Back to The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
By John Boyne
| Chapter 19 Audio |
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
after noon.
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.
'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 ditty
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 over
coat 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
mce.
'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
dif ficult
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
doth 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 passed 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/ike 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, cry
ing people in
their striped
pyjamas, most
of whom
seemed to
be staring
into space
as if
they were
actually asleep.
'I
don't think
I like
it here,'
said Bruno
after a
while.
'Neither do
1,'
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?
'Evidence,
yes,' said
Bruno, nodding
his head.
'You're right.
Let's start
looking.'
So Bruno
kept his
word and
the two boys
spent an hour
and a
half searching
the camp
looking for
evidence. They
weren't sure
exactly what
they were
looking for,
but Bruno
kept stating
that a good explorer
would know
it when
he found
it.
But they
didn't find
anything at
aU that might
give them
a clue
to Shmuel's
papa's disappearance,
and it
started to
get darker.
Bruno looked
up at
the sky
and it
looked like
it might
rain again.
'I'm sorry,
Shmuel,' he
said eventu
ally. 'I'm
sorry we
didn't find
any evidence.'
Shmuel nodded
his head
sadly. He
wasn't really
surprised. He
hadn't really
expected to.
But it
had been nice
having his
friend over
to see
where he
lived all
the same.
'I think
I ought
to go
home now,'
said Bruno.
'Will you
walk back
to the
fence with
me?'
Shmuel
opened his
mouth to
answer, but
right at
that moment
there was
a loud
whistle and
ten soldiers
-
more than Bruno had ever
seen gathered
together in one
place before- surrounded
an area
of the
camp, the
area in
which Bruno
and Shmuel
were standing.
'What's
happening?' whispered
Bruno.
'What's
going on?'
'It
happens sometimes,' said Shmuel.
'They make
people go
on marches.'
'Marches!'
said Bruno,
appalled. 'I
can't go
on a march.
I have to be
home in
time for dinner.
It's roast beef tonight.'
'Ssh,' said
Shmuel, putting
a
finger
to his
lips.
'Don't say anything
or they
get angry.'
Bruno
frowned but
was relieved
that all
the people
in striped
pyjamas from
this part
of the
camp were
gathering together
now, most
of them
being pushed
together by
the soldiers,
so that
he and
Shmuel were
hidden in
the centre
of them
and couldn't
be seen. He
didn't know
what everyone
looked so
frightened about
- after
all, marching
wasn't such
a terrible
thing
-
and he
wanted to
whisper to
them that
everything was
all right, that Father was
the Commandant,
and if
this was
the kind
of thing
that he
wanted the
people to
do then
it must
be all
right.
The whistles
blew again,
and this
time the
group
of people,
which must
have numbered
about a hundred,
started to
march slowly
together, with
Bruno and
Shmuel still
held together
in the
centre. There was some
sort of
disturbance towards the
back, where
some people
seemed unwilling
to march,
but Bruno
was too
small to
see what
happened and all
he heard was loud
noises, like
the sound
of gun
shots, but
he couldn't
make out
what they
were.
'Does the
marching go
on for long?'
he whispered
because he
was beginning to feel
quite hungry
now. 'I
don't think
so,'
said
Shmuel.
'I never
see
the
people after
they've gone
on a
march. But I wouldn't
imagine
it does.'
Bruno frowned.
He looked
up at
the sky,
and as
he did so there was
another loud
sound, this
time the
sound of
thunder
overhead,
and
just
as
quickly
the sky seemed to
grow even
darker, almost
black, and
rain poured
down even
more heavily
than it
had in
the morning.
Bruno closed
his eyes
for a
moment and
felt it
wash over
him. When
he opened
them
again
he wasn't
so much
marching as
being swept
along by
the group
of people,
and all
he could
feel was
the mud
that was
c;;tked all
over his
body and
his pyjamas
clinging to
his skin
with all
the rain
and he longed
to be back in
his house,
watching all this
from a
distance and
not wrapped
up in the centre
of it.
'That's it,'
he said
to Shmuel.
'I'm going
to catch
a
cold
out here.
I have
to go home.'
But just
as he
said this,
his feet
brought him
up a set
of steps,
and as
he marched
on he
found there
was no
more rain
coming down
any more
because they
were all
piling into
a long
room that
was surprisingly warm and
must have
been very
securely built
because no
rain was getting
in anywhere.
In fact
it felt
completely airtight.
'Well, that's
something,' he said,
glad to
be out
of
the storm
for a
few minutes
at least.
'I expect
we'll have to wait
here till
it eases
off and
then I'll
get to
go
home.'
Shmuel
gathered himself
very close
to Bruno
and looked
up at
him in
fright.
'I'm sorry
we didn't
find your
papa,' said
Bruno.
'It's all
right,' said Shmuel.
'And
I'm sorry
we didn't
really get
to play, but
when
you come
to Berlin,
that's what
we'll do.
And
I'll
introduce you
to ...
Oh,
what were
their names
again?'
he asked
himself, frustrated
because they were supposed to
be his
three best
friends for
life but they had all
vanished from
his memory
now. He couldn't
remember any
of their names
and he
couldn't picture
any of their
faces.
'Actually,' he
said, looking
down at
Shmuel, 'it
doesn't matter
whether I
do or
don't. They're
not my
best friends
any more
anyway.' He
looked down
and did
something quite
out of
character for
him: he
took hold
of Shmuel's
tiny hand
in his
and squeezed
it tightly.
'You're my
best friend,
Shmuel,' he
said. 'My
best
friend for life.'
Shmuel
may well
have opened
his mouth
to say
something back,
but Bruno
never heard
it because
at that
moment there
was a
loud gasp
from all
the marchers
who had
filled the
room,
as
the door
at
the front
was suddenly
closed and
a loud
metallic sound rang through
from
the outside.
And then
the room
went very
dark and
somehow, despite
the chaos
that followed,
Bruno found
that he
was still
holding Shmuel's
hand in
his own
and nothing
in the
world would
have persuaded
him to let it
go.
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