The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas Page 8

  He sat down on the ground on his side of the fence and crossed his legs like the little boy and wished that he had brought some chocolate with him or perhaps a pastry that they could share.

  'I live in the house on this side of the fence,' said Bruno.

  'Do you? I saw the house once, from a distance, but I didn't see you.'

  'My room is on the first floor,' said Bruno. 'I can see right over the fence from there. I'm Bruno, by the way.'

  'I'm Shmuel,' said the little boy.

  Bruno scrunched up his face, not sure that he had heard the little boy right. 'What did you say your name was?' he asked.

  'Shmuel,' said the little boy as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 'What did you say your name was?'

  'Bruno,' said Bruno.

  'I've never heard of that name,' said Shmuel.

  'And I've never heard of your name,' said Bruno. 'Shmuel.' He thought about it. 'Shmuel,' he repeated. 'I like the way it sounds when I say it. Shmuel. It sounds like the wind blowing.'

  'Bruno,' said Shmuel, nodding his head happily. 'Yes, I think I like your name too. It sounds like someone who's rubbing their arms to keep warm.'

  'I've never met anyone called Shmuel before,' said Bruno.

  'There are dozens of Shmuels on this side of the fence,' said the little boy. 'Hundreds probably. I wish I had a name all of my own.'

  'I've never met anyone called Bruno,' said Bruno. 'Other than me, of course. I think I might be the only one.'

  'Then you're lucky,' said Shmuel.

  'I suppose I am. How old are you?' he asked.

  Shmuel thought about it and looked down at his fingers and they wiggled in the air, as if he was trying to calculate. 'I'm nine,' he said. 'My birthday is April the fifteenth nineteen thirty-four.'

  Bruno stared at him in surprise. 'What did you say?' he asked.

  'I said my birthday is April the fifteenth nineteen thirty-four.'

  Bruno's eyes opened wide and his mouth made the shape of an O. 'I don't believe it,' he said. 'Why not?' asked Shmuel.

  'No,' said Bruno, shaking his head quickly. 'I don't mean I don't believe you. I mean I'm surprised, that's all. Because my birthday is April the fifteenth too.

  And I was born in nineteen thirty-four. We were born on the same day.'

  Shmuel thought about this. 'So you're nine too,' he said.

  'Yes. Isn't that strange?'

  'Very strange,' said Shmuel. 'Because there may be dozens of Shmuels on this side of the fence but I don't think that I've ever met anyone with the same birthday as me before.'

  'We're like twins,' said Bruno.

  'A little bit,' agreed Shmuel.

  Bruno felt very happy all of a sudden. A picture came into his head of Karl and Daniel and Martin, his three best friends for life, and he remembered how much fun they used to have together back in Berlin and he realized how lonely he had been at Out-With.

  'Do you have many friends?' asked Bruno, cocking his head a little to the side as he waited for an answer.

  'Oh yes,' said Shmuel. 'Well, sort of.'

  Bruno frowned. He had hoped that Shmuel might have said no as it would give them something else in common. ' Close friends?' he asked.

  'Well, not very close,' said Shmuel. 'But there are a lot of us-boys our age, I mean-on this side of the fence. We fight a lot of the time though. That's why I come out here. To be on my own.'

  'It's so unfair,' said Bruno. 'I don't see why I have to be stuck over here on this side of the fence where there's no one to talk to and no one to play with and you get to have dozens of friends and are probably playing for hours every day. I'll have to speak to Father about it.'

  'Where did you come from?' asked Shmuel, narrowing his eyes and looking at Bruno curiously.

  'Berlin.'

  'Where's that?'

  Bruno opened his mouth to answer but found that he wasn't entirely sure. 'It's in Germany, of course,' he said. 'Don't you come from Germany?'

  'No, I'm from Poland,' said Shmuel.

  Bruno frowned. 'Then why do you speak German?' he asked.

  'Because you said hello in German. So I answered in German. Can you speak Polish?'

  'No,' said Bruno, laughing nervously. 'I don't know anyone who can speak two languages. And especially no one of our age.'

  'Mama is a teacher in my school and she taught me German,' explained Shmuel. 'She speaks French too. And Italian. And English. She's very clever. I don't speak French or Italian yet, but she said she'd teach me English one day because I might need to know it.'

  'Poland,' said Bruno thoughtfully, weighing up the word on his tongue. 'That's not as good as Germany, is it?'

  Shmuel frowned. 'Why isn't it?' he asked.

  'Well, because Germany is the greatest of all countries,' Bruno replied, remembering something that he had overheard Father discussing with Grandfather on any number of occasions. 'We're superior.'

  Shmuel stared at him but didn't say anything, and Bruno felt a strong desire to change the subject because even as he had said the words, they didn't sound quite right to him and the last thing he wanted was for Shmuel to think that he was being unkind.

  'Where is Poland anyway?' he asked after a few silent moments had passed.

  'Well, it's in Europe,' said Shmuel.

  Bruno tried to remember the countries he had been taught about in his most recent geography class with Herr Liszt. 'Have you ever heard of Denmark?' he asked.

  'No,' said Shmuel.

  'I think Poland is in Denmark,' said Bruno, growing more confused even though he was trying to sound clever. 'Because that's many miles away,' he repeated for added confirmation.

  Shmuel stared at him for a moment and opened his mouth and closed it twice, as if he was considering his words carefully. 'But this is Poland,' he said finally.

  'Is it?' asked Bruno.

  'Yes it is. And Denmark's quite far away from both Poland and Germany.'

  Bruno frowned. He'd heard of all these places but he always found it hard to get them straight in his head. 'Well, yes,' he said. 'But it's all relative, isn't it? Distance, I mean.' He wished they could get off the subject as he was starting to think he was entirely wrong and made a private resolution to pay more attention in future in geography class.

  'I've never been to Berlin,' said Shmuel.

  'And I don't think I'd ever been to Poland before I came here,' said Bruno, which was true because he hadn't. 'That is, if this really is Poland.'

  'I'm sure it is,' said Shmuel quietly. 'Although it's not a very nice part of it.'

  'No.'

  'Where I come from is a lot nicer.'

  'It's certainly not as nice as Berlin,' said Bruno. 'In Berlin we had a big house with five floors if you counted the basement and the little room at the top with the window. And there were lovely streets and shops and fruit and vegetable stalls and any number of cafes. But if you ever go there I wouldn't recommend walking around town on a Saturday afternoon because there are far too many people there then and you get pushed from pillar to post. And it was much nicer before things changed.'

  'How do you mean?' asked Shmuel.

  'Well, it used to be very quiet there,' explained Bruno, who didn't like to talk about how things had changed. 'And I was able to read in bed at night. But now it's quite noisy sometimes, and scary, and we have to turn all the lights off when it starts to get dark.'

  'Where I come from is much nicer than Berlin,' said Shmuel, who had never been to Berlin. 'Everyone there is very friendly and we have lots of people in our family and the food is a lot better too.'

  'Well, we'll have to agree to disagree,' said Bruno, who didn't want to fight with his new friend.

  'All right,' said Shmuel.

  'Do you like exploring?' asked Bruno after a moment.

  'I've never really done any,' admitted Shmuel.

  'I'm going to be an explorer when I grow up,' said Bruno, nodding his head quickly. 'At the moment I can't do very much more than read about exp
lorers, but at least that means that when I'm one myself, I won't make the mistakes they did.'

  Shmuel frowned. 'What kind of mistakes?' he asked.

  'Oh, countless ones,' explained Bruno. 'The thing about exploring is that you have to know whether the thing you've found is worth finding. Some things are just sitting there, minding their own business, waiting to be discovered. Like America. And other things are probably better off left alone. Like a dead mouse at the back of a cupboard.'

  'I think I belong to the first category,' said Shmuel.

  'Yes,' replied Bruno. 'I think you do. Can I ask you something?' he added after a moment.

  'Yes,' said Shmuel.

  Bruno thought about it. He wanted to phrase the question just right.

  'Why are there so many people on that side of the fence?' he asked. 'And what are you all doing there?'

  Chapter Eleven

  The Fury

  Some months earlier, just after Father received the new uniform which meant that everyone had to call him 'Commandant' and just before Bruno came home to find Maria packing up his things, Father came home one evening in a state of great excitement, which was terribly unlike him, and marched into the living room where Mother, Bruno and Gretel were sitting reading their books.

  'Thursday night,' he announced. 'If we've any plans for Thursday night we have to cancel them.'

  'You can change your plans if you want to,' said Mother, 'but I've made arrangements to go to the theatre with-'

  'The Fury has something he wants to discuss with me,' said Father, who was allowed to interrupt Mother even if no one else was. I just got a phone call this afternoon. The only time he can make it is Thursday evening and he's invited himself to dinner.'

  Mother's eyes opened wide and her mouth made the shape of an O. Bruno stared at her and wondered whether this was what he looked like when he was surprised about something.

  'But you're not serious,' said Mother, growing a little pale. 'He's coming here? To our house?'

  Father nodded. 'At seven o'clock,' he said. 'So we'd better think about something special for dinner.'

  'Oh my,' said Mother, her eyes moving back and forth quickly as she started to think of all the things that needed doing.

  'Who's the Fury?' asked Bruno.

  'You're pronouncing it wrong,' said Father, pronouncing it correctly for him.

  'The Fury,' said Bruno again, trying to get it right but failing again.

  'No,' said Father, 'the- Oh, never mind!'

  'Well, who is he anyway?' asked Bruno again.

  Father stared at him, astonished. 'You know perfectly well who the Fury is,' he said.

  'I don't,' said Bruno.

  'He runs the country, idiot,' said Gretel, showing off as sisters tend to do. (It was things like this that made her such a Hopeless Case.) 'Don't you ever read a newspaper?'

  'Don't call your brother an idiot, please,' said Mother.

  'Can I call him stupid?'

  Td rather you didn't.'

  Gretel sat down again, disappointed, but stuck her tongue out at Bruno nonetheless.

  'Is he coming alone?' asked Mother.

  'I forgot to ask,' said Father. 'But I presume he'll be bringing her with him.'

  'Oh my,' said Mother again, standing up and counting in her head the number of things she had to organize before Thursday, which was only two evenings away. The house would have to be cleaned from top to bottom, the windows washed, the dining-room table stained and varnished, the food ordered, the maid's and butler's uniforms washed and pressed, and the crockery and glasses polished until they sparkled.

  Somehow, despite the fact that the list seemed to grow longer and longer all the time, Mother managed to get everything finished on time, although she commented over and over again that the evening would be a greater success if some people helped out a little bit more around the house.

  An hour before the Fury was due to arrive Gretel and Bruno were brought downstairs, where they received a rare invitation into Father's office. Gretel was wearing a white dress and knee socks and her hair had been twisted into corkscrew curls. Bruno was wearing a pair of dark brown shorts, a plain white shirt and a dark brown tie. He had a new pair of shoes for the occasion and was very proud of them, even though they were too small for him and were pinching his feet and making it difficult for him to walk. All these preparations and fine clothes seemed a little extravagant, all the same, because Bruno and Gretel weren't even invited to dinner; they had eaten an hour earlier.

  'Now, children,' said Father, sitting behind his desk and looking from his son to his daughter and back again as they stood before him. 'You know that there is a very special evening ahead of us, don't you?'

  They nodded.

  'And that it is very important for my career that tonight goes well.' They nodded again.

  'Then there are a number of ground rules which need to be set down before we begin.' Father was a big believer in ground rules. Whenever there was a special or important occasion in the house, more of them were created.

  'Number one,' said Father. 'When the Fury arrives you will stand in the hall quietly and prepare to greet him. You do not speak until he speaks to you and then you reply in a clear tone, enunciating each word precisely. Is that understood?'

  'Yes, Father,' mumbled Bruno.

  'That's exactly the type of thing we don't want,' said Father, referring to the mumbling. 'You open your mouth and speak like an adult. The last thing we need is for either of you to start behaving like children. If the Fury ignores you then you do not say anything either, but look directly ahead and show him the respect and courtesy that such a great leader deserves.'

  'Of course, Father,' said Gretel in a very clear voice.

  'And when Mother and I are at dinner with the Fury, you are both to remain in your rooms very quietly. There is to be no running around, no sliding down banisters'-and here he looked very deliberately at Bruno-'and no interrupting us. Is that understood? I don't want either of you causing chaos.'

  Bruno and Gretel nodded and Father stood up to indicate that this meeting was at an end.

  'Then the ground rules are established,' he said.

  Three quarters of an hour later the doorbell rang and the house erupted in excitement. Bruno and Gretel took their places standing side by side by the staircase and Mother waited beside them, wringing her hands together nervously. Father gave them all a quick glance and nodded, looking pleased by what he saw, and then opened the door.

  Two people stood outside: a rather small man and a taller woman.

  Father saluted them and ushered them inside, where Maria, her head bowed even lower than usual, took their coats and the introductions were made. They spoke to Mother first, which gave Bruno an opportunity to stare at their guests and decide for himself whether they deserved all the fuss being made of them.

  The Fury was far shorter than Father and not, Bruno supposed, quite as strong. He had dark hair, which was cut quite short, and a tiny moustache-so tiny in fact that Bruno wondered why he bothered with it at all or whether he had simply forgotten a piece when he was shaving. The woman standing beside him, however, was quite the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. She had blonde hair and very red lips, and while the Fury spoke to Mother she turned and looked at Bruno and smiled, making him go red with embarrassment.

  'And these are my children, Fury,' said Father as Gretel and Bruno stepped forward. 'Gretel and Bruno.'

  'And which is which?' the Fury said, which made everyone laugh except for Bruno, who thought it was perfectly obvious which was which and hardly cause for a joke. The Fury stretched out his hand and shook theirs and Gretel gave a careful, rehearsed curtsy. Bruno was delighted when it went wrong and she almost fell over.

  'What charming children,' said the beautiful blonde woman. 'And how old are they, might I ask?'

  'I'm twelve but he's only nine,' said Gretel, looking at her brother with disdain. 'And I can speak French too,' she added, which was no
t strictly speaking true, although she had learned a few phrases in school.

  'Yes, but why would you want to?' asked the Fury, and this time no one laughed; instead they shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and Gretel stared at him, unsure whether he wanted an answer or not.

  The matter was resolved quickly, however, as the Fury, who was the rudest guest Bruno had ever witnessed, turned round and walked directly into the dining room and promptly sat down at the head of the table-in Father's seat!-without another word. A little flustered, Mother and Father followed him inside and Mother gave instructions to Lars that he could start heating up the soup.

  'I can speak French too,' said the beautiful blonde woman, leaning down and smiling at the two children. She didn't seem to be as frightened of the Fury as Mother and Father were. 'French is a beautiful language and you are very clever to be learning it.'

  'Eva,' shouted the Fury from the other room, clicking his fingers as if she were some sort of puppy dog. The woman rolled her eyes and stood up slowly and turned round.

  'I like your shoes, Bruno, but they look a little tight on you,' she added with a smile. 'If they are, you should tell your mother, before they cause you to injure yourself.'

  'They are a little tight,' admitted Bruno.

  'I don't normally wear my hair in curls,' said Gretel, jealous of the attention that her brother was getting.

  'But why not?' asked the woman. 'It's so pretty that way.'

  'Eva!' roared the Fury for a second time, and now she started to walk away from them.

  It was lovely to meet you both,' she said, before stepping into the dining room and sitting down on the Fury's left-hand side. Gretel walked towards the stairs but Bruno stayed rooted to the ground, watching the blonde woman until she caught his eye again and waved at him, just as Father appeared and closed the doors with a jerk of his head-from which Bruno understood that it was time to go to his room, to sit quietly, and not to make any noise and certainly not to slide down any banisters.