The Book Thief - Markus Zusak

A printing firm if youre the type whos interested yes

Info iconThis preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.

View Full Document Right Arrow Icon
This is the end of the preview. Sign up to access the rest of the document.

Unformatted text preview: a good girl.” For the next hour, the good girl lay wide awake in bed, listening to the quiet fumbling of sentences in the kitchen. One wild card was yet to be played. A SHORT HISTORY OF THE JEWISH FIST FIGHTER Max Vandenburg was born in 1916. He grew up in Stuttgart. When he was younger, he grew to love nothing more than a good fistfight. He had his first bout when he was eleven years old and skinny as a whittled broom handle. Wenzel Gruber. That’s who he fought. He had a smart mouth, that Gruber kid, and wire-curly hair. The local playground demanded that they fight, and neither boy was about to argue. They fought like champions. For a minute. Just when it was getting interesting, both boys were hauled away by their collars. A watchful parent. A trickle of blood was dripping from Max’s mouth. He tasted it, and it tasted good. Not many people who came from his neighborhood were fighters, and if they were, they didn’t do it with their fists. In those days, they said the Jews preferred to simply stand and take things. Take the abuse quietly and then work their way back to the top. Obviously, every Jew is not the same. He was nearly two years old when his father died, shot to pieces on a grassy hill. When he was nine, his mother was completely broke. She sold the music studio that doubled as their apartment and they moved to his uncle’s house. There he grew up with six cousins who battered, annoyed, and loved him. Fighting with the oldest one, Isaac, was the training ground for his fist fighting. He was trounced almost every night. At thirteen, tragedy struck again when his uncle died. As percentages would suggest, his uncle was not a hothead like Max. He was the type of person who worked quietly away for very little reward. He kept to himself and sacrificed everything for his family—and he died of something growing in his stomach. Something akin to a poison bowling ball. As is often the case, the family surrounded the bed and watched him capitulate. Somehow, between the sadness and loss, Max Vandenburg, who was now a teenager with hard hands, blackened eyes, a...
View Full Document

This note was uploaded on 01/17/2014 for the course ENG 99 taught by Professor Michal during the Winter '13 term at CSU Sacramento.

Ask a homework question - tutors are online