Chapter 8
"Do you think he should go to the doctor?"
"Of course, Maria. That's the logical answer to this."
Bruno rolled over. "Nnn."
He rolled over on his other side. Leave me alone.
"Bruno?"
Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently. He pried his eyes open and rolled onto his back. He found himself looking up at Maria, and a well kept middle aged man who seemed vaguely familiar. Vaguely.
"Bruno," said the man, "It has been so long."
Something in that deep, resonating voice triggered Bruno's memory. "Father?"
His father beamed, and he held out a hand. Just like old times, thought Bruno, shaking his hand. His father stood for a moment with a faltering smile, and then awkwardly put his arms around his son. Bruno returned the hug half heartedly. His father had never been much of a sentimental man back when Bruno was nine, and, in Bruno's opinion, it was too late to start now.
"Sir, would you like some breakfast?" Maria asked, smiling through tears. It seemed to Bruno as if Maria was always close to tears now. At least some things changed.
Bruno's father stood up and nodded. He left the room, but stopped at the door. He seemed on the verge of a sentence, but thought better of it and left.
Maria was still in the room. "Bruno," she said, speaking softly, as if she was afraid she would injure his by speaking louder, "I set some clothes out. They're your father's, and they might be a bit large, but they'll do."
Bruno nodded. "Thank you, Maria," he said, and began getting ready for breakfast.