The One Who Stole the Sky

One Last Run

A firm rapping at the door caused Max to jolt upward from his sound sleep, then to hit his head off of the bottom of the table where he lay protected like a stray dog caught in rain. Easily he forgot about the pain and worried gravely of who was at the door. Surely Herr Steiner would invite himself in without knocking first, for this was his establishment of course. The noise caught Max off guard, placing him back into the time where he used a Hitler flag as cover from the Nazi search party. Sweat secreted from his hands. Suddenly he felt immensely ill. The knocking persisted on the door and inside Max's mind. He stumbled lamely out from underneath the table then stood ever so quietly in the center of the room. The wall which held all of the fabrics thankfully blocked the view from the streets to the back room. The building rested in darkness from the drawn tightness of the blinds.

What was Max to do now? Nearly choking on his own dry mouth, Max stood with his eyes concentrated solely on the simple wooden door at the front of the shop with fear. He swallowed his fear in one spontaneous action and made his way to the door where he rested his ear to the chilled surface. Nothing followed the knocking for quite some time. Max began to relax his tensed body, but then a faint cough, barely audible but present, squeaked through the door. This was no intruder, but rather a girl. Liesel. Max felt the embarrassment spread like a wildfire across his face, or perhaps it was him blushing prematurely. Either way the sweat and aggravated nerves nibbled away at his calm, collected persona which never failed to hide his vulnerabilities. But they were apparent now when everything was at its tipping point. One wrong move, one wrong phrase, one wrong sniffle- too much and all too soon- Max lost his senses. He turned the lock and then the doorknob with shaking fingers. Liesel stepped through with her eyes drawn to the floor. Her fragile insipid face fell shyly away from Max's head. While she grew pallor, Max colored at the engagement.

"Liesel, my dear Liesel! You have come early." Max's voice formed an unintentional brash whisper.

"I told Ilsa I went to fetch some soup from Alex's house. I hope this will be enough time for you to explain yourself." After regaining a portion of her health, Liesel was able to defend herself and speak on the behalf of her feelings.

"Oh, well you should come to the back room. And here, use this to keep warm." Max dragged Liesel to the back of the shop and sat her down at the wooden table with the fabric he warmed himself with hours earlier.

"Are you feeling better?" Max took up a seat across from the skeleton of a girl and rested his head on his fist. He only casual glanced up at her now and then, something he had never done before. Everything was simply natural between the two of them before he read Liesel's novel. But knowing her feelings, and his, and-and. . . .

"I am on the mend." She shivered with chattering teeth.

"I am glad to hear." Max licked his lips and cleared his throat to fill the void of silence. Liesel remained with her head tucked under the wool fabric. And then finally, Max had the nerve to call attention to the germane issue which festered in his mind since he first stepped foot in this town again.

"I read your novel." Quick, simple- like an inoculation he filled Liesel with things beyond her emotional disposition. At once she flashed her brilliantly blue eyes at Max with some form of anger and frailty.

"Why? But. . ." Liesel shook her head violently like a snow globe, in which a light layer of pink decorated her cheeks when she finally settled. Both she and Max, frozen in one another's stare, felt a nauseating prickle of mortification eat up their bodies.

"Then you know. You know." Flustered, Liesel wanted so hard to dismiss herself from the situation- to disappear from the world where she may never be broken again.

"Now I do. Clearly. But I have something to ask of you, and it is a life-changing question at that." Max rubbed his chin and bit his lip. He was running out of ways to stall his words.

"I need you to come with me to the train station this evening. We must leave all of Germany behind us. Few trains are traveling out of Germany these days, but tonight there is one riding to Switzerland. Please, it is for the safety of you and for the people of Mulching." Beyond inconceivable was what Liesel's face had said. The horror spread upon her and the weight she carried of this news buried her in the mud. Her mouth opened, closed, opened, then closed again as she struggled against her own rationale for staying and for leaving.

"You think you can come here to my village and tell me what is best? Have you not a clue how hard it is for me to leave?" Liesel carried on, grousing with a furrowed blonde brow of stubbornness.

"I have not a clue? At least you have family. At least you have people in your life. Liesel, I have not seen my mother since Kristallnacht all those years ago. I was torn from her then forced to find my way in a world that craved to kill me. Maybe it is you who does not understand." Both turned their heads down to recover from their personal attacks. Shaking heads, only on occasion, filled the space. Max licked his lips and sighed quite audibly against the atrocity of the circumstances Liesel hesitated to convey.

"I do understand. I read your journal." Liesel admitted to such a grandiose fact that it made the room shrink around them until it was impossible to breathe. Max's eyes, for the first time that day, met with Liesel's in a raging, vulnerable fashion.

"I told you to only read it to remember me, and for no other purpose. . . ." There was a culminating tension broiling in the room. Everything was red, on fire, like the enemy flag to the east. The room swelled with instability as the sun rose in the early morning, also bearing a hazardous red hue.

"I guess we both have some explaining to do." The golden-haired girl snarled under the pressure of everything little thing.

"It appears that way." Max hushed the fire and spoke like the minuscule embers that flickered weakly among the deathly black ashes. Then came along the bucket of water, Herr Steiner, to settle the flames once and for all. He diffused the room of the fires and set it sizzling until it became quiet.

"My apologies. I have come with your passport. Try to remember everything on it, yes? Also, you are going to have to add your own picture of you have one." Herr Steiner handed over the frail, cream-colored papers folded in half.

"I don't have a picture." Max covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as if he could magically make one appear.

"I do." The frail, sick voice of Liesel Meminger soothed the additional pains when she pulled from her pocket a small image of her dearest companion. Max's large hand was reached out with the palm to the sky as Liesel's petite hand deposited the priceless treasure into her friend's. He carefully slipped the image into the notches and examined the work Herr Steiner's friend had done.

"Thank you." He swallowed hard; a gulp of relief. His two Aryan friends smiled warmly at the success of this reunion. Now he could leave on the train and restart life in a new country. The Jew who had spent all of his life running could run one last time. As he pocketed his forged documents he peered over to Herr Steiner who stared back, and then to Liesel who knew what came next.