2. Taking on Franz Deutscher on Munich Street.

1. He stole the biggest potato from Mamer's, the local grocer.

The problem with Rudy's first act was greed. It was a typically dreary afternoon in mid-November 1941.

Inconspicuous as he was, however, he managed to take hold of the biggest potato of the lot -- the very same one that several people in the line had been watching. They all looked on as a thirteen-year-old fist rose up and grabbed it. A choir of heavyset Helgas pointed him out, and Thomas Mamer came storming toward the dirty fruit.

Earlier, he'd woven through the women with their coupons quite brilliantly, almost, dare I say it, with a touch of criminal genius. He nearly went completely unnoticed.

"Meine Erdapfel," he said. "My earth apples."

3. Skipping the Hitler Youth meetings altogether.

The potato was still in Rudy's hands (he couldn't hold it in just the one), and the women gathered around him like a troop of wrestlers. Some fast talking was required.

"My family," Rudy explained. A convenient stream of clear fluid began to trickle from his nose. He made a point of not wiping it away. "We're all starving. My sister needed a new coat. The last one was stolen."

Mamer was no fool. Still holding Rudy by the collar, he said, "And you plan to dress her with a potato?"

The grocer held Rudy in one hand and the potato in the other. He called out the dreaded word to his wife. "Polizei."

"No, sir." He looked diagonally into the one eye he could see of his captor. Mamer was a barrel of a man, with two small bullet holes to look out of. His teeth were like a soccer crowd, crammed in. "We traded all our points for the coat three weeks ago and now we have nothing to eat."

"No," Rudy begged, "please." He would tell Liesel later on that he was not the slightest bit afraid, but his heart was certainly bursting at that moment, I'm sure. "Not the police. Please, not the police."

Also in the line that afternoon was a teacher, Herr Link. He was in the percentage of teachers at school who were not priests or nuns. Rudy found him and accosted him in the eyes.

"Polizei." Mamer remained unmoved as the boy wriggled and fought with the air.

"Herr Link." This was his last chance. "Herr Link, tell him, please. Tell him how poor I am."

The grocer looked at the teacher with inquiring eyes.

Eight!

Herr Link stepped forward and said, "Yes, Herr Mamer. This boy is poor. He's from Himmel Street." The crowd of predominantly women conferred at that point, knowing that Himmel Street was not exactly the epitome of idyllic Molching living. It was well known as a relatively poor neighborhood. "He has eight brothers and sisters."

"Often, he comes to school without breakfast," and the crowd of women was conferring again. It was like a coat of paint on the situation, adding a little extra potency and atmosphere.

Rudy had to hold back a smile, though he wasn't in the clear yet. At least he had the teacher lying now. He'd somehow managed to add three more children to the Steiner family.

"So that means he should be allowed to steal my potatoes?"

"The biggest one!" one of the women ejaculated.

"Keep quiet, Frau Metzing," Mamer warned her, and she quickly settled down.

At first, all attention was on Rudy and the scruff of his neck. It then moved back and forth, from the boy to the potato to Mamer -- from best-looking to worst -- and exactly what made the grocer decide in Rudy's favor would forever be unanswered.

The dignity of Herr Link?

The annoyance of Frau Metzing?

Whatever it was, Mamer dropped the potato back on the pile and dragged Rudy from his premises. He gave him a good push with his right boot and said, "Don't come back."

Was it the pathetic nature of the boy?

Rudy and Tommy were given another comprehensive drill session while the others went inside to learn tactics. As they ran in the cold, they could see the warm heads and shoulders through the windows. Even when they joined the rest of the group, the drills weren't quite finished. As Rudy slumped into the corner and flicked mud from his sleeve at the window, Franz fired the Hitler Youth's favorite question at him.

The second act of stupidity was equally dangerous, but for different reasons.

For Rudy, it was yet another failure.

From outside, Rudy looked on as Mamer reached the counter to serve his next customer with food and sarcasm. "I wonder which potato you're going to ask for," he said, keeping one eye open for the boy.

Again, at the Hitler Youth meetings, Tommy Muller was having his problems, and Franz Deutscher was just waiting for Rudy to step in. It didn't take long.

Rudy would finish this particular altercation with a black eye, cracked ribs, and a haircut.

The question was repeated, and the very stupid Rudy Steiner, who knew all too well that it was April 20, 1889, answered with the birth of Christ. He even threw in Bethlehem as an added piece of information.

Rudy looked up. "Sorry?"

"When was our Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, born?"

Franz smeared his hands together.

He walked over to Rudy and ordered him back outside for some more laps of the field.

Rudy ran them alone, and after every lap, he was asked again the date of the Fuhrer's birthday. He did seven laps before he got it right.

A very bad sign.

The rock hit its mark on the spine, though not as hard as Rudy might have hoped. Franz Deutscher spun around and looked happy to find him standing there, with Liesel, Tommy, and Tommy's little sister, Kristina.

The major trouble occurred a few days after the meeting.

On Munich Street, Rudy noticed Deutscher walking along the footpath with some friends and felt the need to throw a rock at him. You might well ask just what the hell he was thinking. The answer is, probably nothing at all. He'd probably say that he was exercising his God-given right to stupidity. Either that, or the very sight of Franz Deutscher gave him the urge to destroy himself.

"Mr. Steiner," Franz declared, before picking him up and throwing him to the pavement.

"Let's run," Liesel urged him, but Rudy didn't move.

When Rudy stood up, it served only to infuriate Deutscher even more. He brought him to the ground for a second time, following him down with a knee to the rib cage.

Again, Rudy stood up, and the group of older boys laughed now at their friend. This was not the best news for Rudy. "Can't you make him feel it?" the tallest of them said. His eyes were as blue and cold as the sky, and the words were all the incentive Franz needed. He was determined that Rudy would hit the ground and stay there.

"We're not at Hitler Youth now," he informed her. The older boys had already arrived. Liesel remained next to her friend, as did the twitching Tommy and the delicate Kristina.

A larger crowd made its way around them as Rudy swung at Franz Deutscher's stomach, missing him completely. Simultaneously, he felt the burning sensation of a fist on his left eye socket. It arrived with sparks, and he was on the ground before he even realized. He was punched again, in the same place, and he could feel the bruise turn yellow and blue and black all at once. Three layers of exhilarating pain.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "He won't do it. He doesn't have the guts."

The sparks were still in his eyes, and he didn't notice until it was too late that Franz now stood above him with a brand-new pocketknife, about to crouch down and cut him.

He looked happily into the pale blue eyes of Franz Deutscher and whispered, "Easter Monday."

"When was our Fuhrer born?" Each word was carefully created and fed into his ear. "Come on, Rudy, when was he born? You can tell me, everything's fine, don't be afraid."

And Rudy?

Did he respond prudently, or did he allow his stupidity to sink himself deeper into the mire?

"No!" Liesel protested, but the tall one held her back. In her ear, his words were deep and old.

Franz merged into a kneeling position as he leaned closer to Rudy and whispered:

The developing crowd gathered and leered to see if Rudy might get up again. He didn't. This time, he remained on the cold, wet ground, feeling it rise through his clothes and spread itself out.

He was wrong.

How did he reply?

As for Rudy, so far this year he'd swallowed mud, bathed himself in fertilizer, been half-strangled by a developing criminal, and was now receiving something at least nearing the icing on the cake -- public humiliation on Munich Street.

Within a few seconds, the knife was applied to his hair. It was haircut number two in this section of Liesel's life. The hair of a Jew was cut with rusty scissors. Her best friend was taken to with a gleaming knife. She knew nobody who actually paid for a haircut.

"April twentieth, eighteen eighty-nine!" Franz lectured him, and when he led his cohorts away, the audience dispersed, leaving only Liesel, Tommy, and Kristina with their friend.

For the most part, his fringe was sliced away freely, but with each stroke, there were always a few hairs that held on for dear life and were pulled out completely. As each one was plucked, Rudy winced, his black eye throbbing in the process and his ribs flashing in pain.

Rudy lay quietly on the ground, in the rising damp.

Which leaves us only with stupid act number three -- skipping the Hitler Youth meetings.

First, his parents threatened him. He didn't attend.

He didn't stop going right away, purely to show Deutscher that he wasn't afraid of him, but after another few weeks, Rudy ceased his involvement altogether.

Instead of attending the Hitler Youth, they walked out of town and along the Amper, skipping stones, heaving enormous rocks into the water, and generally getting up to no good. He made sure to get the uniform dirty enough to fool his mother, at least until the first letter arrived. That was when he heard the dreaded call from the kitchen.

They begged him to go. He refused.

Eventually, it was the opportunity to join a different division that swayed Rudy in the right direction. This was fortunate, because if he didn't show his face soon, the Steiners would be fined for his non-attendance. His older brother, Kurt, inquired as to whether Rudy might join the Flieger Division, which specialized in the teaching of aircraft and flying. Mostly, they built model airplanes, and there was no Franz Deutscher. Rudy accepted, and Tommy also joined. It was the one time in his life that his idiotic behavior delivered beneficial results.

Dressed proudly in his uniform, he exited Himmel Street and kept walking, his loyal subject, Tommy, by his side.

In his new division, whenever he was asked the famous Fuhrer question, Rudy would smile and answer, "April 20, 1889," and then to Tommy, he'd whisper a different date, like Beethoven's birthday, or Mozart's, or Strauss's. They'd been learning about composers in school, where despite his obvious stupidity, Rudy excelled.