I have always been able to recall every word of The Standover Man. Even when I'd forgotten my mother's face and the taste of bread, I still remembered that book. I can still remember the words beneath the thin, watery white paint, and the unprofessional pictures I drew to try and drown them out.
Maybe it was that Mein Kamf was not only my destruction, but also my salvation. Maybe it was the fact that I made mistake after mistake, repainting and repeating until I thought it was worthy of Liesel Meminger. Maybe it was just Liesel.
She thought my hair looked like feathers. I can't count the number of times I wished I did have feathers. My most common daydream in the camps consisted of me sprouting wings and soaring away. I would leave all the pain, hunger, suffering, and hatred far beneath me. Would I be a Goldeneye? A Kingfisher? Or maybe a Skylark—
But then I'd get so ashamed that I would have to stop. I knew that if I had the chance to run I would take it without looking back. Not a thought lost for the others or how I might be able to help them. I'd play the egoist and put myself first once more, just like that night with my family.
This truth about my cowardice gnawed at the thin, diminishing walls of my stomach. Some days I wanted my fear to slash through my deteriorating skin just so that it would end. My meager, pitiful guts would spill out, and with them, my life. I pondered whether I had enough strength in my weak, bony hands to rip through my flesh. I wouldn't have to wait for dread or starvation to do the job. Jagged, bloody stumps of nails would make it easy.
But in the end, I was too afraid and spineless for even that. I'm here now, after all. Liesel tells me living through that, surviving, is the bravest thing she could ever imagine. I tell her the same thing. She believes me about as much as I believe her.
My warring terrors kept me alive. I was afraid to live surrounded by death, but I was too afraid not to live. I was afraid I'd never see Liesel and the Hubermanns again. I was afraid I'd wasted the danger I'd out them in and the sacrifice of my family. And I was just afraid.
When I didn't want to think about my life as it was at the time, I thought about The Standover Man and about Liesel. In my mind, I wasn't crawling with lice or inches from the fire. I was doing crosswords with Liesel, or reading The Shoulder Shrug. Never The Grave Digger's Handbook. I'd had enough of that at that point. I'd felt more knowledgeable than the author. Did he know how long it took a body to burn all to ashes and dust? Because I did.
In a sick way, it was better to be outside, even if it was in the camps. I was less of a danger to Liesel and Rosa and Hans. And I could see the sky. The illusion of freedom was better than the cold, dark waiting room I'd been in. Sometimes, I would go outside to look at the sky. I would try to make up colorful weather reports like Liesel, but they couldn't compare.
I'm not a brave man. If it weren't for Liesel, I'd still be trapped, imprisoned in the past. The memories I had and the book I made got me through my encampment. But Liesel got me through life. Did you know she still gives me a weather report every day? I would have expected them to mature as she'd matured, but they're still as perfect as her first report.
"The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big, long cloud,
and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole…"
"The sky is blue today, Max…" Her words echo in my mind. I can finally see that she's right.