Chapter 3
Bruno walked down to the dining room without even registering where his legs were taking him. He remembered something one of his friends had told him a few months before he had left Berlin. Why he remembered it, he didn't know, and he didn't honestly care. Just as long as he remembered something, he was fine.
As his legs continued taking him along the hallway, he remembered the words:
"A good explorer never forgets places explored."
Don't I know it, he thought bitterly. His exploring had led him into a lot of messy spots, including his six year incarceration in Auschwitz.
As he turned a corner, he caught sight of Maria bustling about with a tray of food, no doubt his breakfast.
"Maria," he called after her. She turned, and Bruno's felt his cheeks burn with shame when she smiled a motherly smile at him.
"Yes? Did you wash your hands?" Bruno rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Maria. I'm sorry about raising my voice upstairs." And he was. He truly was. He had always been respectful to Maria when he had lived in the house. There was no reason that should change.
"It's quite alright, Bruno. I have kids of my own you know. I'm used to a little back talk."
"But not from me," said Bruno, more to himself. It made him feel even worse that she hadn't scolded him. After all those years in Auschwitz, he should have the decency to thank her for her kindness.
"Bruno," she said, cutting into his thoughts, "you never told me."
"Told you what?" Bruno took the tray out of her hand. Trays. Always trays.
"Where you've been."
Bruno, who had been walking towards the dining room, or, rather, being carried by his legs to the dining room, stopped in his tracks.
He stood there for a few minutes, deciding whether to tell her or not. He decided not to.
He placed the tray on the dining room table gently. He didn't want Maria to think he was angry.
"Bruno?"
Bruno turned, and one look into Maria's eyes told him she was piecing things together.
"You know where I've been."
He turned and sat. Picked up the bread on his plate and pulled off a piece; ate it. He repeated the process over and over again, until Maria left. It hurt him not to trust her, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. He wasn't ready to tell her everything.