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The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

By John Boyne

Chapter Fifteen

 Something He Shouldn't Have Done

For several weeks the rain was on and off and on and off and Bruno and Shmuel did not see as much of each other as they would have liked. When they did meet  Bruno  found  that  he  was  starting  to  worry about his friend because he seemed to be getting even thinner  by the day and his face was growing more and more grey. Sometimes he brought  more bread and cheese with  him to give to Shmuel, and from time to time he even managed  to  hide  a piece  of chocolate cake in his pocket, but the walk from the house to the place in the fence where the two boys met was a long one and sometimes Bruno got hungry on  the  way  and  found  that  one  bite  of  the  cake would  lead  to  another,  and  that  in turn  led  to another, and by the time there was only one mouthful left he knew it would be wrong to give that to Shmuel because it would only tease his appetite and not satisfy it.

       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, Lietenant Kotler was there beside her to help, and between them they seemed to make more lists than could ever possible 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.

        One the rare occasions when he spoke to Bruno, he addressed him as ‘little man’, which was just plain nasty because, as Mohter 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 spotted it he 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 in­ structions 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, \vho ,..:':as 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 should 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 pyjamas 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 con­

fused by how anxious Shmuel seemed. 'It's only food.' 'I can't,' said Shmuel, shaking his head and look­ ing 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 dis­ obey 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 Kotlet:

'Did you steal something from that fridge?'

Shmuel  opened            his  mouth  and  dosed  it.  He

opened it again and tried to find words, but there were none. He looked towards Bruno, his eyes plead-

ing for help.                                            ,  .

'Answer me!' shouted Lieutenant Kotler.  D1d 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 break­ ing 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 co e 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, sit­ ting 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, Iam 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.

Chapter Sixteen

 The Haircut

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.

While he was there, Bruno realized he wasn't quite as small as he had been when he left because he could see over things that he couldn't see over before, and when they stayed in their old house he could look through the window on the top floor and see across Berlin without having to stand on tiptoes.

Bruno hadn't seen his grandmother since leaving Berlin but he had thought about  her  every  day. The things he remembered  most about her were the productions that she and he and Gretel performed at Christmas and birthdays and how she always had the perfect costume to suit whatever role he played. When he thought that they would never be able to do that again it made him very sad indeed.

The two days they spent in Berlin were also very

sad ones. There was the funeral, and Bruno and Gretel and Father and Mother and Grandfather sat in the front row, Father wearing his most impressive uniform, the starched and pressed one with the decorations. Father was particularly sad,  Mother told Bruno, because he had fought with Grand­ mother and they hadn't made it up before she died.

There  were  a  lot  of  wreaths  delivered  to  the

church and Father was proud of the fact that one of them had been sent by the Fury, but when Mother heard she said that Grandmother would turn in her grave if she knew it was there.

Bruno felt almost glad when they returned to Out­

With. The house there had become his home now and he'd stopped worrying about the fact that it had only three floors rather than five, and it didn't bother him so much that the soldiers came and went as if they owned the place. It slowly dawned on him that things weren't too bad there after all, especially since he'd met Shmuel. He knew that there were many things he should be happy about, like the fact that Father and Mother seemed cheerful all the time now and Mother didn't have to take as many of her after­ noon naps or medicinal sherries. And Gretel was going through a phase - Mother's words - and tended to keep out of his way.

There was also the fact that Lieutenant Kotler had been transferred away from Out-With and wasn't around to make Bruno feel angry and upset all the time. (His departure had come about very suddenly and there had been a lot of shouting between Father and Mother about it late at night, but he was gone, that was for sure, and he wasn't coming back; Gretel was inconsolable.) That was something else to be happy about: no one called him 'little man' any more.

But the best thing was that he had a friend called

Shmuel.

He enjoyed walking along the fence every after­ noon and was pleased to see that his friend seemed a lot happier these days and his eyes didn't seem so sunken, although his body was still ridiculously skinny and his face unpleasantly grey.

One day, while sitting opposite him at their usual

place, Bruno remarked, 'This is the strangest friend­ ship I've ever had.'

'Why?' asked Shmuel.

'Because every other boy I've ever been friends with has been someone that I've  been  able  to play  with,'  he replied.  'And we  never  get to play together. All we get to do is sit here and talk.' 'I like sitting here and talking,' said Shmuel.

'Well, I do too of course,' said Bruno. 'But it's a pity we can't do something more exciting from time to time. A bit of exploring, perhaps.  Or a game of football. We've never  even seen each other without all this wire fencing in the way.'

Bruno often made comments like this because he

wanted to pretend that the incident a few months earlier when he had denied his friendship with Shmuel had never taken place. It still preyed on his mind and made him feel bad about himself, although Shmuel, to his credit, seemed to have forgotten all about  it.

'Maybe  someday  we  will,'  said  Shmuel.  'If they

ever let us out.'

Bruno started to think more and more about the two sides of the fence and the reason it was there in the first place. He considered speaking to Father or Mother about it but suspected that they would either be angry with him for mentioning it or tell him some­ thing unpleasant about Shmuel and his family, so instead he did something quite unusual. He decided to talk to the hopeless case.

Gretel's room had changed quite considerably since the last time he had been there. For one thing there wasn't a single doll in sight. One afternoon a month or so earlier, around the time that Lieutenant Kotler had left Out-With, Gretel had decided that she didn't like dolls any more and had put them all into four large bags and thrown them away. In their place she had hung up maps of Europe that Father had given her, and every day she put little pins into them and moved the pins around  constantly  after  consulting the daily newspaper. Bruno thought she might be going mad. But still, she didn't tease him or bully him as much as she used to, so he thought there could be no harm in talking to her.

'Hello,' he said, knocking politely on her door because he knew how angry she always got if he just went in.

'What do you want?' asked Gretel, who was sit­ ting at her dressing table, experimenting with  her hair.

'Nothing,' said Bruno. 'Then go away.'

Bruno nodded but came inside anyway and sat down on the side of the bed. Gretel watched  him from out of the side of her eyes but didn't say any­ thing.

'Gretel,' he said finally, 'can I ask you something?”

‘If you make it quick, ' she said.

'Everything here at Out-With-' he began, but she interrupted him immediately.

'It's not called Out-With, Bruno,' she said angrily,

as  if  this was  the  worst  mistake  anyone  had  ever made  in the  history  of  the  world.  'Why  can't you pronounce  it right?'

'It is called OutWith,' he protested.

'It's not,' she insisted, pronouncing the name of the camp correctly for him.

Bruno frowned and shrugged his shoulders at the same time. 'But that's what I said,' he said.

'No it's not. Anyway, I'm not going to argue with you,' said Gretel, losing her patience already, for she had very little of it to begin with. 'What is it anyway? What do you want to know?'

'I want to know about the fence,' he said firmly, deciding that this was the most important thing to begin with. 'I want to l<.now why it's there.'

Gretel turned round in her chair and looked at him

curiously. 'You mean you don't know?' she asked. 'No,' said Bruno. 'I don't understand why we're

not allowed on the other side of it. What's so wrong with us that we can't go over there and play?'

Gretel stared at him and then suddenly started laughing, only stopping when she saw that  Bruno was being perfectly serious.

'Bruno,' she said in a childish voice, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world, 'the fence isn't there to stop us from going over there.  It's  to  stop them  from coming  over  here.'

Bruno  considered  this  but  it didn't  make  things

any clearer. 'But why?' he asked.

'Because they have to be kept together,' explained Gretel.

'With their families, you mean?'

'Well, yes, with their families. But with their own kind  too.'

'What do you mean, their own kind?'

Gretel sighed and shook her head. 'With the other Jews, Bruno. Didn't you know that? That's why they have to be kept together. They can't mix with us.'

'Jews,' said Bruno, testing the word out. He quite liked the way it sounded. 'Jews,' he repeated. 'All the people over that side of the fence are Jews.'

'Yes, that's right,' said Gretel.

'Are we Jews?'

Gretel opened her mouth wide, as if she had been slapped in the face. 'No, Bruno,' she said. 'No, we most certainly are not. And you shouldn't even say something like that.'

'But why not? What are we then?'

'We're ...' began Gretel, but then she had to stop to think about it. 'We're .. .' she repeated, but she wasn't quite sure what the answer to this question really was. 'Well we're not Jews,' she said finally.

‘I know we’re not,’ said Bruno in frustration. ‘I’m asking you if we’re not Jews, what are we instead?’

'We're  the           opposite,'      said Gretel,  answering quickly and sounding a lot more satisfied with this

answer. 'Yes, that's it. We're the opposite.'

'All right,' said Bruno, pleased that he had it settled in his head at last. 'And the Opposite live on this side of the fence and the Jews live on that.'

'That's right, Bruno.'

'Don't the Jews like the Opposite then?' 'No, it's us who don't like them, stupid.'

Bruno frowned. Gretel had been told time  and time again that she wasn't allowed to call him stupid but still she persisted with it.

'Well, why don't we like them?' he asked. 'Because they're Jews,' said Gretel.

'I see. And the Opposite and the Jews don't get along.'

'No, Bruno,' said Gretel, but she said this slowly because she had discovered something unusual in her hair and was examining it carefully.

'Well, can't someone  just get them together and-'

Bruno was interrupted by the sound of Gretel breaking into a piercing scream; one that woke Mother up from her afternoon nap and brought her running into the bedroom to find out which of her children had murdered the other one.

While  experimenting  with  her  hair  Gretel  had

found a tiny egg, no bigger than the top of a pin. She showed it to Mother, who looked through her hair, pulling strands of it apart quickly, before marching over to Bruno and doing the same thing to him.

'Oh, I don't believe it,' said Mother angrily. 'I knew something like this would happen in a place like this.'

It turned out that both Gretel and Bruno had lice in their hair, and Gretel had to be treated with a special shampoo that smelled horrible and afterwards she sat in her room for hours on end, crying her eyes out.

Bruno had the shampoo as well, but then Father decided that the best thing was for him to start afresh and he got a razor and shaved all Bruno's hair off, which made Bruno cry. It didn't take long and he hated seeing all his hair float down from his head and land on the floor at his feet, but Father said it had to be done.

Afterwards Bruno looked at himself in the bath­ room mirror and he felt sick. His entire head looked misshapen now that he was bald and his eyes looked too big for his face. He was almost scared of his own reflection.

'Don't worry,' Father reassured him. 'It'll grow back. It'll only take a few weeks.'

'It's the filth around here that did it,' said Mother. 'If some people could only see the effect this place is having on us all.'

When he saw himself in the mirror Bruno couldn't help but think how much like Shmuel he looked now, and he wondered whether all the people on that side of the fence had lice as well and that was why all their heads were shaved too.

When  he  saw  his  friend  the  next  day  Shmuel

started to laugh at Bruno's appearance, which didn't do a lot for his dwindling self-confidence.

'I look just like you now,' said Bruno sadly, as if

this was a terrible thing to admit. 'Only fatter,' admitted Shmuel.