I Could Have Done More

by Madamoiselle Maxine Chatterly

9 year old Bruno followed his friend into hell, and has returned. Now, he has to build his life from the ground up. The only place he remembers, however vaguely, is the house he left 9 years ago. He has no choice but to go back. But is anyone there?

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Father's study was always off limits. Bruno remembered that very well, because it had always been a source of wonder and mild irritation. "Off-Limits-And-No-Exceptions" was what he had always called it.

Now, as he walked down to the second floor of the three-story house, he chuckled and tried to imagine what his mother and father would have said back then if he went exploring in the study. He couldn't remember their faces, but he could remember their voices.

As he approached the door to his father's study, once again he found himself marveling at his own memory. He hadn't even realized that he was walking to his father study. He simply hoped to stumble upon it. He looked at the wood of the door, touched it, and walked in.

He was instantly overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia. The ceiling was high, the carpet was soft, and the bookcases still towered over him like mountains. The windows, too, were still enormous. As his eyes glimpsed over the room, they landed on an oak desk. With a strong feeling of trepidation (for what, he did not know), Bruno sat behind the desk. He turned in the huge chair to look outside the windows behind him and was mesmerized by the view. He could see the whole of the garden through them.

He turned once more, and found himself facing an armchair. Another wave of nostalgia rushed through him and he found himself wrapped up in a memory not quite as comfortable as the chair he was in.

"So?" Father asked. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" asked Bruno. "What do I think of what?"

"Of your new home. Do you like it?"

"No," said Bruno quickly, because he always tried to be honest and knew that if he hesitated for even a moment then he wouldn't have the nerve to say what he really thought. "I think we should go home."

Bruno felt looming sadness as he remembered how his father's face had fallen slightly.

"Well, we are at home, Bruno," he said finally in a gentle voice. "Auschwitz is our new home."

"But when can we go back to Berlin?"

"Come, come, let's have none of that. A home is not a building or a street or a city or something so artificial as bricks and mortar. A home is where one's family is, isn't that right?"

"Yes but –"

"And our family is here, Bruno. At Auschwitz."

Bruno was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the room. He heard Maria calling, and he left, as if he were being followed.