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The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
By John Boyne
| Chapter 4 Audio |
Chapter
Four
To
begin with,
they weren't
children at
all. Not all
of
them,
at least.
There were
small boys
and big
boys,
fathers
and grandfathers.
Perhaps a
few uncles too.
And
some of
those people
who live
on their own
on
everybody's
road but
don't seem
to have
any relatives
at
all. They
were everyone.
'Who
are they?'
asked Gretel,
as open-mouthed
as her
brother often
was these
days. 'What
sort of
place is
this?'
'I'm
not sure,'
said Bruno,
sticking as
close to
the truth
as possible. 'But it's
not as
nice as
home, I
do know
that
much.'
'And
where are
all the
girls?' she
asked. 'And
the
mothers? And
the grandmothers?'
'Perhaps they
live in
a different
part,' suggested
Bruno.
Gretel agreed. She
didn't want
to go
on staring
but it
was very
difficult to
turn her eyes
away. So
far, all
she had
seen was
the forest
facing her
own window, which looked a
little dark
but a
good place
for picnics
if there
was any
sort of
clearing further
along it.
But from
this side
of the
house the
view was
very different.
It
started off nicely enough.
There was
a garden
directly beneath Bruno's
window. Quite
a large
one too,
and full
of flowers
which grew
in neat
orderly sections
in soil
that looked
as if
it was
tended very
carefully by
someone who
knew that
growing flowers in
a place
like this
was something
good that
they could
do, like
putting a
tiny candle of
light in the
corner of a
huge castle
on a
misty moor
on a
dark winter's
night.
Past
the flowers
there was
a very pleasant
pave
ment with a
wooden bench
on it,
where Gretel
could imagine
sitting in
the sunshine and
reading a
book. There
was a
plaque attached
to the top of
the bench
but she
couldn't read
the inscription from this
distance. The
seat was turned
to face
the house
-
which, usually,
would be
a strange
thing to
do but
on this
occasion she
could understand why.
About
twenty feet
further along
from the
garden
and
the flowers
and the
bench with
the plaque
on it,
everything
changed. There
'vas a
huge ‘ire
fence
that ran
along the
length of
the house
and turned
in at the top,
extending further
along in
either
direction,
further than
she could
possibly see.
The
fence
was very
high, higher
even than
the house
they were standing in,
and there
were huge
wooden posts,
like telegraph
poles, dotted
along it,
holding it
up. At the
top of
the fence
enormous bales
of barbed
wire were
tangled in
spirals, and
Gretel felt
an unexpected pain inside
her as
she looked
at the
sharp spikes
sticking out
all the
way round
it.
There
wasn't any
grass after
the fence;
in fact
there was
no greenery
anywhere to
be seen in
the distance.
Instead the
ground was
made of
a sand-like
sub stance,
and as
far as
she could
make out
there was
nothing but
low huts
and large
square buildings dotted around and
one or
two smoke
stacks in
the distance.
She opened
her mouth
to
say
something, but when
she did
she realized
that she
couldn't find any
words to
express her
surprise, and
so she·did
the only
sensible thing
she could
think of
and closed
it agam.
'You see?'
said Bruno
from the
corner of
the room, feeling quietly pleased
with himself
because whatever
it
was that
was out
there
-
and
whoever
they were
-
he
had seen
it first
and he
could see
it whenever
he wanted
because they
were outside
his bedroom
window
and not
hers and
therefore they belonged
to him
and he
':vas the
king of everything
thejr
surveyed and
she was his lowly
subject.
'I don't
understand,' said
Gretel. 'Who
would
build
such a
nasty-looking place?'
'It is a nasty-looking
place, isn't
it?' agreed
Bruno.
'I think
those huts
have only
one floor
too. Look
how
low they
are.'
'They
must
be
modern
types
of
houses,'
said
Gretel. 'Father
hates modern
things.'
'Then
he won't
like them
very much,'
said Bruno.
'No,' replied
Gretel. She
stood still
for a long time staring
at them.
She
was twelve
years old
and was
considered to
be
one
of
the
brightest
girls
in
her
class, so
she squeezed
her lips
together and
narrowed her
eyes and
forced her
brain to
understand what
she was
looking at.
Finally she
could think
of only
one
explanation.
'This must
be the
countryside,' said
Gretel, turn
ing
round to
look at
her brother
triumphantly.
'The
countryside?'
'Yes, it's
the only explanation, don't
you see?
When
we're at
home, in
Berlin, we're
in the
city.
That's why
there are
so many
people and
so many
houses
and the schools are
full and
you can't
make
your
way through
the centre
of town
on a
Saturday
afternoon without getting
pushed from
pillar to
post.'
'Yes
..
.'
said Bruno,
nodding his
head, trying
to
keep up.
'But
we
learned
in
geography
class
that
in
the countryside, where all
the farmers
are and
the
animals, and they
grow all
the food,
there are
huge
areas
like this
where people
live and
work and
send all the food to
feed us.'
She looked
out of
the window again at
the huge
area spread
out before
her
and
the distances that existed
between each
of the huts. 'This
must be
it. It's
the countryside.
Perhaps
this
is our holiday home,'
she added
hopefully.
Bruno
thought
about
it
and shook
his
head. 'I
don't think
so,' he
said with
great conviction.
'You're
nine,' countered Gretel.
'How would
you
know?
When you
get to
my age
you'll understand
these things
a lot
better.'
'That might
be so,'
said Bruno,
who knew
that he
was
younger but
didn't agree
that that
made him
less
likely to
be right,
'but if this is
the countryside
like
you
say it
is, then
where are
all the
animals you're
talking
about?'
Gretel opened
her mouth
to answer
him but
couldn't think
of a
suitable reply,
so she
looked out
of
the window
again instead
and peered
around for
them, but
they were
nowhere to
be seen.
'There should
be cows and pigs
and sheep
and
horses,' said Bruno.
'If
it
was a
farm, I mean.
Not to
mention chickens
and ducks.'
'And
there aren't
any,' admitted
Gretel quietly.
'And if
they grew
food here,
like you
suggested,'
continued
Bruno, enjoying
himself enormously, 'then I
think the
ground would
have to
look a
lot better
than that,
don't you?
I don't
think you
could grow
anything in
all that
dirt.'
Gretel looked
at it again and
nodded, because
she
was
not so
silly as
to insist
on being
in the
right all
the
time when
it was
clear the
argument stood against her.
'Perhaps it's
not a
farm then,'
she said.
'It's
not,' agreed
Bruno.
'Which means
this mightn't
be the
countryside,'
she
continued.
'No,
I don't
think it
is,' he
replied.
'Which also
means that
this probably
isn't
our
holiday
home after all,'
she concluded.
'I
don't think
so,' said
Bruno.
He sat
down on
the bed
and for
a moment
wished
that
Gretel would
sit down
beside him
and put
her
arm
around him
and tell
him that
it was
all going
to
·
be
all right
and that
sooner or
later they'd
get to
like
it
here and
they'd never
want to
go back
to Berlin.
But
she was
still watching
from the
window and
this
time
she wasn't
looking at
the flowers or
the pave
ment
or the
bench with
the plaque
on it
or the
tall fence or the
wooden telegraph
poles or
the barbed wire bales or
the hard
ground beyond
them or
the
huts
or the
small buildings
or the
smoke stacks;
instead
she was
looking at
the people.
'Who
are all
those people?'
she
asked in
a quiet
voice, almost as
if she
wasn't asking
Bruno but
look ing
for an
answer from
someone else.
'And what
are they
all doing
there?'
Bruno stood
up, and for the
first time
they stood
there
together, shoulder to
shoulder, and stared
at
what
was happening
not fifty
feet away
from their
new
home.
Everywhere
they
looked
they
could
see
people,
tall, short,
old, young,
all
moving
around. Some
stood
perfectly still in
groups, their
hands by
their sides, trying to keep
their heads
up, as a soldier
marched in
front of
them, his
mouth opening
and
closing quickly
as if
he were
shouting something
at
them.
Some were
formed into
a sort of
chain gang
and
pushing
wheelbarrows
from
one
side of
the
camp to the
other, appearing
from a
place out
of
sight
and taking
their wheelbarrows
further along
behind
a hut, where they
disappeared again. A
few
stood
near the
huts in
quiet groups,
staring at
the ground as
if it
was the
sort of
game where
they didn't
want
to be
spotted. Others
were on
crutches and
many
had
bandages around
their
heads.
Some
carried spades
and
were being
led
by
groups of
soldiers to a
place where
they could
no longer
be
seen.
Bruno
and
Gretel
could see
hundreds
of
people,
but
there \vere
so many
huts before
them, and
the
camp
spread out
so much further
than they
could
possibly see,
that it
looked as
though there
must be
thousands out
there.
'And
all living
so close
to us,'
said Gretel,
frowning.
'In Berlin, on
our nice
quiet street,
we only
had six
houses. And
now there
are so
many. Why
would Father
take a
new job
here in
such a
nasty place
and with
so many
neighbours?
It
doesn't
make
any
sense.'
'Look over
there,' said
Bruno, and
Gretel followed
the
direction of
the finger
he was
pointing and
saw,
emerging from
a hut
in the
distance, a
group of
children huddled together
and being
shouted at
by a
group
of soldiers.
The more
they were
shouted at,
the closer
they huddled
together, but
then one of
the
soldiers lunged
towards them and
they separated
and seemed to do
what he
had wanted
them to
do all
along, which
was to
stand in
a single
line. When
they
did,
the soldiers all
started to laugh
and applaud them.
'It
must
be
some
sort
of
rehearsal,'
suggested
Gretel, ignoring
the fact
that some
of the
children,
even
some of
the older
ones, even
the ones
as grown up
as her, looked
as if they
were crying.
'I
told you
there were
children here,'
said Bruno.
'Not
the type
of children
I
want
to play
with,' said
Gretel in a
determined voice. 'They
look filthy.
Hilda and
Isobel and
Louise have
a bath
every morn
ing and
so do
I.
Those
children look
like they've
never had
a bath
in their
lives.'
'It
does look
very dirty
over there,'
said Bruno.
'But maybe
they don't
have any
baths?'
'Don't be
stupid,' said
Gretel, despite
the fact
that
she
had been
told time
and time
again that
she was
not
to call
her brother
stupid. 'What
kind of
people
don't
have baths?'
'I don't
know,' said Bruno. 'People who
don't have
any
hot water?'
Gretel
watched for
another few
moments before shivering and turning
away. 'I'm
going back
to my room
to arrange my
dolls,' she
said. 'The
view is decidedly nicer from
there.'
With that
remark she
walked away,
returning
across the
hallway to
her bedroom
and closing
the door behind
her, but
she didn't
go back
to arranging her dolls quite
yet. Instead
she sat
down on
the bed
and a
lot of
things went
through her
head.
And one
final thought came into her
brother's head as he
watched the
hundreds of
people in
the distance going about their
business, and
that was
the
fact that
all of
them
-
the
small boys,
the big
boys,
the fathers,
the grandfathers,
the uncles,
the
people
who lived
on their
own on
everybody's road
but didn't
seem to
have any
relatives at
all
-
were
wearing the
same clothes
as each
other: a
pair of
grey striped
pajamas with
a grey
striped cap
on their
heads.
'How
extraordinary,' he muttered,
before turning
away.
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