The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

by John Boyne

  Father’s birthday was coming up soon, and although he said he didn’t want a fuss, Mother arranged a party for all the officers serving at Out-With and a great fuss was made to prepare for it. Every time she sat down to make more plans for the party, Lieutenant Kotler was there beside her to help, and between them they seemed to make more lists than could ever possibly be needed.

  Bruno decided to make a list of his own. A list of all the reasons why he didn’t like Lieutenant Kotler.

  There was the fact that he never smiled and always looked as if he was trying to find somebody to cut out of his will.

  On the rare occasions when he spoke to Bruno, he addressed him as ‘little man’, which was just plain nasty because, as Mother pointed out, he just hadn’t had his growth spurt yet.

  Not to mention the fact that he was always in the living room with Mother and making jokes with her, and Mother laughed at his jokes more than she laughed at Father’s.

  Once when Bruno was watching the camp from his bedroom window he saw a dog approach the fence and start barking loudly, and when Lieutenant Kotler heard it he marched right over to the dog and shot it. Then there was all that nonsense that Gretel came out with whenever he was around.

  And Bruno still hadn’t forgotten the evening with Pavel, the waiter who was really a doctor, and how angry the young lieutenant had been.

  Also, whenever Father was called away to Berlin on an overnight trip the lieutenant hung around the house as if he were in charge: he would be there when Bruno was going to bed and be back again in the morning before he even woke up.

  There were a lot more reasons why Bruno didn’t like Lieutenant Kotler, but these were the first things that came into his mind.

  On the afternoon before the birthday party Bruno was in his room with the door open when he heard Lieutenant Kotler arriving at the house and speaking to someone, although he couldn’t hear anyone answering back. A few minutes later, as he was coming downstairs, he heard Mother giving instructions about what needed to be done and Lieutenant Kotler saying, ‘Don’t worry, this one knows which side his bread is buttered on,’ and then laughing in a nasty way.

  Bruno walked towards the living room with a new book Father had given him called Treasure Island, intending to sit in there for an hour or two while he read it, but as he walked through the hallway he ran into Lieutenant Kotler, who was just leaving the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, little man,’ the soldier said, sneering at him as usual.

  ‘Hello,’ said Bruno, frowning.

  ‘What are you up to then?’

  Bruno stared at him and started thinking of seven more reasons to dislike him. ‘I’m going in there to read my book,’ he said, pointing towards the living room.

  Without a word Kotler whipped the book out of Bruno’s hands and started to flick through it. ‘Treasure Island,’ he said. ‘What’s it about then?’

  ‘Well, there’s an island,’ said Bruno slowly, to make sure that the soldier could keep up. ‘And there’s treasure on it.’

  ‘I could have guessed that,’ said Kotler, looking at him as if there were things he would do to the boy if he were a son of his and not the son of the Commandant. ‘Tell me something I don’t know about it.’

  ‘There’s a pirate in it,’ said Bruno. ‘Called Long John Silver. And a boy called Jim Hawkins.’

  ‘An English boy?’ asked Kotler.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bruno.

  ‘Grunt,’ grunted Kotler.

  Bruno stared at him and wondered how long it would be before he gave back his book. He didn’t seem particularly interested in it, but when Bruno reached for it he pulled it away.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding it out again, and when Bruno reached for it he pulled it away for the second time. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ he repeated and held it out once more, and this time Bruno swiped it out of his hand quicker than he could pull it away.

  ‘Aren’t you quick,’ muttered Lieutenant Kotler between his teeth.

  Bruno tried to step past him, but for some reason Lieutenant Kotler seemed to want to talk to him today.

  ‘All set for the party, are we?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I am,’ said Bruno, who had been spending more time with Gretel lately and had developed a liking for sarcasm. ‘I can’t speak for you.’

  ‘There’ll be a lot of people here,’ said Lieutenant Kotler, breathing in heavily and looking around as if this were his house and not Bruno’s. ‘We’ll be on your best behaviour, won’t we?’

  ‘Well, I’ll be,’ said Bruno. ‘I can’t speak for you.’

  ‘You’ve a lot to say for such a little man,’ said Lieutenant Kotler.

  Bruno narrowed his eyes and wished he were taller, stronger and eight years older. A ball of anger exploded inside him and made him wish that he had the courage to say exactly what he wanted to say. It was one thing, he decided, to be told what to do by Mother and Father – that was perfectly reasonable and to be expected – but it was another thing entirely to be told what to do by someone else. Even by someone with a fancy title like ‘Lieutenant’.

  ‘Oh, Kurt, precious, you’re still here,’ said Mother, stepping out of the kitchen and coming towards them. ‘I have a little free time now if— Oh!’ she said, noticing Bruno standing there. ‘Bruno! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was going into the living room to read my book,’ said Bruno. ‘Or I was trying to at least.’

  ‘Well, run along into the kitchen for the moment,’ she said. ‘I need a private word with Lieutenant Kotler.’

  And they stepped into the living room together as Lieutenant Kotler closed the doors in Bruno’s face.

  Seething with anger, Bruno went into the kitchen and got the biggest surprise of his life. There, sitting at the table, a long way from the other side of the fence, was Shmuel. Bruno could barely believe his eyes.

  ‘Shmuel!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Shmuel looked up and his terrified face broke into a broad smile when he saw his friend standing there. ‘Bruno!’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ repeated Bruno, for although he still didn’t quite understand what took place on the other side of the fence, there was something about the people from there that made him think they shouldn’t be here in his house.

  ‘He brought me,’ said Shmuel.

  ‘He?’ asked Bruno. ‘You don’t mean Lieutenant Kotler?’

  ‘Yes. He said there was a job for me to do here.’

  And when Bruno looked down he saw sixty-four small glasses, the ones Mother used when she was having one of her medicinal sherries, sitting on the kitchen table, and beside them a bowl of warm soapy water and lots of paper napkins.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ asked Bruno.

  ‘They asked me to polish the glasses,’ said Shmuel. ‘They said they needed someone with tiny fingers.’

  As if to prove something that Bruno already knew, he held his hand out and Bruno couldn’t help but notice that it was like the hand of the pretend skeleton that Herr Liszt had brought with him one day when they were studying human anatomy.

  ‘I’d never noticed before,’ he said in a disbelieving voice, almost to himself.

  ‘Never noticed what?’ asked Shmuel.

  In reply, Bruno held his own hand out so that the tips of their middle fingers were almost touching. ‘Our hands,’ he said. ‘They’re so different. Look!’

  The two boys looked down at the same time and the difference was easy to see. Although Bruno was small for his age, and certainly not fat, his hand appeared healthy and full of life. The veins weren’t visible through the skin, the fingers weren’t little more than dying twigs. Shmuel’s hand, however, told a very different story.

  ‘How did it get like that?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Shmuel. ‘It used to look more like yours, but I didn’t notice it changing. Everyone on my side of the fence looks like this now.’

  Bruno frowned. He thought about the people
in their striped pajamas and wondered what was going on at Out-With and whether it wasn’t a very bad idea if it made people look so unhealthy. None of it made any sense to him. Not wanting to look at Shmuel’s hand any longer, Bruno turned round and opened the refrigerator, rooting about inside it for something to eat. There was half a stuffed chicken left over from lunch time, and Bruno’s eyes sparkled in delight for there were very few things in life that he enjoyed more than cold chicken with sage and onion stuffing. He took a knife from the drawer and cut himself a few healthy slices and coated them with the stuffing before turning back to his friend.

  ‘I’m very glad you’re here,’ he said, speaking with his mouth full. ‘If only you didn’t have to polish the glasses, I could show you my room.’

  ‘He told me not to move from this seat or there’d be trouble.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind him,’ said Bruno, trying to sound braver than he really was. ‘This isn’t his house, it’s mine, and when Father’s away I’m in charge. Can you believe he’s never even read Treasure Island?’

  Shmuel looked as if he wasn’t really listening; instead his eyes were focused on the slices of chicken and stuffing that Bruno was throwing casually into his mouth. After a moment Bruno realized what he was looking at and immediately felt guilty.

  ‘I’m sorry, Shmuel,’ he said quickly. ‘I should have given you some chicken too. Are you hungry?’

  ‘That’s a question you never have to ask me,’ said Shmuel who, although he had never met Gretel in his life, knew something about sarcasm too.

  ‘Wait there, I’ll cut some off for you,’ said Bruno, opening the fridge and cutting another three healthy slices.

  ‘No, if he comes back—’ said Shmuel, shaking his head quickly and looking back and forth towards the door.

  ‘If who comes back? You don’t mean Lieutenant Kotler?’

  ‘I’m just supposed to be cleaning the glasses,’ he said, looking at the bowl of water in front of him in despair and then looking back at the slices of chicken that Bruno held out to him.

  ‘He’s not going to mind,’ said Bruno, who was confused by how anxious Shmuel seemed. ‘It’s only food.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Shmuel, shaking his head and looking as if he was going to cry. ‘He’ll come back, I know he will,’ he continued, his sentences running quickly together. ‘I should have eaten them when you offered them, now it’s too late, if I take them he’ll come in and—’

  ‘Shmuel! Here!’ said Bruno, stepping forward and putting the slices in his friend’s hand. ‘Just eat them. There’s lots left for our tea – you don’t have to worry about that.’

  The boy stared at the food in his hand for a moment and then looked up at Bruno with wide and grateful but terrified eyes. He threw one more glance in the direction of the door and then seemed to make a decision, because he thrust all three slices into his mouth in one go and gobbled them down in twenty seconds flat.

  ‘Well, you don’t have to eat them so quickly,’ said Bruno. ‘You’ll make yourself sick.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Shmuel, giving a faint smile. ‘Thank you, Bruno.’

  Bruno smiled back and he was about to offer him some more food, but just at that moment Lieutenant Kotler reappeared in the kitchen and stopped when he saw the two boys talking. Bruno stared at him, feeling the atmosphere grow heavy, sensing Shmuel’s shoulders sinking down as he reached for another glass and began polishing. Ignoring Bruno, Lieutenant Kotler marched over to Shmuel and glared at him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he shouted. ‘Didn’t I tell you to polish those glasses?’

  Shmuel nodded his head quickly and started to tremble a little as he picked up another napkin and dipped it in the water.

  ‘Who told you that you were allowed to talk in this house?’ continued Kotler. ‘Do you dare to disobey me?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Shmuel quietly. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  He looked up at Lieutenant Kotler, who frowned, leaning forward slightly and tilting his head as he examined the boy’s face. ‘Have you been eating?’ he asked him in a quiet voice, as if he could scarcely believe it himself.

  Shmuel shook his head.

  ‘You have been eating,’ insisted Lieutenant Kotler. ‘Did you steal something from that fridge?’

  Shmuel opened his mouth and closed it. He opened it again and tried to find words, but there were none. He looked towards Bruno, his eyes pleading for help.

  ‘Answer me!’ shouted Lieutenant Kotler. ‘Did you steal something from that fridge?’

  ‘No, sir. He gave it to me,’ said Shmuel, tears welling up in his eyes as he threw a sideways glance at Bruno. ‘He’s my friend,’ he added.

  ‘Your…?’ began Lieutenant Kotler, looking across at Bruno in confusion. He hesitated. ‘What do you mean he’s your friend?’ he asked. ‘Do you know this boy, Bruno?’

  Bruno’s mouth dropped open and he tried to remember the way you used your mouth if you wanted to say the word ‘yes’. He’d never seen anyone look so terrified as Shmuel did at that moment and he wanted to say the right thing to make things better, but then he realized that he couldn’t; because he was feeling just as terrified himself.

  ‘Do you know this boy?’ repeated Kotler in a louder voice. ‘Have you been talking to the prisoners?’

  ‘I…he was here when I came in,’ said Bruno. ‘He was cleaning glasses.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked you,’ said Kotler. ‘Have you seen him before? Have you talked to him? Why does he say you’re his friend?’

  Bruno wished he could run away. He hated Lieutenant Kotler, but he was advancing on him now and all Bruno could think of was the afternoon when he had seen him shooting a dog and the evening when Pavel had made him so angry that he—

  ‘Tell me, Bruno!’ shouted Kotler, his face growing red. ‘I won’t ask you a third time.’

  ‘I’ve never spoken to him,’ said Bruno immediately. ‘I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t know him.’

  Lieutenant Kotler nodded and seemed satisfied with the answer. Very slowly he turned his head back to look at Shmuel, who wasn’t crying any more, merely staring at the floor and looking as if he was trying to convince his soul not to live inside his tiny body any more, but to slip away and sail to the door and rise up into the sky, gliding through the clouds until it was very far away.

  ‘You will finish polishing all these glasses,’ said Lieutenant Kotler in a very quiet voice now, so quiet that Bruno almost couldn’t hear him. It was as if all his anger had just changed into something else. Not quite the opposite, but something unexpected and dreadful. ‘And then I will come to collect you and bring you back to the camp, where we will have a discussion about what happens to boys who steal. This is understood, yes?’

  Shmuel nodded and picked up another napkin and started to polish another glass; Bruno watched as his fingers shook and knew that he was terrified of breaking one. His heart sank, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t look away.

  ‘Come on, little man,’ said Lieutenant Kotler, coming towards Bruno now and putting an unfriendly arm around his shoulder. ‘You go to the living room and read your book and leave this little — to finish his work.’ He used the same word he had used to Pavel when he had sent him to find the tyre.

  Bruno nodded and turned round and left the kitchen without looking back. His stomach churned inside him and he thought for a moment that he was going to be sick. He had never felt so ashamed in his life; he had never imagined that he could behave so cruelly. He wondered how a boy who thought he was a good person really could act in such a cowardly way towards a friend. He sat in the living room for several hours but couldn’t concentrate on his book and didn’t dare to go back to the kitchen until later that evening, when Lieutenant Kotler had already come back and collected Shmuel and taken him away again.

  —

  Every afternoon that followed, Bruno returned to the place in the fence where they met, but Shmuel was never there. After almost
a week he was convinced that what he had done was so terrible that he would never be forgiven, but on the seventh day he was delighted to see that Shmuel was waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on the ground as usual and staring at the dust beneath him.

  ‘Shmuel,’ he said, running towards him and sitting down, almost crying with relief and regret. ‘I’m so sorry, Shmuel. I don’t know why I did it. Say you’ll forgive me.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Shmuel, looking up at him now. There was a lot of bruising on his face and Bruno grimaced, and for a moment he forgot about his apology.

  ‘What happened to you?’ he asked and then didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Was it your bicycle? Because that happened to me back in Berlin a couple of years ago. I fell off when I was going too fast and was black and blue for weeks. Does it hurt?’

  ‘I don’t feel it any more,’ said Shmuel.

  ‘It looks like it hurts.’

  ‘I don’t feel anything any more,’ said Shmuel.

  ‘Well, I am sorry about last week,’ said Bruno. ‘I hate that Lieutenant Kotler. He thinks he’s in charge but he isn’t.’ He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to get sidetracked. He felt that he should say it one last time and really mean it. ‘I’m very sorry, Shmuel,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t tell him the truth. I’ve never let a friend down like that before. Shmuel, I’m ashamed of myself.’

  And when he said that, Shmuel smiled and nodded and Bruno knew that he was forgiven, and then Shmuel did something that he had never done before. He lifted the bottom of the fence up like he did whenever Bruno brought him food, but this time he reached his hand out and held it there, waiting until Bruno did the same, and then the two boys shook hands and smiled at each other.

  It was the first time they had ever touched.

  It had been almost a year since Bruno had come home to find Maria packing his things, and his memories of life in Berlin had almost all faded away. When he thought back he could remember that Karl and Martin were two of his three best friends for life, but try as he might he couldn’t remember who the other one was. And then something happened that meant that for two days he could leave Out-With and return to his old house: Grandmother had died and the family had to go home for the funeral.