Haunted by Humans

 

Haunted by Humans

Noel Laflin

8-14-24

I finished Markus Zusak’s novel, “The Book Thief” late last night and cried.

Again.

The final chapter brought fresh tears to a story that I have read at least five times over the last dozen years.

Now, some I know never read a book twice.

Some don’t care for books whatsoever.

Too many these days think it’s their moral obligation to ban books.

But I crave a good story – and when it’s good enough I feel no shame in reading it again and again.

I mean, Liesel Meminger read her first stolen book, “The Grave Diggers Handbook” thirteen times according to the narrator.

And the narrator, Death personified, read Liesel’s book thousands of time, or so he tells us.

So five readings is hardly a drop in the bucket.

I recommended the book to a former teacher of mine eleven years ago. I remember telling him that if he couldn’t make time for the book, the movie was still in theaters. It’s nowhere as good as the book, I told him, but it would at least give him the gist of the story.

He was a favorite teacher of mine and I thought it nice to direct him to the story of Liesel, Rudy, Hans, Rosa, Max, Death, and a fine assorted cast of supporting characters.

My former teacher called me a week later to yell at me for making him cry, as he’d just returned from the movie theater.

I remember making the man cry when I was Liesel and Rudy’s age, too.

It was due to a story that I had created about a son and his mother.  The summer school drama assignment was to read the piece to music.

With the lights darkened, the door closed, the summer heat held at bay outside, I choose Percy Faith’s haunting rendition from the movie “Westside Story” and spoke about a death.

Even at fourteen, I knew how to twist the heartstrings and wrangle an A for a final assignment.

“God damn it, Noel, you really know how to turn on the waterworks,” he bellowed, wiping his tears away as he quickly left the classroom, leaving the rest of us in darkness, the needle of the record skipping and skipping as it wanted to return to its resting place or at least play the violins once more.

I reminded him of the incident from forty-five years prior on the day he yelled at me (but in a loving way) regarding “The Book Thief.”

My old mentor would be carried away in the arms of Death a year later.

And then it was my turn to yell (but in a quiet, loving way) and let the waterworks flow.

To quote Death: “I am haunted by humans.”