The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas

by John Boyne

  'And what will people think,' asked Father, 'if I permit you and the children to return to Berlin without me? They will ask questions about my commitment to the work here.'

  'Work?' shouted Mother. 'You call this work?'

  Bruno didn't hear much more because the voices were getting closer to the door and there was always a chance that Mother would come storming out in search of a medicinal sherry, so he ran back upstairs instead. Still, he had heard enough to know that there was a chance they might be returning to Berlin, and to his surprise he didn't know how to feel about that.

  There was one part of him that remembered that he had loved his own life back there, but so many things would have changed by now. Karl and the other two best friends whose names he couldn't remember would probably have forgotten about him by now. Grandmother was dead and they almost never heard from Grandfather, who Father said had gone senile.

  But on the other hand he'd grown used to life at Out-With: he didn't mind Herr Liszt, he'd become much friendlier with Maria than he ever had been back in Berlin, Gretel was still going through a phase and keeping out of his way (and she didn't seem to be quite so much of a Hopeless Case any more) and his afternoon conversations with Shmuel filled him with happiness.

  Bruno didn't know how to feel and decided that whatever happened, he would accept the decision without complaint.

  Nothing at all changed for a few weeks; life went on as normal. Father spent most of his time either in his office or on the other side of the fence. Mother kept very quiet during the day and was having an awful lot more of her afternoon naps, some of them not even in the afternoon but before lunch, and Bruno was worried for her health because he'd never known anyone need quite so many medicinal sherries. Gretel stayed in her room concentrating on the various maps she had pasted on the walls and consulting the newspapers for hours at a time before moving the pins around a little. (Herr Liszt was particularly pleased with her for doing this.)

  And Bruno did exactly what was asked of him and caused no chaos at all and enjoyed the fact that he had one secret friend whom no one knew about. Then one day Father summoned Bruno and Gretel into his office and informed them of the changes that were to come.

  'Sit down, children,' he said, indicating the two large leather armchairs that they were usually told not to sit in when they had occasion to visit Father's office because of their grubby mitts. Father sat down behind his desk. 'We've decided to make a few changes,' he continued, looking a little sad as he spoke. 'Tell me this: are you happy here?'

  'Yes, Father, of course,' said Gretel.

  'Certainly, Father,' said Bruno.

  'And you don't miss Berlin at all?'

  The children paused for a moment and glanced at each other, wondering which one of them was going to commit to an answer. 'Well, I miss it terribly,' said Gretel eventually. 'I wouldn't mind having some friends again.'

  Bruno smiled, thinking about his secret.

  'Friends,' said Father, nodding his head. 'Yes, I've often thought of that. It must have been lonely for you at times.'

  'Very lonely,' said Gretel in a determined voice.

  'And you, Bruno,' asked Father, looking at him now. 'Do you miss your friends?'

  'Well, yes,' he replied, considering his answer carefully. 'But I think I'd miss people no matter where I went.' That was an indirect reference to Shmuel but he didn't want to make it any more explicit than that.

  'But would you like to go back to Berlin?' asked Father. 'If the chance was there?' 'All of us?' asked Bruno.

  Father gave a deep sigh and shook his head. 'Mother and Gretel and you. Back to our old house in Berlin. Would you like that?'

  Bruno thought about it. 'Well, I wouldn't like it if you weren't there,' he said, because that was the truth.

  'So you'd prefer to stay here with me?'

  'I'd prefer all four of us to stay together,' he said, reluctantly including Gretel in that. 'Whether that was in Berlin or Out-With.'

  'Oh, Bruno!' said Gretel in an exasperated voice, and he didn't know whether that was because he might be spoiling the plans for their return or because (according to her) he continued to mispronounce the name of their home.

  'Well, for the moment I'm afraid that's going to be impossible,' said Father. 'I'm afraid that the Fury will not relieve me of my command just yet. Mother, on the other hand, thinks this would be a good time for the three of you to return home and reopen the house, and when I think about it…' He paused for a moment and looked out of the window to his left-the window that led off to a view of the camp on the other side of the fence. 'When I think about it, perhaps she is right. Perhaps this is not a place for children.'

  'There are hundreds of children here,' said Bruno, without really thinking about his words before saying them. 'Only they're on the other side of the fence.'

  A silence followed this remark, but it wasn't like a normal silence where it just happens that no one is talking. It was like a silence that was very noisy. Father and Gretel stared at him and he blinked in surprise.

  'What do you mean there are hundreds of children over there?' asked Father. 'What do you know of what goes on over there?'

  Bruno opened his mouth to speak but worried that he would get himself into trouble if he revealed too much. 'I can see them from my bedroom window,' he said finally. 'They're very far away of course, but it looks like there are hundreds. All wearing the striped pyjamas.'

  'The striped pyjamas, yes,' said Father, nodding his head. 'And you've been watching, have you?'

  'Well, I've seen them,' said Bruno. 'I'm not sure if that's the same thing.'

  Father smiled. 'Very good, Bruno,' he said. 'And you're right, it's not quite the same thing.' He hesitated again and then nodded his head, as if he had made a final decision.

  'No, she's right,' he said, speaking out loud but not looking at either Gretel or Bruno. 'She's absolutely right. You've been here long enough as it is. It's time for you to go home.'

  And so the decision was made. Word was sent ahead that the house should be cleaned, the windows washed, the banister varnished, the linen pressed, the beds made, and Father announced that Mother, Gretel and Bruno would be returning to Berlin within the week.

  Bruno found that he was not looking forward to this as much as he would have expected and he dreaded having to tell Shmuel the news.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thinking Up the Final Adventure

  The day after Father told Bruno that he would be returning to Berlin soon, Shmuel didn't arrive at the fence as usual. Nor did he show up the day after that. On the third day, when Bruno arrived there was no one sitting cross-legged on the ground and he waited for ten minutes and was about to turn back for home, extremely worried that he would have to leave Out-With without seeing his friend again, when a dot in the distance became a speck and that became a blob and that became a figure and that in turn became the boy in the striped pyjamas.

  Bruno broke into a smile when he saw the figure coming towards him and he sat down on the ground, taking the piece of bread and the apple he had smuggled with him out of his pocket to give to Shmuel. But even from a distance he could see that his friend looked even more unhappy than usual, and when he got to the fence he didn't reach for the food with his usual eagerness.

  'I thought you weren't coming any more,' said Bruno. 'I came yesterday and the day before that and you weren't here.'

  'I'm sorry,' said Shmuel. 'Something happened.'

  Bruno looked at him and narrowed his eyes, trying to guess what it might be. He wondered whether Shmuel had been told that he was going home too; after all, coincidences like that do happen, such as the fact that Bruno and Shmuel shared the same birthday.

  'Well?' asked Bruno. 'What was it?'

  'Papa,' said Shmuel. 'We can't find him.'

  'Can't find him? That's very odd. You mean he's lost?'

  'I suppose so,' said Shmuel. 'He was here on Monday and then he went on work duty with some other men and none of them ha
ve come back.'

  'And hasn't he written you a letter?' asked Bruno. 'Or left a note to say when he'll be coming back?'

  'No,' said Shmuel.

  'How odd,' said Bruno. 'Have you looked for him?' he asked after a moment.

  'Of course I have,' said Shmuel with a sigh. I did what you're always talking about. I did some exploration.'

  'And there was no sign?'

  'None.'

  'Well, that's very strange,' said Bruno. 'But I think there must be a simple explanation.'

  'And what's that?' asked Shmuel.

  'I imagine the men were taken to work in another town and they have to stay there for a few days until the work is done. And the post isn't very good here anyway. I expect he'll turn up one day soon.'

  'I hope so,' said Shmuel, who looked as if he was about to cry. 'I don't know what we're supposed to do without him.'

  'I could ask Father if you wanted,' said Bruno cautiously, hoping that Shmuel wouldn't say yes.

  'I don't think that would be a good idea,' said Shmuel, which, to Bruno's disappointment, was not a flat-out rejection of the offer.

  'Why not?' he asked. 'Father is very knowledgeable about life on that side of the fence.'

  'I don't think the soldiers like us,' said Shmuel. 'Well,' he added with something as close to a laugh as he could muster, 'I know they don't like us. They hate us.'

  Bruno sat back in surprise. 'I'm sure they don't hate you,' he said.

  'They do,' said Shmuel, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling up a little in anger. 'But that's all right because I hate them too. I hate them,' he repeated forcefully.

  'You don't hate Father, do you?' asked Bruno.

  Shmuel bit his lip and said nothing. He had seen Bruno's father on any number of occasions and couldn't understand how such a man could have a son who was so friendly and kind.

  'Anyway,' said Bruno after a suitable pause, not wishing to discuss that topic any further, 'I have something to tell you too.'

  'You do?' asked Shmuel, looking up hopefully. 'Yes. I'm going back to Berlin.' Shmuel's mouth dropped open in surprise. 'When?' he asked, his voice catching slightly in his throat as he did so.

  'Well, this is Thursday,' said Bruno. 'And we're leaving on Saturday. After lunch.' 'But for how long?' asked Shmuel. 'I think it's for ever,' said Bruno. 'Mother doesn't like it at Out-With-she says it's no place to bring up two children-so Father is staying here to work because the Fury has big things in mind for him, but the rest of us are going home.'

  He said the word 'home', despite the fact that he wasn't sure where 'home' was any more. 'So I won't see you again?' asked Shmuel. 'Well, someday, yes,' said Bruno. 'You could come on a holiday to Berlin. You can't stay here for ever after all. Can you?'

  Shmuel shook his head. 'I suppose not,' he said sadly. 'I won't have anyone to talk to any more when you're gone,' he added.

  'No,' said Bruno. He wanted to add the words, 'I'll miss you too, Shmuel,' to the sentence but found that he was a little embarrassed to say them. 'So tomorrow will be the last time we see each other until then,' he continued. 'We'll have to say our goodbyes then. I'll try to bring you an extra special treat.'

  Shmuel nodded but couldn't find any words to express his sorrow.

  'I wish we'd got to play together,' said Bruno after a long pause. 'Just once. Just to remember.'

  'So do I,' said Shmuel.

  'We've been talking to each other for more than a year and we never got to play once. And do you know what else?' he added. 'AH this time I've been watching where you live from out of my bedroom window and I've never even seen for myself what it's like.'

  'You wouldn't like it,' said Shmuel. 'Yours is much nicer,' he added.

  'I'd still like to have seen it,' said Bruno.

  Shmuel thought for a few moments and then reached down and put his hand under the fence and lifted it a little, to the height where a small boy, perhaps the size and shape of Bruno, could fit underneath.

  'Well?' said Shmuel. 'Why don't you then?'

  Bruno blinked and thought about it. 'I don't think I'd be allowed,' he said doubtfully.

  'Well, you're probably not allowed to come here and talk to me every day either,' said Shmuel. 'But you still do it, don't you?'

  'But if I was caught I'd be in trouble,' said Bruno, who was sure Mother and Father would not approve.

  'That's true,' said Shmuel, lowering the fence again and looking at the ground with tears in his eyes. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow to say goodbye then.'

  Neither boy said anything for a moment. Suddenly Bruno had a brainwave.

  'Unless…' he began, thinking about it for a moment and allowing a plan to hatch in his head. He reached a hand up to his head and felt where his hair used to be but was now just stubble that hadn't fully grown back. 'Don't you remember that you said I looked like you?' he asked Shmuel 'Since I had my head shaved?'

  'Only fatter,' conceded Shmuel.

  'Well, if that's the case,' said Bruno, 'and if I had a pair of striped pyjamas too, then I could come over on a visit and no one would be any the wiser.'

  Shmuel's face brightened up and he broke into a wide smile. 'Do you think so?' he asked. 'Would you do it?'

  'Of course,' said Bruno. 'It would be a great adventure. Our final adventure. I could do some exploring at last.'

  'And you could help me look for Papa,' said Shmuel.

  'Why not?' said Bruno. 'We'll take a walk around and see whether we can find any evidence. That's always wise when you're exploring. The only problem is getting a spare pair of striped pyjamas.'

  Shmuel shook his head. 'That's all right,' he said. 'There's a hut where they keep them. I can get some in my size and bring them with me. Then you can change and we can look for Papa.'

  'Wonderful,' said Bruno, caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment. 'Then it's a plan.'

  'We'll meet at the same time tomorrow,' said Shmuel.

  'Don't be late this time,' said Bruno, standing up and dusting himself down. 'And don't forget the striped pyjamas.'

  Both boys went home in high spirits that afternoon. Bruno imagined a great adventure ahead and finally an opportunity to see what was really on the other side of the fence before he went back to Berlin-not to mention getting in a little serious exploration as well-and Shmuel saw a chance to get someone to help him in the search for his papa. All in all, it seemed like a very sensible plan and a good way to say goodbye.

  Chapter Nineteen

  What Happened the Next Day

  The next day-Friday-was another wet day. When Bruno woke in the morning he looked out of his window and was disappointed to see the rain pouring down. Had it not been for the fact that it would be the last chance for him and Shmuel to spend any time together-not to mention the fact that the adventure would be a very exciting one, especially since it involved dressing up-he would have given up on it for the day and waited until some afternoon the following week, when he didn't have anything special planned.

  However, the clock was ticking and there was nothing he could do about it. And after all, it was only the morning and a lot could happen between then and the late afternoon, which was when the two boys always met. The rain would surely have stopped by then.

  He watched out of the window during morning classes with Herr Liszt, but it showed no signs of slowing down then and even pounded noisily against the window. He watched during lunch from the kitchen, when it was definitely starting to ease off and there was even the hint of sunshine coming from behind a black cloud. He watched during history and geography lessons in the afternoon, when it reached its strongest force yet and threatened to knock the window in.

  Fortunately it came to an end around the time that Herr Liszt was leaving, and so Bruno put on a pair of boots and his heavy raincoat, waited until the coast was clear and left the house.

  His boots squelched in the mud and he started to enjoy the walk more than he ever had before. With every step he seemed to face the danger of
toppling over and falling down, but he never did and managed to keep his balance, even at a particularly bad part where, when he lifted his left leg, his boot stayed implanted in the mud while his foot slipped right out of it.

  He looked up at the skies, and although they were still very dark he thought the day had probably had enough rain and he would be safe enough this afternoon. Of course there would be the difficulty of explaining why he was so filthy later on when he returned home, but he could put that down to being a typical boy, which was what Mother claimed he was, and probably not get into too much trouble.

  (Mother had been particularly happy over the previous few days, as each box of their belongings had been sealed and packed into a truck for despatch to Berlin.)

  Shmuel was waiting for Bruno when he arrived, and for the first time ever he wasn't sitting cross-legged on the ground and staring at the dust beneath him but standing, leaning against the fence.

  'Hello, Bruno,' he said when he saw his friend approaching.

  'Hello, Shmuel,' said Bruno.

  'I wasn't sure if we'd ever see each other again-with the rain and everything, I mean,' said Shmuel. 'I thought you might be kept indoors.'

  'It was touch and go for a while,' said Bruno. 'What with the weather being so bad.'

  Shmuel nodded and held out his hands to Bruno, who opened his mouth in delight. He was carrying a pair of striped pyjama bottoms, a striped pyjama top and a striped cloth cap exactly like the one he was wearing. It didn't look particularly clean but it was a disguise, and Bruno knew that good explorers always wore the right clothes.

  'You still want to help me find Papa?' asked Shmuel, and Bruno nodded quickly.

  'Of course,' he said, although finding Shmuel's papa was not as important in his mind as the prospect of exploring the world on the other side of the fence. 'I wouldn't let you down.'

  Shmuel lifted the bottom of the fence off the ground and handed the outfit underneath to Bruno, being particularly careful not to let it touch the muddy ground below.