As I stroke the words in the little black book, faded by time, smudged by tears and coffee stains and rain, I can see so clearly in mind the lemon coloured hair bobbing through the school yard. I can see the grin plastered on a young face. Feel the breeze that kicks dust into youthful eyes. Smell the remains of childhood. Sense the need to be kids… Just for a bit longer.

Rudy Steiner's face is covered in mud. No, he's entirely covered in mud. Rudy Steiner seems almost determined to oust washing power. From the looks of things... He's succeeding. There's mud in his hair. In the creases round his eyes. In the hollow of his ears. Saukerl. That's what Liesel would say. Saukerl.

The mud covered boy grins (And gosh! Even his teeth are covered in mud!) as he dribbles across the schoolyard.

"And Rudy Steiner has the ball! And he's running! Weaving past the defenders, unbeaten in 17 matches… And will he do it? Will he score? No! I can't believe it: GOOOOAAAAL!"

Lisel yawns as Rudy celebrates his success. Pretending to be disinterested… I let a small smile creep over my face: (for yes, even death can smile) both me and Liesel know whats coming next.

"How about a kiss, Saumensch?"

She's not even going to attempt to answer that.

That night Mrs Steiner is gifted with a hallway of muddy footsteps and boy deprived of the one thing he wants most in the world.

The'll be time for that, Rudy, she thinks. They'll be a time for girlfriends and kisses and smiles.

Sometimes bombs steal that time, steal like boys and girls in fields of apples.

Mrs Steiner smiles. In three weeks she'll be lying, breathless, in a pile of rubble. The air crushed from her lungs.