The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas Part 13

'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 hate them,' he repeated forcefully. 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 Sat.u.r.day. 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 embarra.s.sed 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. 'All 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 cla.s.ses 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.

'h.e.l.lo, Bruno,' he said when he saw his friend approaching.

'h.e.l.lo, 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.

'Thanks,' said Bruno, scratching his stubbly head and wondering why he hadn't remembered to bring a bag to hold his own clothes in. The ground was so dirty here that they would be spoiled if he left them on the ground. He didn't have a choice really. He could either leave them here until later and accept the fact that they would be entirely caked with mud; or he could call the whole thing off and that, as any explorer of note knows, would have been out of the question.

'Well, turn round,' said Bruno, pointing at his friend as he stood there awkwardly. 'I don't want you watching me.'

Shmuel turned round and Bruno took off his overcoat and placed it as gently as possible on the ground. Then he took off his shirt and shivered for a moment in the cold air before putting on the pyjama top. As it slipped over his head he made the mistake of breathing through his nose; it did not smell very nice.

'When was this last washed?' he called out, and Shmuel turned round.

'I don't know if it's ever been washed,' said Shmuel.

'Turn round!' shouted Bruno, and Shmuel did as he was told. Bruno looked left and right again but there was still no one to be seen, so he began the difficult task of taking off his trousers while keeping one leg and one boot on the ground at the same time. It felt very strange taking off his trousers in the open air and he couldn't imagine what anyone would think if they saw him doing it, but finally, and with a great deal of effort, he managed to complete the task.

'There,' he said. 'You can turn back now.'

Shmuel turned just as Bruno applied the finishing touch to his costume, placing the striped cloth cap on his head. Shmuel blinked and shook his head. It was quite extraordinary. If it wasn't for the fact that Bruno was nowhere near as skinny as the boys on his side of the fence, and not quite so pale either, it would have been difficult to tell them apart. It was almost (Shmuel thought) as if they were all exactly the same really.

'Do you know what this reminds me of?' asked Bruno, and Shmuel shook his head.

'What?' he asked.

'It reminds me of Grandmother,' he said. 'You remember I told you about her? The one who died?'

Shmuel nodded; he remembered because Bruno had talked about her a lot over the course of the year and had told him how fond he had been of Grandmother and how he wished he'd taken the time to write more letters to her before she pa.s.sed away.

'It reminds me of the plays she used to put on with Gretel and me,' Bruno said, looking away from Shmuel as he remembered those days back in Berlin, part of the very few memories now that refused to fade. 'It reminds me of how she always had the right costume for me to wear. You wear the right outfit and you feel like the person you're pretending to be You wear the right outfit and you feel like the person you're pretending to be, she always told me. I suppose that's what I'm doing, isn't it? Pretending to be a person from the other side of the fence.'

'A Jew, you mean,' said Shmuel.

'Yes,' said Bruno, shifting on his feet a little uncomfortably. 'That's right.'

Shmuel pointed at Bruno's feet and the heavy boots he had taken from the house. 'You'll have to leave them behind too,' he said.

Bruno looked appalled. 'But the mud,' he said. 'You can't expect me to go barefoot.'

'You'll be recognized otherwise,' said Shmuel. 'You don't have any choice.'

Bruno sighed but he knew that his friend was right, and he took off the boots and his socks and left them beside the pile of clothes on the ground. At first it felt horrible putting his bare feet into so much mud; they sank down to his ankles and every time he lifted a foot it felt worse. But then he started to rather enjoy it.

Shmuel reached down and lifted the base of the fence, but it only lifted to a certain height and Bruno had no choice but to roll under it, getting his striped pyjamas completely covered in mud as he did so. He laughed when he looked down at himself. He had never been so filthy in all his life and it felt wonderful.

Shmuel smiled too and the two boys stood awkwardly together for a moment, unaccustomed to being on the same side of the fence.

Bruno had an urge to give Shmuel a hug, just to let him know how much he liked him and how much he'd enjoyed talking to him over the last year.

Shmuel had an urge to give Bruno a hug too, just to thank him for all his many kindnesses, and his gifts of food, and the fact that he was going to help him find Papa.

Neither of them did hug each other though, and instead they began the walk away from the fence and towards the camp, a walk that Shmuel had done almost every day for a year now, when he had escaped the eyes of the soldiers and managed to get to that one part of Out-With that didn't seem to be guarded all the time, a place where he had been lucky enough to meet a friend like Bruno.

It didn't take long to get where they were going. Bruno opened his eyes in wonder at the things he saw. In his imagination he had thought that all the huts were full of happy families, some of whom sat outside on rocking chairs in the evening and told stories about how things were so much better when they were children and they'd had respect for their elders, not like the children nowadays. He thought that all the boys and girls who lived here would be in different groups, playing tennis or football, skipping and drawing out squares for hopscotch on the ground.

He had thought that there would be a shop in the centre, and maybe a small cafe like the ones he had known in Berlin; he had wondered whether there would be a fruit and vegetable stall.

As it turned out, all the things that he thought might be there weren't.

There were no grown-ups sitting on rocking chairs on their porches.

And the children weren't playing games in groups.

And not only was there not a fruit and vegetable stall, but there wasn't a cafe either like there had been back in Berlin.

Instead there were crowds of people sitting together in groups, staring at the ground, looking horribly sad; they all had one thing in common: they were all terribly skinny and their eyes were sunken and they all had shaved heads, which Bruno thought must have meant there had been an outbreak of lice here too.

In one corner Bruno could see three soldiers who seemed to be in charge of a group of about twenty men. They were shouting at them, and some of the men had fallen to their knees and were remaining there with their heads in their hands.

In another corner he could see more soldiers standing around and laughing and looking down the barrels of their guns, aiming them in random directions, but not firing them.

In fact everywhere he looked, all he could see was two different types of people: either happy, laughing, shouting soldiers in their uniforms or unhappy, crying people in their striped pyjamas, most of whom seemed to be staring into s.p.a.ce as if they were actually asleep.

'I don't think I like it here,' said Bruno after a while.

'Neither do I,' said Shmuel.

'I think I ought to go home,' said Bruno.

Shmuel stopped walking and stared at him. 'But Papa,' he said. 'You said you'd help me find him.'

Bruno thought about it. He had promised his friend that and he wasn't the sort to go back on a promise, especially when it was the last time they were going to see each other. 'All right,' he said, although he felt a lot less confident now than he had before. 'But where should we look?'

'You said we'd need to find evidence,' said Shmuel, who was feeling upset because he thought that if Bruno didn't help him, then who would?