Back to The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
By John Boyne
| Chapter 9 Audio |
Bruno
Remembers That
He Used to
Enjoy
Exploration
Nothing changed
for quite
a while
at Out-With.
Bruno
still had
to put
up with
Gretel being
less than
friendly
to
him
whenever
she
was
in
a
bad
mood
•
which was more
often than
not because
she was a
Hopeless Case.
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11
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1
And
he still
wished that
he could
go back
home to
Berlin, although
the memories
of that
place were beginning
to fade and,
while he
did mean
to, it
had been
several weeks
since he
had even
thought about
sending another
letter to
grandfather or
grandmother,
let
alone
actually
sitting down
and
writing one.
The
soldiers still
came and
went every
day of
the
week, holding meetings
in Father's
office, which
was still
Out Of
Bounds At
All Times
And No
Exceptions. Lieutenant Kotler still
strode around
in his black
boots as
if there
was no
one in
the whole world of any
more importance
than him,
and when he
wasn't with Father
he was
standing in
the drive way
talking to
Gretel while
she laughed
hysterically and
twirled her
hair around
her fingers,
or whispering
alone in
rooms with
Mother.
The
servants still
came and
washed things
and swept
things and
cooked things
and cleaned
things and
served things
and took
things away
and
kept
their mouths
shut unless
they were
spoken to.
Maria still
spent most
of her
time tidying
things away
and making
sure that
any item
of clothing
not currently
being worn by
Bruno was neatly
folded in
his wardrobe. And
Pavel still
arrived at
the house every
afternoon to
peel the potatoes
and the
carrots
and
then put
his white
jacket on
and serve
at the
dinner table.
(From time
to time
Bruno saw
him throw
a glance
in the
direction of
his knee,
where a
tiny scar from his swing-related
accident was
in evidence, but
other than
that they
never spoke
to each
other.)
But then
things changed.
Father decided
it was
time
for the
children to
return to
their studies,
and
although it
seemed ridiculous
to Bruno
that school
should
take place
when there
were only
two students
to
teach, both
Mother and
Father agreed
that a
tutor
should
come to
the house
every day
and fill
their
mornings and afternoons
with lessons.
A few
mornings later a
man called
Herr Liszt
rattled up
the
driveway on
his boneshaker and it
was time
for
school
again. Herr
Liszt was
a mystery to
Bruno.
Although he was friendly
enough most
of the
time, never
raising his
hand to
him like
his old
teacher in
Berlin had
done, something
in his eyes made
Bruno feel there was
an anger
inside him
just waiting
to get out.
Herr
Liszt
was
particularly
fond
of
history
and
geography,
while Bruno
preferred reading and
art. 'Those
things
are
useless
to
you,'
insisted
the
teacher. 'A
sound understanding
of the
social
sciences is far
more important
in this
day and
age.'
'Grandmother always
let us perform in
plays back
in Berlin,'
Bruno pointed
out.
'Your grandmother was not
your teacher
though,
was
she?' asked
Herr Liszt.
'She was
your grand
mother. And
here I
am your
teacher, so
you will
study
the things that
I say
are important
and not
just
the
things you
like yourself.'
'But
aren't books
important?' asked Bruno.
'Books about
things that
matter in
the world,
of
course,' explained Herr
Liszt. 'But
not storybooks.
Not
books about
things that
never happened. How
much do
you know
of your
history anyway,
young
man?'
(To his
credit, Herr
Liszt referred
to Bruno
as
'young man',
like Pavel
and unlike
Lieutenant
Kotler.)
'Well,
I know
I
was born
on
April the
fifteenth
nineteen
thirty-four-' said
Bruno.
'Not
your
history,'
interrupted
Herr Liszt. 'Not
your
own personal
history. I
mean the history
of who
you
are, where
you come
from. Your
family's
heritage. The Fatherland.'
Bruno frowned
and considered
it. He
wasn't
entirely sure
that Father
had any
land, because
although the
house in
Berlin was
a large
and
comfortable house,
there wasn't
very much
garden
space
around it.
And he
was old
enough to
know
that
Out-With did
not belong
to them,
despite all
the
land
there. 'Not
very much,'
he admitted
finally.
'Although I know
quite a
bit about
the Middle
Ages.
I
like stories
about knights
and adventures
and exploring.'
Herr
Liszt made
a hissing
sound through his teeth
and
shook his
head angrily.
'Then this
is what
I am
here
to change,'
he said
in a
sinister voice.
'To get
your
head out
of your
storybooks and
teach you
more
about where
you come
from. About
the great
wrongs that
have been
done to
you.'
Bruno
nodded and
felt quite
pleased by
this as
he
assumed that
he would
finally be
given an
explanation
for why
they had
all been
forced to
leave their
comfortable home and
come to
this terrible
place,
which
must have
been the
greatest wrong
ever
committed to him
in his
short life.
Sitting alone
in his
room a
few days
later, Bruno
started
thinking about
all the
things he
liked to
do at
home
that he
hadn't been
able to
do since
he had
come to
Out-With. Most
of them
came about
because
he no longer had
any friends
to play
with, and it
wasn't as
if Gretel
would ever
play with
him.
But
there was one
thing that
he was
able to
do on
his
own
and that
he had
done all
the time
back in
Berlin, and that was
exploring.
'When I
was a
child,' Bruno
said to
himself, 'I
used
to
enjoy exploring.
And that
was in
Berlin, where
I
knew
everywhere and
could find
anything I
wanted
with
a blindfold
on. I've
never really
done any
exploring here.
Perhaps it's
time to
start.'
And then,
before he
could change
his mind,
Bruno
jumped
off his
bed and
rummaged in
his wardrobe for an
overcoat and
an old pair
of boots
-
the
kind
of
clothes he
thought a
real explorer
might wear
-
and
prepared to
leave the
house.
There
was no
point doing
any exploring
inside.
After
all, this wasn't like
the house
in Berlin,
which
he
could just
about remember
had hundreds
of
nooks
and crannies,
and strange
little rooms,
not to
mention five
floors if
you counted
the basement and the
little room
at the
top with
the window
he needed
to
stand on
tiptoes to
see through.
No, this
was a
terrible house
for exploration.
If
there
was any
to be
done
it would have to be
done outside.
For
months now
Bruno had
been looking
out of
his
bedroom window
at the
garden and
the bench with
the plaque
on it,
the tall
fence and
the wooden
telegraph poles
and all
the other
things he
had
written to
Grandmother about
in his
most recent
letter. And
as often
as he had
watched the people,
all
the
different kinds
of people
in their
striped pyjamas,
it had
never really
occurred to
him to
wonder
what
it was
all about.
It was
as if
it were
another city
entirely, the
people
all
living and
working together
side by side with
the
house
where he
lived. And
were they
really so
different?
All the
people in
the camp
wore the
same
clothes,
those pyjamas
and their
striped cloth
caps
too;
and all
the people
who wandered
through his
house
(with the
exception of
Mother, Gretel
and
him)
wore uniforms
of varying
quality and
decoration and
caps and
helmets with
bright
red-and-black
armbands and
carried guns
and
always
looked terribly
stern, as
if it
was all
very
important
really and
no one
should think
otherwise.
What
exactly was
the difference?
he wondered
to
himself. And
who decided
which people
wore the striped
pyjamas and
which people
wore the
uniforms?
Of course
sometimes the
two groups mixed.
He'd often seen the people from his side of the fence on the
other side
of the
fence, and
when he
watched it
was
clear
that they
were in
charge. The
pyjama people
all
jumped to
attention whenever
the soldiers
approached and
sometimes they
fell to
the ground
and
sometimes they
didn't even
get up
and had
to be
carried away
instead.
It's
funny that
I've never
wondered
about
those
people, Bruno thought. And
it's funny
that when
you
think
of all the times
the soldiers
go over
there
-
and
he
had even
seen Father
go over
there on
many
occasions
-
that
none of
them had
ever been
invited
back
to the
house.
Sometimes
-not
very
often, but
sometimes
-
a
few
of the
soldiers stayed to
dinner, and
when they
did a
lot
of frothy
drinks were
served and
the moment
Gretel and
Bruno had
put the
last forkful
of food
in
their
mouths they
were sent
away to
their rooms
and
then
there was
a lot
of noise
downstairs and
some
terrible singing too.
Father and
Mother obviously
enjoyed the
company of
the soldiers
-
Bruno
could
tell
that. But
they'd never
once invited
any of the
striped pyjama
people to
dinner.
Leaving
the
house,
Bruno
went
round
the
back
and looked up
towards his
own bedroom window
which, from
down here,
did not
look quite
so high
any more.
You could
probably jump
out of
it and
not do
too much
damage to
yourself, he
considered,
although
he couldn't
imagine the
circumstances in
which he
would try
such an
idiotic thing.
Perhaps if
the house
were on
fire and
he was
trapped in
there, but
even then
it would
seem risky.
He looked
as far to his
right as
he could
see, and
the
tall fence
seemed to
carry on
in the
sunlight and he
was glad
that it
did because
it meant
that he didn't
know what
was up
ahead and
he could
walk and
find
out and
that was
what exploration was all
about
after all.
(There was
one good
thing that
Herr Liszt
had
taught him
about in
their history
lessons: men
like Christopher
Columbus and
Amerigo Vespucci;
men with
such adventurous
stories and
interesting
lives
that it
only confirmed
in Bruno's
mind that
he
wanted to
be like
them when
he grew up.)
Before heading
off in
that direction,
though, there
was one
final thing
to investigate
and that
was the
bench.
All these
months he'd
been looking
at it and
staring at
the plaque
from a
distance and
calling it
'the bench
with the
plaque', but
he still had
no idea
what
it said.
Looking left
and right
to make
sure that
no
one was
coming, he
ran over to
it and
squinted as
he read
the words.
It
was
only a
small bronze
plaque
and Bruno
read it
quietly to
himself.
'Presented on
the occasion of the
opening of
.
. .'
He
hesitated.
'Out-With
Camp,' he
continued,
stumbling over the
name as
usual.
'June nineteen
forty.'
He reached
out and
touched it
for a moment,
and
the bronze
was very
cold so
he pulled
his fingers
away
before taking
a deep
breath and
beginning his
journey. The
one thing
Bruno tried
not to
think
about
was
that
he
had
been
told
on
countless
occasions by
both Mother
and Father
that he
was
not allowed
to walk
in this
direction, that he was
not
allowed anywhere
near the
fence or
the camp, and most
particularly that exploration
was banned
at
Out-With.
| Chapter 10 Audio |
Chapter Ten
The
Dot That
Became a
Speck That Became
a Blob
That Became
a Figure That
Became a
Boy
The
walk along
the fence
took Bruno
a lot
longer
than
he expected;
it seemed
to stretch
on and
on for
several
miles. He
walked and
walked, and
when he
looked back
the house
that he
was living
in became
smaller
and smaller
until it
vanished from
sight
altogether. During
all this
time he
never saw
anyone
anywhere close
to the
fence; nor
did he
find any doors
to let him
inside, and
he started to
despair that
his
exploration was going to be
entirely unsuccessful.
In
fact although
the fence
continued as
far as the
eye
could see,
the huts
and buildings
and smoke
stacks were disappearing in
the distance
behind him
and the
fence seemed
to be
separating him from
nothing but
open space.
After
walking for
the best
part of
an hour
and
starting to
feel a
little hungry,
he thought
that maybe
that
was enough
exploration for one
day and
it
would be
a good
idea to
turn back.
However, just
at that moment
a small
dot appeared
in the
distance
and
he narrowed
his eyes
to try
to see
what it
was.
Bruno remembered
a book
he had
read in
which a man
was lost
in the
desert and
because he
hadn't had
any food
or water
for several
days had started
to
imagine
that he
saw wonderful
restaurants and
enormous fountains, but when
he tried
to eat
or
drink
from them
they disappeared
into nothingness,
just
handfuls of
sand. He
wondered whether
that
was what
was happening
to him
now.
But while
he was thinking
this his
feet were
taking
him, step
by step,
closer and
closer to
the dot
in the
distance, which
in the
meantime had
become a
speck, and then began to
show every
sign of
turning into
a
blob.
And shortly
after that
the blob
became a figure. And
then, as
Bruno got
even closer,
he saw that the
thing
was neither
a dot
nor a
speck nor
a blob
nor a
figure,
but a
person.
In
fact it
was a
boy.
Bruno
had read
enough books
about explorers
to
know
that one
could never
be sure
what one
was
going to
find. Most
of the
time they
came across something
interesting that
was just
sitting there,
minding its
own business,
waiting to
be discovered
(such as
America). Other
times they
discovered
something that
was probably
best left
alone (like
a dead mouse
at the
back of
a cupboard).
The
boy belonged
to the
first category.
He was just
sitting
there, minding
his own
business, waiting
to be discovered.
Bruno
slowed down
when he
saw the
dot that
became a
speck that
became a
blob that
became a
figure
that became
a boy. Although there
was a
fence
separating
them, he
knew that
you could
never be
too careful
with strangers
and it
was always
best
to approach
them with
caution. So
he continued to
walk, and
before long
they were
facing each
other.
'Hello,' said
Bruno.
'Hello,'
said the
boy.
The boy
was smaller
than Bruno
and was
sitting on
the ground
with a
forlorn expression.
He wore
the same
striped pyjamas
that all
the other
people on
that side
of the
fence wore,
and a
striped cloth
cap on
his head.
He wasn't
wearing any
shoes or
socks and
his feet
were rather
dirty. On
his arm
he wore
an armband
with a star on
it.
*
When
Bruno
first
approached
the
boy,
he
was
sitting cross-legged on
the ground,
staring at
the dust beneath
him. However,
after a
moment he
looked up
and Bruno
saw his
face. It
was quite
a strange
face too.
His skin
was almost
the colour
of grey,
but not
quite like
any grey
that Bruno
had ever
seen before. He
had very large
eyes and
they were
the colour
of caramel sweets; the
whites were
very white,
and when the boy
looked at
him all Bruno
could see
was an
enormous pair
of sad eyes
staring back.
Bruno
was sure
that he
had never
seen a
skinnier or
sadder boy
in his
life but
decided that
he
had
better talk
to him.
'I've
been exploring,'
he said.
'Have you?' said
the little
boy. 'Yes.
For almost
two hours
now.'
This
was not
strictly speaking
true. Bruno
had
been exploring
for just
over an
hour but
he didn't
think that
exaggerating slightly would
be too
bad a
thing to
do.
It
wasn't quite the
same thing
as lying
and made
him seem
more adventurous
than he
really was.
'Have
you found
anything?' asked the
boy.
'Very little.' 'Nothing at all?'
'Well, I
found you,'
said Bruno
after a
moment.
He stared
at the boy and
considered asking him
why
he looked
so sad
but hesitated
because he
thought
it might
sound rude.
He knew
that some
times
people who
were sad
didn't want
to be
asked
about
it; sometimes
they'd offer
the information
themselves
and sometimes
they wouldn't
stop talking
about
it for
months on
end, but
on this
occasion
Bruno
thought that
he should wait
before saying
anything.
He had
discovered something during his
exploration, and
now that
he was
finally talking
to
one
of the
people on
the other
side of
the fence
it
seemed
like a
good idea
to make
the most
of the opportunity.
He
sat down
on the
ground on
his side
of the
fence
and crossed
his legs
like the
little boy
and wished
that
he had
brought some
chocolate with
him or
perhaps
a pastry that they
could share.
'I
live in
the house
on this
side of
the fence,'
said
Bruno.
'Do you?
I saw
the house
once, from
a distance,
but
I didn't
see you.'
'My
room is
on the
first floor,'
said Bruno.
'I can
see
right over
the fence
from there.
I'm Bruno,
by the way.'
'I'm
Shmuel,' said
the little boy.
Bruno scrunched up his
face, not
sure that
he had heard
the little boy
right. 'What
did you
say your
name
was?' he
asked.
'Shmuel,'
said the
little boy
as if it
was the
most
natural thing
in the
world. 'What
did you
say
your
name was?'
'Bruno,' said
Bruno.
'I've never
heard of
that name,'
said Shmuel.
'And I've
never heard
of your
name,' said
Bruno.
'Shmuel.' He
thought about
it. 'Shmuel,'
he repeated. 'I
like the
way it
sounds when
I say it.
Shmuel. It
sounds like
the wind
blowing.'
'Bruno,' said
Shmuel, nodding
his head
happily.
'Yes,
I think I like
your name
too.
It
sounds
like
someone who's
rubbing their
arms to
keep
warm.'
'I've never
met anyone
called Shmuel
before,' said
Bruno.
'There are
dozens of
Shmuels on
this side
of the
fence,'
said the
little boy.
'Hundreds probably.
I wish
I
had a
name all
of my
own.'
'I've never
met anyone
called Bruno,'
said Bruno.
'Other than
me, of
course. I
think I
might be
the only
one.'
'Then
you're lucky,'
said Shmuel.
,
'I suppose
I am.
How old
are you?'
he asked.
Shmuel thought
about it
and looked
down at
his
fingers
and they wiggled in
the air,
as if
he was
try
ing
to calculate. 'I'm nine,'
he said.
'My birthday
is
April the fifteenth nineteen
thirty-four.'
Bruno
stared at
him in surprise.
'What did
you
say?' he
asked.
'I said
my birthday
is April the fifteenth
nineteen
thirty-four.'
Bruno's eyes
opened wide
and his
mouth made
the shape of an
0.
'I
don't believe
it,' he said.
'Why not?'
asked Shmuel.
'No,' said
Bruno, shaking
his head
quickly. 'I
don't
mean
I don't
believe
you.
I
mean I'm
surprised, that's
all.
Because
my
birthday is April
the fifteenth
too.
And
I
was
born in
nineteen thirty-four.
We were
born
on
the same
day.'
Shmuel thought
about this.
'So you're
nine too,'
he
said.
'Yes. Isn't
that strange?'
'Very strange,'
said Shmuel.
'Because there
may be
dozens
of Shmuels
on this
side of
the fence
but I
don't
think that
I've ever
met anyone
with the
same
birthday as me
before.'
'We're
like twins,'
said Bruno.
'A little
bit,' agreed
Shmuel.
Bruno felt
very happy
all of
a sudden.
A picture
came
into his
head of
Karl and
Daniel and
Martin,
his
three best
friends, for
life, and
he remembered
how
much fun
they used
to have
together back
in Berlin and he realized
how lonely
he had
been at
Out-With.
'Do you
have many
friends?' asked
Bruno, cock
ing
his head
a little
to the
side as
he waited
for an
answer.
'Oh
yes,' said
Shmuel. 'Well,
sort of.'
Bruno frowned.
He had hoped that
Shmuel might
have
said no
as it
would give
them something
else in common.
'Close friends?'
he asked.
'Well, not
very close,'
said Shmuel.
'But there
are
a
lot of us
-
boys
our age, I
mean
-
on
this side
of the fence.
We fight a
lot of
the time
though. That's
why
I
come out
here. To
be on
my own.'
'It's so
unfair,' said
Bruno. 'I
don't see
why I
have
to
be stuck
over here
on this
side of
the fence
where
there's
no one to talk
to and
no one
to play
with and
you
get to
have dozens
of friends
and are
probably playing for hours
every day.
I'll have
to speak
to
Father
about it.'
'Where did
you
come
from?'
asked
Shmuel,
narrowing
his eyes
and looking
at Bruno
curiously. 'Berlin.'
'Where's
that?'
Bruno opened
his mouth
to answer
but found
that
he
wasn't entirely
sure. 'It's
in Germany,
of course,'
he
said. 'Don't
you come
from Germany?'
'No,
I'm from
Poland,' said
Shmuel.
Bruno frowned.
'Then why
do you
speak
German?' he asked.
'Because
you said
hello in
German. So
I answered
in German.
Can you
speak Polish?'
'No,' said
Bruno, laughing
nervously. 'I
don't
know
anyone who
can speak
two languages. And
especially no
one of
our age.'
'Mama
is a
teacher in
my school and
she taught
me
German,' explained
Shmuel. 'She
speaks French
too.
And Italian.
And English.
She's very
clever. I
don't speak
French or
Italian yet,
but she
said she'd
teach
me English
one day
because I
might need
to
know
it.'
'Poland,'
said Bruno
thoughtfully, weighing up
the
word on his
tongue. 'That's
not as
good as
Germany, is
it?'
Shmuel frowned.
'Why isn't
it?' he asked.
'Well,
because
Germany
is
the
greatest
of
all countries,'
Bruno replied,
remembering some thing that
he had
overheard Father
discussing with
Grandfather on
any number
of occasions.
'We're superior.'
Shmuel stared at him but
didn't say
anything, and
Bruno felt
a strong
desire to change
the subject because
even as
he had
said the
words, they
didn't sound quite right
to him
and the
last thing
he wanted was
for Shmuel
to think
that he
was being
unkind.
'Where
is Poland
anyway?' he
asked after
a few
silent moments
had passed.
'Well, it's
in Europe,'
said Shmuel.
Bruno tried
to remember
the countries
he had
been
taught about
in his
most recent geography
class
with
Herr Liszt.
'Have you
ever heard
of Denmark?'
he
asked.
'No,' said
Shmuel.
'I think
Poland is
in Denmark,'
said Bruno,
grow
ing
more confused
even though
he was
trying to
sound clever.
'Because
that's many miles
away,' he
repeated
for added confirmation.
Shmuel stared at
him for
a moment
and opened
his mouth
and closed
it twice,
as if
he was
considering his words
carefully. 'But this
is Poland,'
he said finally.
'Is it?'
asked Bruno.
'Yes
it is.
And Denmark's
quite far
away
from
both Poland
and Germany.'
Bruno
frowned. He'd
heard of
all these
places but
he
always found
it hard
to get
them straight
in his head. 'Well,
yes,' he
said. 'But
it's all
relative, isn't
it? Distance,
I mean.'
He wished
they could
get off
the subject
as he
was starting
to think
he was
entirely wrong and made
a private
resolution to
pay more attention
in future
in geography
class.
'I've
never been
to Berlin,'
said Shmuel.
'And
I don't
think I'd
ever been
to Poland
before I
came here,'
said Bruno,
which ,
was true because
he hadn't. 'That is,
if this
really
is Poland.'
'I'm
sure it
is,' said
Shmuel quietly.
'Although it's
not a
very nice
part of
it.'
'No.'
'Where I
come from
is a
lot nicer.'
'It's certainly not as nice
as Berlin,'
said Bruno.
'In
Berlin we
had a
big house
with five
floors if
you
counted
the basement
and the
little room
at the
top
with
the window.
And there
were lovely
streets and
shops
and fruit
and vegetable
stalls and
any number
of
cafes. But
if you
ever go there
I wouldn't recom
mend
walking around
town on
a Saturday
afternoon
because
there are
far too
many people
there then
and
you
get pushed
from pillar
to post.
And it
was much
nicer
before things
changed.'
'How
do you
mean?' asked
Shmuel.
'Well, it
used to
be very quiet
there,' explained Bruno, who didn't
like to
talk about
how things
had
changed. 'And
I was
able to
read in
bed at
night. But
now
it's quite
noisy sometimes, and scary, and
we have to turn
all the
lights off
when it
starts to
get
dark.'
'Where I
come from
is
much nicer
than
Berlin,' said
Shmuel, who
had never
been to
Berlin.
'Everyone there
is very
friendly and
we have
lots of
people in
our family
and the
food is
a lot
better too.'
'Well,
we'll have
to agree
to disagree,'
said Bruno,
who didn't
want to
fight with
his new
friend.
'All
right,' said
Shmuel.
'Do
you like
exploring?' asked
Bruno after
a
moment.
'I've
never really
done any,'
admitted Shmuel.
'I'm going
to be
an explorer
when I
grow up,'
said
Bruno, nodding
his head
quickly. 'At
the moment
I
can't
do very
much more
than read
about explorers,
but
at least
that means
that when
I'm one
myself, I
won't make
the mistakes
they did.'
Shmuel
frowned. 'What
kind of
mistakes?' he
asked.
'Oh, countless
ones,' explained
Bruno. 'The
thing
about
exploring is
that you
have
to
know whether the thing you've
found is
worth finding.
Some things
are
just sitting
there, minding
their own
business,
waiting
to be
discovered. Like America.
And other
things
are probably
better off
left alone.
Like a dead
mouse at
the back
of a
cupboard.'
'I think
I belong
to the
first category,'
said Shmuel.
'Yes,'
replied Bruno.
'I think
you do.
Can I
ask you
something?' he
added after
a moment.
'Yes,'
said Shmuel.
Bruno
thought
about
it. He wanted to
phrase the
question just
right.
'Why are
there so
many people
on that
side of
the
fence?'
he asked.
'And what
are you
all doing
there?'
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