The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

quick glance and nodded, looking pleased by what he saw, and then opened the door.
    Two people stood outside: a rather small man and a taller woman.
    Father saluted them and ushered them inside, where Maria, her head bowed even lower than usual, took their coats and the introductions were made. They spoke to Mother first, which gave Bruno an opportunity to stare at their guests and decide for himself whether they deserved all the fuss being made of them.
    The Fury was far shorter than Father and not, Bruno supposed, quite as strong. He had dark hair, which was cut quite short, and a tiny moustache – so tiny in fact that Bruno wondered why he bothered with it at all or whether he had simply forgotten a piece when he was shaving. The woman standing beside him, however, was quite the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. She had blonde hair and very red lips, and while the Fury spoke to Mother she turned and looked at Bruno and smiled, making him go red with embarrassment.
    ‘And these are my children, Fury,’ said Father as Gretel and Bruno stepped forward. ‘Gretel and Bruno.’
    ‘And which is which?’ the Fury said, which made everyone laugh except for Bruno, who thought it was perfectly obvious which was which and hardly cause for a joke. The Fury stretched out his hand and shook theirs and Gretel gave a careful, rehearsed curtsy. Bruno was delighted when it went wrong and she almost fell over.
    ‘What charming children,’ said the beautiful blonde woman. ‘And how old are they, might I ask?’
    ‘I’m twelve but he’s only nine,’ said Gretel, looking at her brother with disdain. ‘And I can speak French too,’ she added, which was not strictly speaking true, although she had learned a few phrases in school.
    ‘Yes, but why would you want to?’ asked the Fury, and this time no one laughed; instead they shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and Gretel stared at him, unsure whether he wanted an answer or not.
    The matter was resolved quickly, however, as the Fury, who was the rudest guest Bruno had ever witnessed, turned round and walked directly into the dining room and promptly sat down at the head of the table – in Father’s seat! – without another word. A little flustered, Mother and Father followed him inside and Mother gave instructions to Lars that he could start heating up the soup.
    ‘I can speak French too,’ said the beautiful blonde woman, leaning down and smiling at the two children. She didn’t seem to be as frightened of the Fury as Mother and Father were. ‘French is a beautiful language and you are very clever to be learning it.’
    ‘Eva,’ shouted the Fury from the other room, clicking his fingers as if she were some sort of puppy dog. The woman rolled her eyes and stood up slowly and turned round.
    ‘I like your shoes, Bruno, but they look a little tight on you,’ she added with a smile. ‘If they are, you should tell your mother, before they cause you to injure yourself.’
    ‘They are a little tight,’ admitted Bruno.
    ‘I don’t normally wear my hair in curls,’ said Gretel, jealous of the attention that her brother was getting.
    ‘But why not?’ asked the woman. ‘It’s so pretty that way.’
    ‘Eva!’ roared the Fury for a second time, and now she started to walk away from them.
    ‘It was lovely to meet you both,’ she said, before stepping into the dining room and sitting down on the Fury’s left-hand side. Gretel walked towards the stairs but Bruno stayed rooted to the ground, watching the blonde woman until she caught his eye again and waved at him, just as Father appeared and closed the doors with a jerk of his head – from which Bruno understood that it was time to go to his room, to sit quietly, and not to make any noise and certainly not to slide down any banisters.
    The Fury and Eva stayed for the best part of two hours and neither Gretel nor Bruno were invited downstairs to say goodbye to them. Bruno watched them leave from his bedroom window and noticed that when they stepped towards their car, which he was impressed to see had a chauffeur, the Fury did not open the door for his companion but instead climbed in and started reading a newspaper, while she said goodbye once again to Mother and thanked her for the lovely dinner.
    What a horrible man, thought Bruno.
    Later that night Bruno overheard snippets of Mother and Father’s conversation. Certain phrases drifted through the keyhole or under the door of Father’s