MICHAEL HOLTZAPFEL—
THE LAST GOODBYE
Dear Mama,
Can you ever forgive me?
I just couldn’t stand it any longer.
I’m meeting Robert. I don’t care
what the damn Catholics say about it.
There must be a place in heaven for
those who have been where I have been.
You might think I don’t love you
because of what I’ve done, but I do.
Your Michael
It was Hans Hubermann who was asked to give Frau Holtzapfel the news. He stood on her threshold and she must have seen it on his face. Two sons in six months.
The morning sky stood blazing behind him as the wiry woman made her way past. She ran sobbing to the gathering farther up on Himmel Street. She said the name Michael at least two dozen times, but Michael had already answered. According to the book thief, Frau Holtzapfel hugged the body for nearly an hour. She then returned to the blinding sun of Himmel Street and sat herself down. She could no longer walk.
From a distance, people observed. Such a thing was easier from far away.
Hans Hubermann sat with her.
He placed his hand on hers, as she fell back to the hard ground.
He allowed her screams to fill the street.
Much later, Hans walked with her, with painstaking care, through her front gate, and into the house. And no matter how many times I try to see it differently, I can’t pull it off ….
When I imagine that scene of the distraught woman and the tall silver-eyed man, it is still snowing in the kitchen of 31 Himmel Street.
THE WAR MAKER
There was the smell of a freshly cut coffin. Black dresses. Enormous suitcases under the eyes. Liesel stood like the rest, on the grass. She read to Frau Holtzapfel that same afternoon. The Dream Carrier, her neighbor’s favorite.
It was a busy day all around, really.
JULY 27, 1943
Michael Holtzapfel was buried and the book
thief read to the bereaved. The Allies bombed
Hamburg—and on that subject, it’s lucky I’m
somewhat miraculous. No one else could carry close to
forty-five thousand people in such a short amount
of time. Not in a million human years.