The coat men came for Rudy.
The boy listened at the kitchen door for barely a minute.
* * * A SMALL BUT SIGNIFICANT NOTE * * *
In this case, barely a minute was quite enough.
The next day, the boy with hair the color of lemons walked down Himmel Street.
"Rudy."
The boy stopped, but didn't turn around.
"Kurt told me why they came, but you're safe, right? He said that your parents convinced them to let you stay."
Rudy, turn around.
"Rudy? Are you all right?"
Why won't you look at me?
* * * WHY, INDEED? * * *
Because the boy had done a terrible thing. What did he do, you ask?
He followed the coat men.
And he begged them to take him away.
The first letter came only a week after he arrived at the school.
Rudy,
I'm sorry. I know I said a lot of horrible things when you told me you were leaving, but I think I understand now. You wouldn't tell me why. But they threatened to take your father, didn't they? It's just like you said, only I get it now. You didn't have a choice. Your family would've been punished if you hadn't gone. I really am sorry about all those horrid things I said. I didn't mean any of them, I promise, even if I thought I did at the time.
I still don't think you should've gone. Your parents both said that you could stay. They were willing to face the consequences. But I also know you. And the Rudy Steiner I know would never put himself before his family. We miss you, you filthy Saukerl. How is that miserable school, anyways? I'll bet it's no Himmel Street.
Lots of love,
Liesel
He received an abundance of letters, truth be told. His little sisters sent him short notes, saying that they missed him and whatnot. Kurt updated him on Molching's situation, on what was happening in the war. His mother sent all their love. But, of course, Liesel's letters were always the ones that he looked forward to the most. She wrote entire essays, so much that it seemed as if every spare moment she had was spent writing to him.
She informed him on just about everything that took place on Himmel Street. What happened, who was involved, all the little trivial things that he would know if still living there, that no one else would bother to tell him.
The best part of these letters was that other than the very first one she sent him, she never mentioned his current situation. Everyone else would end their letters by inquiring how he was, what they were doing at the school.
But not Liesel.
The letters that they exchanged had an unspoken rule.
Rudy didn't talk about school, Liesel didn't ask about it.
It was almost as if they could pretend it never happened, that they still lived next door, that the letters were intricately detailed conversations, written because Rudy was home sick.
* * * A KEY WORD * * *
Almost.
Because no matter how much they both tried to deny it, the fact of the matter was still there.
Rudy was hundreds of miles away.
And as far as they could tell, in the near future, he wasn't coming back.
The letters continued to arrive, one after another, two or three a month.
The news steadily got worse and worse, but somehow, even though he knew bad news was imminent whenever he saw a new envelope with his name on it, they brought him a sort of comfort.
After all, if she was still writing letters, things couldn't be all that bad.
Hans Hubermann was sent to war.
Frau Holtzapfel's son came back to Molching, only to kill himself. After hearing about this, Liesel's grief-stricken words reverberated in Rudy's ears for quite some time.
He killed himself for wanting to live.
Hans Hubermann came back, and Liesel regaled Rudy with tales of empty cities and streets of smoke and fire.
Finally, another letter came. Rudy immediately knew this was something else. She had written nearly twice as much as normal, her handwriting small and cramped.
She told of a man. A Jew by the name of Max.
She explained everything, starting at the beginning.
Years ago.
She told of The Standover Man and The Word Shaker. She told him about the parades. The first, which resulted in Max being forced to leave, and the second, when she saw him again. She ended the letter with a confession.
Of course I told him about you. You're my best friend.
Rudy sat on his bed by the window of the dormitory, straining to see the words in the early morning light. He mouthed the now-familiar words to himself, having read the letter so many times. You're my best friend.
Liesel sat in her bedroom, reading and rereading his previous letters by the light of the candle at her side.
And then, in an instant, everything erupted into flames.
Outside, the world whistled. The rain was stained.
The letter had arrived in early October, and Rudy had immediately reciprocated with an almost as long letter. Question after question after question. He was so eager to post the letter and receive the answers that he nearly forgot to mark it with the address of the Hubermanns.
* * * AN ABUNDANTLY SIMPLE TRUTH * * *
He never got a response.
Oh, he waited. He was nothing if not patient.
When he didn't receive a letter on the usual day, he waited a few more. After another week of nothing he assumed that either his own letter or Liesel's had gotten lost in the mail, and he wrote another letter, almost as long as the first.
Again, no reply.
He waited for days, weeks, months.
Once every other week he wrote a new letter and posted it again, though they were getting shorter and shorter. The address and words were engraved into his mind.
The Hubermanns
33 Himmel Street, Molching
Munich
GERMANY
Writing the letters was almost automatic. Now they were just meaningless words. No questions, not anymore. Just desperate pleas for a response. Empty promises and the echoes of a broken heart.
Wilting words on crumpled papers.
Of course, he knew the truth. Had known it for so long now. It was obvious in the absence of letters from not only Liesel, but from his own family as well. It was eating him up from the inside, clawing at his heart, trying to make its way out into the open.
* * * A REASSURANCE * * *
Rudy Steiner did, indeed, know the truth.
And so do you.