the mayor and his wife. She watched her gathered friendship with Ilsa Hermann and made sure to see it kicked in the shins and left by the wayside. It worked. She detested them.

"You hungry?" Rudy asked.

"Here," Rudy said, "give me your shoes. You'll be quieter."

Without complaint, Liesel undid the worn black laces and left the shoes on the ground. She rose up and Rudy gently opened the window just wide enough for Liesel to climb through. The noise of it passed overhead, like a low-flying plane.

"The food," he reminded her. "Find the food. And cigarettes, if you can."

Liesel, in the dusty dimness, shrugged off her feelings of nostalgia. She crept forward and allowed her eyes to adjust.

Liesel heaved herself onto the ledge and tussled her way inside. Taking off her shoes, she realized, was a brilliant idea, as she landed much heavier on the wooden floor than she'd anticipated. The soles of her feet expanded in that painful way, rising to the inside edges of her socks.

Both items, however, were the last things on her mind. She was home, among the mayor's books of every color and description, with their silver and gold lettering. She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her. Her feet took her to the right-hand wall. She knew the one she wanted -- the exact position -- but when she made it to The Whistler's usual place on the shelf, it was not there. A slight gap was in its place.

"What's going on?" Rudy whispered sharply from outside, but she waved him a backhander that meant Halt's Maul. Keep quiet.

The room itself was as it always was.

"The light!" Rudy whispered. The words were shoved through the open window. "It's out!"

"They're coming downstairs."

From above, she heard footsteps.

"Scheisse."

Once around the corner, on the road back down to the river and Munich Street, she stopped to bend over and recover. Her body was folded in the middle, the air half frozen in her mouth, her heart tolling in her ears.

There was a giant length of a moment then, the eternity of split-second decision. Her eyes scanned the room and she could see The Whistler, sitting patiently on the mayor's desk.

"Come on," Rudy implored her. "Run, run. Schnell!"

"Hurry up," Rudy warned her. But very calmly and cleanly, Liesel walked over, picked up the book, and made her way cautiously out. Headfirst, she climbed from the window, managing to land on her feet again, feeling the pang of pain once more, this time in her ankles.

Rudy was the same.

When he looked over, he saw the book under her arm. He struggled to speak. "What's"-- he grappled with the words --"with the book?"

Unfortunately, Rudy could smell it. The lie. He cocked his head and told her what he felt was a fact. "You didn't go in for food, did you? You got what you wanted…"

Liesel straightened then and was overcome with the sickness of another realization.

The shoes.

The darkness was filling up truly now. Liesel panted, the air in her throat defrosting. "It was all I could find."

She looked at Rudy's feet, then at his hands, and at the ground all around him.

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

Rudy searched desperately around himself, begging against all reality that he might have brought them with him. He imagined himself picking them up, wishing it true -- but the shoes were not there. They sat uselessly, or actually, much worse, incriminatingly, by the wall at 8 Grande Strasse.

"Saukerl," she accused him. "Where are my shoes?" Rudy's face whitened, which left her in no doubt. "They're back at the house," she suggested, "aren't they?"

"Dummkopf!" he admonished himself, smacking his ear. He looked down shamefully at the sullen sight of Liesel's socks. "Idiot!" It didn't take him long to decide on making it right. Earnestly, he said, "Just wait," and he hurried back around the corner.

Sitting on the ground, she looked up at her best friend. "Danke," she said. "Thank you."

The minutes were heavy while he was gone.

Still, nothing.

"Don't get caught," Liesel called after him, but he didn't hear.

Darkness was now complete and Liesel was quite certain that a Watschen was most likely in the cards when she returned home. "Hurry," she murmured, but still Rudy didn't appear. She imagined the sound of a police siren throwing itself forward and reeling itself in. Collecting itself.

Only when she walked back to the intersection of the two streets in her damp, dirty socks did she see him. Rudy's triumphant face was held nicely up as he trotted steadily toward her. His teeth were gnashed into a grin, and the shoes dangled from his hand. "They nearly killed me," he said, "but I made it." Once they'd crossed the river, he handed Liesel the shoes, and she threw them down.

Rudy bowed. "My pleasure." He tried for a little more. "No point asking if I get a kiss for that, I guess?"

"For bringing my shoes, which you left behind?"

On Himmel Street, Rudy captured the book. Under a lamppost, he read out the title and wondered what it was about.

"You disgust me," she informed him, and she hoped he couldn't see the escaped beginnings of a smile that had fallen from her mouth.

"Fair enough." He held up his hands and continued speaking as they walked on, and Liesel made a concerted effort to ignore him. She only heard the last part. "Probably wouldn't want to kiss you anyway -- not if your breath's anything like your shoes."

Dreamily, Liesel answered. "Just a murderer."

"You know -- your mama."

"Is that all?"

"There's also a policeman trying to catch him."

"Why me?"

Rudy handed it back. "Speaking of which, I think we're both slightly in for it when we get home. You especially."

"What about her?" Liesel was exercising the blatant right of every person who's ever belonged to a family. It's all very well for such a person to whine and moan and criticize other family members, but they won't let anyone else do it. That's when you get your back up and show loyalty. "Is there something wrong with her?"

"I doubt it."

Even in the night, Liesel could see that Rudy was growing. His face was lengthening. The blond shock of hair was darkening ever so slightly and his features seemed to be changing shape. But there was one thing that would never change. It was impossible to be angry at him for long.

"Anything good to eat at your place tonight?" he asked.

Rudy backed away. "Sorry, Saumensch. I didn't mean to offend you."

Before they went into their respective homes, Rudy stopped a moment and said, "Goodbye, Saumensch." He laughed. "Good night, book thief."

They recounted the good old days for the remainder of the walk, Liesel often glancing down at The Whistler, at the gray cover and the black imprinted title.

"Me neither. It's a shame you can't eat books. Arthur Berg said something like that once. Remember?"

It was the first time Liesel had been branded with her title, and she couldn't hide the fact that she liked it very much. As we're both aware, she'd stolen books previously, but in late October 1941, it became official. That night, Liesel Meminger truly became the book thief.