by John Boyne
'Hello, Father,' said Bruno quietly, a little overawed by the splendour of the room.
'Bruno, I was coming up to see you in a few minutes, I promise I was,' said Father. 'I just had a meeting to finish and a letter to write. You got here safely then?'
'Yes, Father,' said Bruno.
'You were a help to your mother and sister in closing the house?'
'Yes, Father,' said Bruno.
'Then I'm proud of you,' said Father approvingly. 'Sit down, boy.'
He indicated a wide armchair facing his desk and Bruno clambered onto it, his feet not quite touching the floor, while Father returned to his seat behind the desk and stared at him. They didn't say anything to each other for a moment, and then finally Father broke the silence.
'So?' he asked. 'What do you think?'
'What do I think?' asked Bruno. 'What do I think of what?'
'Of your new home. Do you like it?'
'No,' said Bruno quickly, because he always tried to be honest and knew that if he hesitated even for a moment then he wouldn't have the nerve to say what he really thought. 'I think we should go home,' he added bravely.
Father's smile faded only a little and he glanced down at his letter for a moment before looking back up again, as if he wanted to consider his reply carefully. 'Well, we are home, Bruno,' he said finally in a gentle voice. 'Out-With is our new home.'
'But when can we go back to Berlin?' asked Bruno, his heart sinking when Father said that. 'It's so much nicer there.'
'Come, come,' said Father, wanting to have none of that. 'Let's have none of that,' he said. 'A home is not a building or a street or a city or something so artificial as bricks and mortar. A home is where one's family is, isn't that right?'
'Yes, but-'
'And our family is here, Bruno. At Out-With. Ergo, this must be our home.'
Bruno didn't understand what ergo meant, but he didn't need to because he had a clever answer for Father. 'But Grandfather and Grandmother are in Berlin,' he said. 'And they're our family too. So this can't be our home.'
Father considered this and nodded his head. He waited a long time before replying. 'Yes, Bruno, they are. But you and I and Mother and Gretel are the most important people in our family and this is where we live now. At Out-With. Now, don't look so unhappy about it!' (Because Bruno was looking distinctly unhappy about it.) 'You haven't even given it a chance yet. You might like it here.'
'I don't like it here,' insisted Bruno.
'Bruno…' said Father in a tired voice.
'Karl's not here and Daniel's not here and Martin's not here and there are no other houses around us and no fruit and vegetable stalls and no streets and no cafes with tables outside and no one to push you from pillar to post on a Saturday afternoon.'
'Bruno, sometimes there are things we need to do in life that we don't have a choice in,' said Father, and Bruno could tell that he was starting to tire of this conversation. 'And I'm afraid this is one of them. This is my work, important work. Important to our country. Important to the Fury. You'll understand that some day.'
'I want to go home,' said Bruno. He could feel tears welling up behind his eyes and wanted nothing more than for Father to realize just how awful a place Out-With really was and agree that it was time to leave.
'You need to realize that you are at home,' he said instead, disappointing Bruno. 'This is it for the foreseeable future.'
Bruno closed his eyes for a moment. There hadn't been many times in his life when he had been quite so insistent on having his own way and he had certainly never gone to Father with quite so much desire for him to change his mind about something, but the idea of staying here, the idea of having to live in such a horrible place where there was no one at all to play with, was too much to think about. When he opened his eyes again a moment later, Father stepped round from behind his desk and settled himself in an armchair beside him. Bruno watched as he opened a silver case, took out a cigarette and tapped it on the desk before lighting it.
'I remember when I was a child,' said Father, 'there were certain things that I didn't want to do, but when my father said that it would be better for everyone if I did them, I just put my best foot forward and got on with them.'
'What kinds of things?' asked Bruno.
'Oh, I don't know,' said Father, shrugging his shoulders. 'It's neither here nor there anyway. I was just a child and didn't know what was for the best. Sometimes, for example, I didn't want to stay at home and finish my schoolwork; I wanted to be out on the streets, playing with my friends just like you do, and I look back now and see how foolish I was.'
'So you know how I feel,' said Bruno hopefully.
'Yes, but I also knew that my father, your grandfather, knew what was best for me and that I was always happiest when I just accepted that. Do you think that I would have made such a success of my life if I hadn't learned when to argue and when to keep my mouth shut and follow orders? Well, Bruno? Do you?'
Bruno looked around. His gaze landed on the window in the corner of the room and through it he could see the awful landscape beyond.
'Did you do something wrong?' he asked after a moment. 'Something that made the Fury angry?'
'Me?' said Father, looking at him in surprise. 'What do you mean?'
'Did you do something bad in work? I know that everyone says you're an important man and that the Fury has big things in mind for you, but he'd hardly send you to a place like this if you hadn't done something that he wanted to punish you for.'
Father laughed, which upset Bruno even more; there was nothing that made him more angry than when a grown-up laughed at him for not knowing something, especially when he was trying to find out the answer by asking questions.
'You don't understand the significance of such a position,' Father said.
'Well, I don't think you can have been very good at your job if it means we all have to move away from a very nice home and our friends and come to a horrible place like this. I think you must have done something wrong and you should go and apologize to the Fury and maybe that will be an end to it. Maybe he'll forgive you if you're very sincere about it.'
The words were out before he could really think about whether they were sensible or not; once he heard them floating in the air they didn't seem like entirely the kind of things he should be saying to Father, but there they were, already said, and not a thing he could do to take them back. Bruno swallowed nervously and, after a few moments' silence, glanced back at Father, who was staring at him stony-faced. Bruno licked his lips and looked away He felt it would be a bad idea to hold Father's eye.
After a few silent and uncomfortable minutes Father stood up slowly from the seat beside him and walked back behind the desk, laying his cigarette on an ashtray.
'I wonder if you are being very brave,' he said quietly after a moment, as if he was debating the matter in his head, 'rather than merely disrespectful. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing.'
'I didn't mean-'
'But you will be quiet now,' said Father, raising his voice and interrupting him because none of the rules of normal family life ever applied to him. 'I have been very considerate of your feelings here, Bruno, because I know that this move is difficult for you. And I have listened to what you have to say, even though your youth and inexperience force you to phrase things in an insolent manner. And you'll notice that I have not reacted to any of this. But the moment has come when you will simply have to accept that-'
'I don't want to accept it!' shouted Bruno, blinking in surprise because he hadn't known he was going to shout out loud. (In fact it came as a complete surprise to him.) He tensed slightly and got ready to make a run for it if necessary. But nothing seemed to be making Father angry today-and if Bruno was honest with himself he would have admitted that Father rarely became angry; he became quiet and distant and always had his way in the end anyway-and rather than shouting at him or chasing him around the house, he simply shook his head and indicated that their debate was at an end.
'Go to your room, Bruno,' he said in such a quiet voice that Bruno knew that he meant business now, so he stood up, tears of frustration forming in his eyes. He walked towards the door, but before opening it he turned round and asked one final question. 'Father?' he began.
'Bruno, I'm not going to-' began Father irritably.
'It's not about that,' said Bruno quickly. 'I just have one other question.'
Father sighed but indicated that he should ask it and then that would be an end to the matter and no arguments.
Bruno thought about his question, wanting to phrase it exactly right this time, just in case it came out as being rude or unco-operative. 'Who are all those people outside?' he said finally.
Father tilted his head to the left, looking a little confused by the question. 'Soldiers, Bruno,' he said. 'And secretaries. Staff workers. You've seen them all before, of course.'
'No, not them,' said Bruno. 'The people I see from my window. In the huts, in the distance. They're all dressed the same.'
'Ah, those people,' said Father, nodding his head and smiling slightly. 'Those people… well, they're not people at all, Bruno.'
Bruno frowned. 'They're not?' he asked, unsure what Father meant by that.
'Well, at least not as we understand the term,' Father continued. 'But you shouldn't be worrying about them right now. They're nothing to do with you. You have nothing whatsoever in common with them. Just settle into your new home and be good, that's all I ask. Accept the situation in which you find yourself and everything will be so much easier.'
'Yes, Father,' said Bruno, unsatisfied by the response.
He opened the door and Father called him back for a moment, standing up and raising an eyebrow as if he'd forgotten something. Bruno remembered the moment his father made the signal, and said the phrase and imitated him exactly.
He pushed his two feet together and shot his right arm into the air before clicking his two heels together and saying in as deep and clear a voice as possible-as much like Father's as he could manage-the words he said every time he left a soldier's presence.
'Heil Hitler,' he said, which, he presumed, was another way of saying, 'Well, goodbye for now, have a pleasant afternoon.'
Chapter Six
The Overpaid Maid
Some days later Bruno was lying on the bed in his room, staring at the ceiling above his head. The white paint was cracked and peeling away from itself in a most unpleasant manner, unlike the paintwork in the house in Berlin, which was never chipped and received an annual top-up every summer when Mother brought the decorators in. On this particular afternoon he lay there and stared at the spidery cracks, narrowing his eyes to consider what might lie behind them. He imagined that there were insects living in the spaces between the paint and the ceiling itself which were pushing it out, cracking it wide, opening it up, trying to create a gap so that they could squeeze through and look for a window where they might make their escape. Nothing, thought Bruno, not even the insects, would ever choose to stay at Out-With.
'Everything here is horrible,' he said out loud, even though there was no one present to hear him, but somehow it made him feel better to hear the words stated anyway. 'I hate this house, I hate my room and I even hate the paintwork. I hate it all. Absolutely everything.'
Just as he finished speaking Maria came through the door carrying an armful of his washed, dried and ironed clothes. She hesitated for a moment when she saw him lying there but then bowed her head a little and walked silently over towards the wardrobe.
'Hello,' said Bruno, for although talking to a maid wasn't quite the same thing as having some friends to talk to, there was no one else around to have a conversation with and it made much more sense than talking to himself. Gretel was nowhere to be found and he had begun to worry that he would go mad with boredom.
'Master Bruno,' said Maria quietly, separating his vests from his trousers and his underwear and putting them in different drawers and on different shelves.
'I expect you're as unhappy about this new arrangement as I am,' said Bruno, and she turned to look at him with an expression that suggested she didn't understand what he meant. 'This,' he explained, sitting up and looking around. 'Everything here. It's awful, isn't it? Don't you hate it too?'
Maria opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again just as quickly. She seemed to be considering her response carefully, selecting the right words, preparing to say them, and then thinking better of it and discarding them altogether. Bruno had known her for almost all his life-she had come to work for them when he was only three years old-and they had always got along quite well for the most part, but she had never showed any particular signs of life before. She just got on with her job, polishing the furniture, washing the clothes, helping with the shopping and the cooking, sometimes taking him to school and collecting him again, although that had been more common when Bruno was eight; when he turned nine he decided he was old enough to make his way there and home alone.
'Don't you like it here then?' she said finally.
'Like it?' replied Bruno with a slight laugh. 'Like it?' he repeated, but louder this time. 'Of course I don't like it! It's awful. There's nothing to do, there's no one to talk to, nobody to play with. You can't tell me that you're happy we've moved here, surely?'
I always enjoyed the garden at the house in Berlin,' said Maria, answering an entirely different question. 'Sometimes, when it was a warm afternoon, I liked to sit out there in the sunshine and eat my lunch underneath the ivy tree by the pond. The flowers were very beautiful there. The scents.
The way the bees hovered around them and never bothered you if you just left them alone.'
'So you don't like it here then?' asked Bruno. 'You think it's as bad as I do?'
Maria frowned. 'It's not important,' she said.
'What isn't?'
'What I think.'
'Well, of course it's important,' said Bruno irritably, as if she was just being deliberately difficult. 'You're part of the family, aren't you?'
'I'm not sure whether your father would agree with that,' said Maria, allowing herself a smile because she was touched by what he had just said.
'Well, you've been brought here against your will, just like I have. If you ask me, we're all in the same boat. And it's leaking.'
For a moment it seemed to Bruno as if Maria really was going to tell him what she was thinking. She laid the rest of his clothes down on the bed and her hands clenched into fists, as if she was terribly angry about something. Her mouth opened but froze there for a moment, as if she was scared of all the things she might say if she allowed herself to begin.
'Please tell me, Maria,' said Bruno. 'Because maybe if we all feel the same way we can persuade Father to take us home again.'
She looked away from him for a few silent moments and shook her head sadly before turning back to face him. 'Your father knows what is for the best,' she said. 'You must trust in that.'
'But I'm not sure I do,' said Bruno. I think he's made a terrible mistake.'
'Then it's a mistake we all have to live with.'
'When I make mistakes I get punished,' insisted Bruno, irritated by the fact that the rules that always applied to children never seemed to apply to grownups at all (despite the fact that they were the ones who enforced them). 'Stupid Father,' he added under his breath.
Maria's eyes opened wide and she took a step towards him, her hands covering her mouth for a moment in horror. She looked round to make sure that no one was listening to them and had heard what Bruno had just said. 'You mustn't say that,' she said. 'You must never say something like that about your father.'
I don't see why not,' said Bruno; he was a little ashamed of himself for having said it, but the last thing he was going to do was sit back and receive a telling-off when no one seemed to care about his opinions anyway.
'Because your father is a good man,' said Maria. 'A very good man. He takes care of all of us.'
'Bringing us all
the way out here, to the middle of nowhere, you mean? Is that taking care of us?'
'There are many things your father has done,' she said. 'Many things of which you should be proud. If it wasn't for your father, where would I be now after all?'
'Back in Berlin, I expect,' said Bruno. 'Working in a nice house. Eating your lunch underneath the ivy and leaving the bees alone.'
'You don't remember when I came to work for you, do you?' she asked quietly, sitting down for a moment on the side of his bed, something she had never done before. 'How could you? You were only three. Your father took me in and helped me when I needed him. He gave me a job, a home. Food. You can't imagine what it's like to need food. You've never been hungry, have you?'
Bruno frowned. He wanted to mention that he was feeling a bit peckish right now, but instead he looked across at Maria and realized for the first time that he had never fully considered her to be a person with a life and a history all of her own. After all, she had never done anything (as far as he knew) other than be his family's maid. He wasn't even sure that he had ever seen her dressed in anything other than her maid's uniform. But when he came to think of it, as he did now, he had to admit that there must be more to her life than just waiting on him and his family. She must have thoughts in her head, just like him. She must have things that she missed, friends whom she wanted to see again, just like him. And she must have cried herself to sleep every night since she got here, just like boys far less grown up and brave than him. She was rather pretty too, he noticed, feeling a little funny inside as he did so.
'My mother knew your father when he was just a boy of your age,' said Maria after a few moments. 'She worked for your grandmother. She was a dresser for her when she toured Germany as a younger woman. She arranged all the clothes for her concerts-washed them, ironed them, repaired them. Magnificent gowns, all of them. And the stitching, Bruno! Like art work, every design. You don't find dressmakers like that these days.' She shook her head and smiled at the memory as Bruno listened patiently. 'She made sure that they were all laid out and ready whenever your grandmother arrived in her dressing room before a show. And after your grandmother retired, of course my mother stayed friendly with her and received a small pension, but times were hard then and your father offered me a job, the first I had ever had. A few months later my mother became very sick and she needed a lot of hospital care and your father arranged it all, even though he was not obliged to. He paid for it out of his own pocket because she had been a friend to his mother. And he took me into his household for the same reason. And when she died he paid all the expenses for her funeral too. So don't you ever call your father stupid, Bruno. Not around me. I won't allow it.'
