‘I thought you weren’t coming any more,’ said Bruno. ‘I came yesterday and the day before that and you weren’t here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Shmuel. ‘Something happened.’
Bruno looked at him and narrowed his eyes, trying to guess what it might be. He wondered whether Shmuel had been told that he was going home too; after all, coincidences like that do happen, such as the fact that Bruno and Shmuel shared the same birthday.
‘Well?’ asked Bruno. ‘What was it?’
‘Papa,’ said Shmuel. ‘We can’t find him.’
‘Can’t find him? That’s very odd. You mean he’s lost?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Shmuel. ‘He was here on Monday and then he went on work duty with some other men and none of them have come back.’
‘And hasn’t he written you a letter?’ asked Bruno. ‘Or left a note to say when he’ll be coming back?’
‘No,’ said Shmuel.
‘How odd,’ said Bruno. ‘Have you looked for him?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Of course I have,’ said Shmuel with a sigh. ‘I did what you’re always talking about. I did some exploration.’
‘And there was no sign?’
‘None.’
‘Well, that’s very strange,’ said Bruno. ‘But I think there must be a simple explanation.’
‘And what’s that?’ asked Shmuel.
‘I imagine the men were taken to work in another town and they have to stay there for a few days until the work is done. And the post isn’t very good here anyway. I expect he’ll turn up one day soon.’
‘I hope so,’ said Shmuel, who looked as if he was about to cry. ‘I don’t know what we’re supposed to do without him.’
‘I could ask Father if you wanted,’ said Bruno cautiously, hoping that Shmuel wouldn’t say yes.
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ said Shmuel, which, to Bruno’s disappointment, was not a flat-out rejection of the offer.
‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Father is very knowledgeable about life on that side of the fence.’
‘I don’t think the soldiers like us,’ said Shmuel. ‘Well,’ he added with something as close to a laugh as he could muster, ‘I know they don’t like us. They hate us.’
Bruno sat back in surprise. ‘I’m sure they don’t hate you,’ he said.
‘They do,’ said Shmuel, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling up a little in anger. ‘But that’s all right because I hate them too. I hate them,’ he repeated forcefully.
‘You don’t hate Father, do you?’ asked Bruno.
Shmuel bit his lip and said nothing. He had seen Bruno’s father on any number of occasions and couldn’t understand how such a man could have a son who was so friendly and kind.
‘Anyway,’ said Bruno after a suitable pause, not wishing to discuss that topic any further, ‘I have something to tell you too.’
‘You do?’ asked Shmuel, looking up hopefully.
‘Yes. I’m going back to Berlin.’
Shmuel’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘When?’ he asked, his voice catching slightly in his throat as he did so.
‘Well, this is Thursday,’ said Bruno. ‘And we’re leaving on Saturday. After lunch.’
‘But for how long?’ asked Shmuel.
‘I think it’s for ever,’ said Bruno. ‘Mother doesn’t like it at Out-With – she says it’s no place to bring up two children – so Father is staying here to work because the Fury has big things in mind for him, but the rest of us are going home.’
He said the word ‘home’, despite the fact that he wasn’t sure where ‘home’ was any more.
‘So I won’t see you again?’ asked Shmuel.
‘Well, someday, yes,’ said Bruno. ‘You could come on a holiday to Berlin. You can’t stay here for ever after all. Can you?’
Shmuel shook his head. ‘I suppose not,’ he said sadly. ‘I won’t have anyone to talk to any more when you’re gone,’ he added.
‘No,’ said Bruno. He wanted to add the words, ‘I’ll miss you too, Shmuel,’ to the sentence but found that he was a little embarrassed to say them. ‘So tomorrow will be the last time we see each other until then,’ he continued. ‘We’ll have to say our goodbyes then. I’ll try to bring you an extra special treat.’
Shmuel nodded but couldn’t find any words to express his sorrow.
‘I wish we’d got to play together,’ said Bruno after a long pause. ‘Just once. Just to remember.’
‘So do I,’ said Shmuel.
‘We’ve been talking to each other for more than a year and we never got to play once. And do you know what else?’ he added. ‘All this time I’ve been watching where you live from out of my bedroom window and I’ve never even seen for myself what it’s like.’
‘You wouldn’t like it,’ said Shmuel. ‘Yours is much nicer,’ he added.
‘I’d still like to have seen it,’ said Bruno.
Shmuel thought for a few moments and then reached down and put his hand under the fence and lifted it a little, to the height where a small boy, perhaps the size and shape of Bruno, could fit underneath.
‘Well?’ said Shmuel. ‘Why don’t you then?’
Bruno blinked and thought about it. ‘I don’t think I’d be allowed,’ he said doubtfully.