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May, Marius
Liesel loves the library at Green Gardens, and she loves Luke's bookstore possibly even more, but sometimes she misses her books from home. Most of the books she's read in Darrow so far are in English, and Liesel can understand why, but she does miss the way German words look on a page, the way it feels so much more natural to her to read. If she asked Magnus he could probably magic her some German books, but she feels a little guilty asking him. In truth she's lucky to have what she does, and she knows there are plenty of children with much less. If Mama were here she'd whack her with a spoon and tell her to be grateful for what she has.
She is grateful, and she's been reading her way through the library at a fast pace, sometimes finishing four of five books a week. Now that she's good at reading it's much easier than it was when she first learned with Papa, and in Darrow she has all the time in the world and all kinds of books at her fingertips. There's school, of course, which she's getting better at and she hasn't skipped so many classes anymore, but then the rest of the day is hers. Sometimes she practices baking with Greta in the afternoons, but more often than not she tucks herself away in a corner of the library to read.
There's also her secret project, which is coming along slowly in one of the blank writing books she bought from the store. Max had written her two books and she'd treasured both of them dearly. Leaving them behind in Molching still makes her sad to think about, but she's comforted by the memory of him and how much the books had meant to her. She wants to do something like that for Saoirse, write her a story that she can treasure too, and maybe cheer her up when she's feeling bad about her family not being here.
It's late afternoon and she's still in her school clothes, not having bothered to change when she got back to Green Gardens. Instead she'd gone straight to the library and tucked herself into her corner, her book on her lap and a pencil in her hand. She's concentrating so hard on the words, carefully marking them into the paper, that she doesn't notice when somebody else walks in.
She is grateful, and she's been reading her way through the library at a fast pace, sometimes finishing four of five books a week. Now that she's good at reading it's much easier than it was when she first learned with Papa, and in Darrow she has all the time in the world and all kinds of books at her fingertips. There's school, of course, which she's getting better at and she hasn't skipped so many classes anymore, but then the rest of the day is hers. Sometimes she practices baking with Greta in the afternoons, but more often than not she tucks herself away in a corner of the library to read.
There's also her secret project, which is coming along slowly in one of the blank writing books she bought from the store. Max had written her two books and she'd treasured both of them dearly. Leaving them behind in Molching still makes her sad to think about, but she's comforted by the memory of him and how much the books had meant to her. She wants to do something like that for Saoirse, write her a story that she can treasure too, and maybe cheer her up when she's feeling bad about her family not being here.
It's late afternoon and she's still in her school clothes, not having bothered to change when she got back to Green Gardens. Instead she'd gone straight to the library and tucked herself into her corner, her book on her lap and a pencil in her hand. She's concentrating so hard on the words, carefully marking them into the paper, that she doesn't notice when somebody else walks in.
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"I don't think I've had the pleasure, no," he says, shaking his head. "But I am sure that the book you are making for her is lovely. I don't doubt that she'll love it."
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She remembers the hitch of her breath, the thud of her heart against her ribcage whenever she stole something. She remembers the way it made her feel powerful, like she was finally taking something back after everything was taken from her. Rudy never quite understood. He understood stealing well enough, but Rudy stole because he was hungry, because he wanted to impress Liesel and the older boys. For Liesel it's more about herself than the object or anybody else.
"Someone made me a book once," she tells him, her voice going a little quiet. There's no one in this city she's been able to talk to about Max. She doesn't know whether it's because it's never come up or because in some way she's still worried about saying his name aloud in case she gets in trouble, or somebody comes for him. But Max isn't here and there's no one to take him or Mama and Papa away anymore. "He painted it for me, but it didn't come here with me." The Word Shaker and The Standover Man are buried beneath layers of rubble, now, and she doesn't think she'll ever see the white painted-over pages ever again.
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"That must have been a very special book," he says, his own voice quiet. "But did you know, Darrow sometimes brings things from home for the people it brings here? So your book could show up one day, out of the blue, just like you did."
He hopes she finds comfort in the idea. He also hopes she eventually gets the book, and not, say, a devastating item from home, as has been mostly his own experience.
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She hadn't known that things could show up from home, but she considers it for a moment. If she ever wakes up to find The Word Shaker amongst her things, it will be her favourite day in Darrow yet, but she knows it will also make her a little sad. Her book could show up, maybe, but she's not so sure about Max himself. The last time she saw him, he was so thin and scared, and Liesel has no way of knowing what happened to him.
"It was special," she says, nodding. "He painted the words over the only book he ever had." She remembers asking him if it was a good book, the way he'd smiled, a little strained, and told her it saved his life. She knows a little more about it now, knows that the book held words of hate before Max covered them in white paint, but she can't help but be grateful that at least it brought him to Himmel Street.
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Painting over a book must have taken time, effort, and patience. And love, he thinks. A lot of love. He can tell, from what Liesel has said, that this must be one of her most precious treasures; the person who made it for her obviously cares about and loves her quite a lot.
"Perhaps the one who painted it might find his way to the city as well," Marius adds, smiling.
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"They took him away," she says quietly, saying the words to her knees now as she draws them up to her chest. Marius has brought her such a sweet gift and she doesn't mean to ruin things by thinking of Max, but the secrets have been piling up for years. No one but Papa ever knew what he meant to her, and neither of them are here, now.
Liesel doesn't know how Darrow works, exactly, but she doesn't know that she'll ever see Max again now. She can only hope that he got away somehow, or that he managed to survive until things were better again, like Solo promised her.