The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

sarcasm too.
    ‘Wait there, I’ll cut some off for you,’ said Bruno, opening the fridge and cutting another three healthy slices.
    ‘No, if he comes back—’ said Shmuel, shaking his head quickly and looking back and forth towards the door.
    ‘If who comes back? You don’t mean Lieutenant Kotler?’
    ‘I’m just supposed to be cleaning the glasses,’ he said, looking at the bowl of water in front of him in despair and then looking back at the slices of chicken that Bruno held out to him.
    ‘He’s not going to mind,’ said Bruno, who was confused by how anxious Shmuel seemed. ‘It’s only food.’
    ‘I can’t,’ said Shmuel, shaking his head and looking as if he was going to cry. ‘He’ll come back, I know he will,’ he continued, his sentences running quickly together. ‘I should have eaten them when you offered them, now it’s too late, if I take them he’ll come in and—’
    ‘Shmuel! Here!’ said Bruno, stepping forward and putting the slices in his friend’s hand. ‘Just eat them. There’s lots left for our tea – you don’t have to worry about that.’
    The boy stared at the food in his hand for a moment and then looked up at Bruno with wide and grateful but terrified eyes. He threw one more glance in the direction of the door and then seemed to make a decision, because he thrust all three slices into his mouth in one go and gobbled them down in twenty seconds flat.
    ‘Well, you don’t have to eat them so quickly,’ said Bruno. ‘You’ll make yourself sick.’
    ‘I don’t care,’ said Shmuel, giving a faint smile. ‘Thank you, Bruno.’
    Bruno smiled back and he was about to offer him some more food, but just at that moment Lieutenant Kotler reappeared in the kitchen and stopped when he saw the two boys talking. Bruno stared at him, feeling the atmosphere grow heavy, sensing Shmuel’s shoulders sinking down as he reached for another glass and began polishing. Ignoring Bruno, Lieutenant Kotler marched over to Shmuel and glared at him.
    ‘What are you doing?’ he shouted. ‘Didn’t I tell you to polish those glasses?’
    Shmuel nodded his head quickly and started to tremble a little as he picked up another napkin and dipped it in the water.
    ‘Who told you that you were allowed to talk in this house?’ continued Kotler. ‘Do you dare to disobey me?’
    ‘No, sir,’ said Shmuel quietly. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
    He looked up at Lieutenant Kotler, who frowned, leaning forward slightly and tilting his head as he examined the boy’s face. ‘Have you been eating?’ he asked him in a quiet voice, as if he could scarcely believe it himself.
    Shmuel shook his head.
    ‘You have been eating,’ insisted Lieutenant Kotler. ‘Did you steal something from that fridge?’
    Shmuel opened his mouth and closed it. He opened it again and tried to find words, but there were none. He looked towards Bruno, his eyes pleading for help.
    ‘Answer me!’ shouted Lieutenant Kotler. ‘Did you steal something from that fridge?’
    ‘No, sir. He gave it to me,’ said Shmuel, tears welling up in his eyes as he threw a sideways glance at Bruno. ‘He’s my friend,’ he added.
    ‘Your … ?’ began Lieutenant Kotler, looking across at Bruno in confusion. He hesitated. ‘What do you mean he’s your friend?’ he asked. ‘Do you know this boy, Bruno?’
    Bruno’s mouth dropped open and he tried to remember the way you used your mouth if you wanted to say the word ‘yes’. He’d never seen anyone look so terrified as Shmuel did at that moment and he wanted to say the right thing to make things better, but then he realized that he couldn’t; because he was feeling just as terrified himself.
    ‘Do you know this boy?’ repeated Kotler in a louder voice. ‘Have you been talking to the prisoners?’
    ‘I … he was here when I came in,’ said Bruno. ‘He was cleaning glasses.’
    ‘That’s not what I asked you,’ said Kotler. ‘Have you seen him before? Have you talked to him? Why does he say you’re his friend?’
    Bruno wished he could run away. He hated Lieutenant Kotler, but he was advancing on him now and all Bruno could think of was the afternoon when he had seen him shooting a dog and the evening when Pavel had made him so angry that he—
    ‘Tell me, Bruno!’ shouted Kotler, his face growing red. ‘I won’t ask you a third time.’
    ‘I’ve never spoken to him,’ said Bruno immediately. ‘I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t know