And she cried for this kind man that she loved. She cried remembering Rosa and Hans who had come to love Max as a son, even starving themselves so that he could eat and risking their lives to keep him safe. Max, the man with the soft hands, that had written for her the loveliest stories...her Max, who she treasured above anything else in the entire world... She had prayed every night for him to be safe. And those people had beaten him and taken him as a lab rat, as a piece of worthless trash, hurting and humiliating him...what sick world was this?
In the bedroom Max was leaning against the pillows, still shaking. Everything was suddenly back and more alive than ever since he had been liberated from the camps. He could hear the screams again, he saw the soldiers with their whips and the doctors with their needles. He felt hot tears comming down his face and before he knew, he was openly crying.
How would Liesel or anyone else ever love him? He was nothing more than a wrecked man, stripped of his dignity,afraid of the world and now he was weeping as a child. He wept for Liesel, the beautiful girl, this angel that had been sent to save him. The only person in the world that cared about him. She had been so courageous to hold him back then on Munich Street, she had even taken the soldier's whipping for him and she had not cried. She was incredibly strong and he was so weak. She deserved better than this...and yet he loved her desperately.