THE BOYS IN THE STRIPED PAJAMAS

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

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.'

Bruno bit his lip. He had hoped that Maria would take his side in the

campaign to get away from Out-With but he could see where her loyalties

really lay. And he had to admit that he was rather proud of his father when he

heard that story.

'Well,' he said, unable to think of something clever to say now, 'I suppose

that was nice of him.

Yes,' said Maria, standing up and walking over towards the window, the

one through which Bruno could see all the way to the huts and the people in

the distance. 'He was very kind to me then,' she continued quietly, looking

through it herself now and watching the people and the soldiers go about

their business far away. 'He has a lot of kindness in his soul, truly he does,

which makes me wonder...' She drifted off as she watched them and her voice

cracked suddenly and she sounded as if she might cry.

'Wonder what?' asked Bruno.

'Wonder what he... how he can...'

'How he can what?' insisted Bruno.

The noise of a door slamming came from downstairs and reverberated

through the house so loudly-like a gunshot-that Bruno jumped and Maria let

out a small scream. Bruno recognized footsteps pounding up the stairs

towards them, quicker and quicker, and he crawled back on the bed, pressing

himself against the wall, suddenly afraid of what was going to happen next.

He held his breath, expecting trouble, but it was only Gretel, the Hopeless

Case. She poked her head through the doorway and seemed surprised to find

her brother and the family maid engaged in conversation.

'What's going on?' asked Gretel.

'Nothing,' said Bruno defensively. 'What do you want? Get out.'

'Get out yourself,' she replied even though it was his room, and then

turned to look at Maria, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as she did so. 'Run

me a bath, Maria, will you?' she asked.

'Why can't you run your own bath?' snapped Bruno.

'Because she's the maid,' said Gretel, staring at him. 'That's what she's

here for.'

'That's not what she's here for,' shouted Bruno, standing up and marching

over to her. 'She's not just here to do things for us all the time, you know.

Especially things that we can do ourselves.'

Gretel stared at him as if he had gone mad and then looked at Maria, who

shook her head quickly.

'Of course, Miss Gretel,' said Maria. 'I'll just finish tidying your brother's

clothes away and I'll be right with you.'

'Well, don't be long,' said Gretel rudely-because unlike Bruno she never

stopped to think about the fact that Maria was a person with feelings just like

hers-before marching off back to her room and closing the door behind her.

Maria's eyes didn't follow her but her cheeks had taken on a pink glow.

'I still think he's made a terrible mistake,' said Bruno quietly after a few

minutes when he felt as if he wanted to apologize for his sister's behaviour

but didn't know whether that was the right thing to do or not. Situations like

that always made Bruno feel very uncomfortable because, in his heart, he

knew that there was no reason to be impolite to someone, even if they did

work for you. There was such a thing as manners after all.

'Even if you do, you mustn't say it out loud,' said Maria quickly, coming

towards him and looking as if she wanted to shake some sense into him.

'Promise me you won't.'

'But why?' he asked, frowning. 'I'm only saying what I feel. I'm allowed

to do that, aren't I?'

'No,' she said. 'No, you're not.'

'I'm not allowed to say what I feel?' he repeated, incredulous.

'No,' she insisted, her voice becoming grating now as she appealed to

him. 'Just keep quiet about it, Bruno. Don't you know how much trouble you

could cause? For all of us?'

Bruno stared at her. There was something in her eyes, a sort of frenzied

worry, that he had never seen there before and that unsettled him. 'Well,' he

muttered, standing up now and heading over towards the door, suddenly

anxious to be away from her, 'I was only saying I didn't like it here, that's all.

I was just making conversation while you put the clothes away. It's not like

I'm planning on running away or anything. Although if I did I don't think

anyone could criticize me for it.'

'And worry your mother and father half to death?' asked Maria. 'Bruno, if

you have any sense at all, you will stay quiet and concentrate on your school

work and do whatever your father tells you. We must all just keep ourselves

safe until this is all over. That's what I intend to do anyway. What more can

we do than that after all? It's not up to us to change things.'

Suddenly, and for no reason that he could think of, Bruno felt an

overwhelming urge to cry. It surprised even him and he blinked a few times

very quickly so that Maria wouldn't see how he felt. Although when he caught

her eye again he thought that perhaps there must be something strange in the

air that day because her eyes looked as if they were filling with tears too. All

in all, he began to feel very awkward, so he turned his back on her and made

his way to the door.

'Where are you going?' asked Maria.

'Outside,' said Bruno angrily. 'If it's any of your business.

He had walked slowly but once he left the room he went more quickly

towards the stairs and then ran down them at a great pace, suddenly feeling

that if he didn't get out of the house soon he was going to faint away. And

within a few seconds he was outside and he started to run up and down the

driveway, eager to do something active, anything that would tire him out. In

the distance he could see the gate that led to the road that led to the train

station that led home, but the idea of going there, the idea of running away

and being left on his own without anyone at all, was even more unpleasant to

him than the idea of staying.