The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

Kurt, precious, you’re still here,’ said Mother, stepping out of the kitchen and coming towards them. ‘I have a little free time now if— Oh!’ she said, noticing Bruno standing there. ‘Bruno! What are you doing here?’
    ‘I was going into the living room to read my book,’ said Bruno. ‘Or I was trying to at least.’
    ‘Well, run along into the kitchen for the moment,’ she said. ‘I need a private word with Lieutenant Kotler.’
    And they stepped into the living room together as Lieutenant Kotler closed the doors in Bruno’s face.
    Seething with anger, Bruno went into the kitchen and got the biggest surprise of his life. There, sitting at the table, a long way from the other side of the fence, was Shmuel. Bruno could barely believe his eyes.
    ‘Shmuel!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
    Shmuel looked up and his terrified face broke into a broad smile when he saw his friend standing there. ‘Bruno!’ he said.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ repeated Bruno, for although he still didn’t quite understand what took place on the other side of the fence, there was something about the people from there that made him think they shouldn’t be here in his house.
    ‘He brought me,’ said Shmuel.
    ‘He?’ asked Bruno. ‘You don’t mean Lieutenant Kotler?’
    ‘Yes. He said there was a job for me to do here.’
    And when Bruno looked down he saw sixty-four small glasses, the ones Mother used when she was having one of her medicinal sherries, sitting on the kitchen table, and beside them a bowl of warm soapy water and lots of paper napkins.
    ‘What on earth are you doing?’ asked Bruno.
    ‘They asked me to polish the glasses,’ said Shmuel. ‘They said they needed someone with tiny fingers.’
    As if to prove something that Bruno already knew, he held his hand out and Bruno couldn’t help but notice that it was like the hand of the pretend skeleton that Herr Liszt had brought with him one day when they were studying human anatomy.
    ‘I’d never noticed before,’ he said in a disbelieving voice, almost to himself.
    ‘Never noticed what?’ asked Shmuel.
    In reply, Bruno held his own hand out so that the tips of their middle fingers were almost touching. ‘Our hands,’ he said. ‘They’re so different. Look!’
    The two boys looked down at the same time and the difference was easy to see. Although Bruno was small for his age, and certainly not fat, his hand appeared healthy and full of life. The veins weren’t visible through the skin, the fingers weren’t little more than dying twigs. Shmuel’s hand, however, told a very different story.
    ‘How did it get like that?’ he asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Shmuel. ‘It used to look more like yours, but I didn’t notice it changing. Everyone on my side of the fence looks like this now.’
    Bruno frowned. He thought about the people in their striped pyjamas and wondered what was going on at Out-With and whether it wasn’t a very bad idea if it made people look so unhealthy. None of it made any sense to him. Not wanting to look at Shmuel’s hand any longer, Bruno turned round and opened the refrigerator, rooting about inside it for something to eat. There was half a stuffed chicken left over from lunch time, and Bruno’s eyes sparkled in delight for there were very few things in life that he enjoyed more than cold chicken with sage and onion stuffing. He took a knife from the drawer and cut himself a few healthy slices and coated them with the stuffing before turning back to his friend.
    ‘I’m very glad you’re here,’ he said, speaking with his mouth full. ‘If only you didn’t have to polish the glasses, I could show you my room.’
    ‘He told me not to move from this seat or there’d be trouble.’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind him,’ said Bruno, trying to sound braver than he really was. ‘This isn’t his house, it’s mine, and when Father’s away I’m in charge. Can you believe he’s never even read Treasure Island ?’
    Shmuel looked as if he wasn’t really listening; instead his eyes were focused on the slices of chicken and stuffing that Bruno was throwing casually into his mouth. After a moment Bruno realized what he was looking at and immediately felt guilty.
    ‘I’m sorry, Shmuel,’ he said quickly. ‘I should have given you some chicken too. Are you hungry?’
    ‘That’s a question you never have to ask me,’ said Shmuel who, although he had never met Gretel in his life, knew something about