The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

to Bruno, he addressed him as ‘little man’, which was just plain nasty because, as Mother pointed out, he just hadn’t had his growth spurt yet.
    Not to mention the fact that he was always in the living room with Mother and making jokes with her, and Mother laughed at his jokes more than she laughed at Father’s.
    Once when Bruno was watching the camp from his bedroom window he saw a dog approach the fence and start barking loudly, and when Lieutenant Kotler heard it he marched right over to the dog and shot it. Then there was all that nonsense that Gretel came out with whenever he was around.
    And Bruno still hadn’t forgotten the evening with Pavel, the waiter who was really a doctor, and how angry the young lieutenant had been.
    Also, whenever Father was called away to Berlin on an overnight trip the lieutenant hung around the house as if he were in charge: he would be there when Bruno was going to bed and be back again in the morning before he even woke up.
    There were a lot more reasons why Bruno didn’t like Lieutenant Kotler, but these were the first things that came into his mind.
    On the afternoon before the birthday party Bruno was in his room with the door open when he heard Lieutenant Kotler arriving at the house and speaking to someone, although he couldn’t hear anyone answering back. A few minutes later, as he was coming downstairs, he heard Mother giving instructions about what needed to be done and Lieutenant Kotler saying, ‘Don’t worry, this one knows which side his bread is buttered on,’ and then laughing in a nasty way.
    Bruno walked towards the living room with a new book Father had given him called Treasure Island , intending to sit in there for an hour or two while he read it, but as he walked through the hallway he ran into Lieutenant Kotler, who was just leaving the kitchen.
    ‘Hello, little man,’ the soldier said, sneering at him as usual.
    ‘Hello,’ said Bruno, frowning.
    ‘What are you up to then?’
    Bruno stared at him and started thinking of seven more reasons to dislike him. ‘I’m going in there to read my book,’ he said, pointing towards the living room.
    Without a word Kotler whipped the book out of Bruno’s hands and started to flick through it. ‘ Treasure Island ,’ he said. ‘What’s it about then?’
    ‘Well, there’s an island,’ said Bruno slowly, to make sure that the soldier could keep up. ‘And there’s treasure on it.’
    ‘I could have guessed that,’ said Kotler, looking at him as if there were things he would do to the boy if he were a son of his and not the son of the Commandant. ‘Tell me something I don’t know about it.’
    ‘There’s a pirate in it,’ said Bruno. ‘Called Long John Silver. And a boy called Jim Hawkins.’
    ‘An English boy?’ asked Kotler.
    ‘Yes,’ said Bruno.
    ‘Grunt,’ grunted Kotler.
    Bruno stared at him and wondered how long it would be before he gave back his book. He didn’t seem particularly interested in it, but when Bruno reached for it he pulled it away.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding it out again, and when Bruno reached for it he pulled it away for the second time. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ he repeated and held it out once more, and this time Bruno swiped it out of his hand quicker than he could pull it away.
    ‘Aren’t you quick,’ muttered Lieutenant Kotler between his teeth.
    Bruno tried to step past him, but for some reason Lieutenant Kotler seemed to want to talk to him today.
    ‘All set for the party, are we?’ he asked.
    ‘Well, I am,’ said Bruno, who had been spending more time with Gretel lately and had developed a liking for sarcasm. ‘I can’t speak for you.’
    ‘There’ll be a lot of people here,’ said Lieutenant Kotler, breathing in heavily and looking around as if this were his house and not Bruno’s. ‘We’ll be on your best behaviour, won’t we?’
    ‘Well, I’ll be,’ said Bruno. ‘I can’t speak for you.’
    ‘You’ve a lot to say for such a little man,’ said Lieutenant Kotler.
    Bruno narrowed his eyes and wished he were taller, stronger and eight years older. A ball of anger exploded inside him and made him wish that he had the courage to say exactly what he wanted to say. It was one thing, he decided, to be told what to do by Mother and Father – that was perfectly reasonable and to be expected – but it was another thing entirely to be told what to do by someone else. Even by someone with a fancy title like ‘Lieutenant’.
    ‘Oh,