Chapter 11

Bruno lay on the couch in the parlor room, talking to Maria, who was sitting in one of the chairs stitching up a hole in a pair of pants.

"Maria," Bruno said, "Where is Pavel?"

Maria was silent. She continued to sow as if she'd heard nothing, until Bruno repeated his question.

"Burned."

Bruno propped himself up on one elbow and gazed at her, confused. She looked back at him. It took a while it to sink in, but when it did, Bruno dropped his elbow and looked up at the ceiling. "No. Pavel was Jewish?"

"Yes." Maria heaved a heavy sigh. The room was silent, but pregnant with the questions neither of them would ask. Bruno desperately wanted to know what had gone on between them. He had often seen them talking when he was a child, and he had often entertained the notion that perhaps Pavel and Maria were lovers.

"Maria – "

"No, Bruno," she responded sharply, "we were not lovers."

Bruno looked down and fidgeted with a loose string on the couch. He still couldn't let go of the notion. He struggled to bring back a clear picture of them. He couldn't remember them anymore. He remembered the idea, but not the memories. This lack of memory brought him new sadness. He rolled over to face the back of the couch.

"We had something though," Maria said, pensively. Bruno rolled back on his back.

"What happened? I mean," he added, "other then, you know…" His voice trailed off into silence.

"Well," Maria said, and for a moment, she dropped her stitching, "We were good friends. Alright," she amended after Bruno gave her a skeptical look, "we were very good friends."

She stopped. Bruno waited a moment, then, when she didn't resume her story, said, "Well? What happened?"

"He was sent to a camp somewhere in the country."

"By who? Was it Kotler?"

At that moment, Ralf stormed in.

"You! You have a lot of nerve, boy, embarrassing me like that. You –"

Maria stepped in and said, "Sir, he's just a boy. He's prone to things like this. He –"

Ralf quelled her with a look. "Maria, don't make me regret helping you. Please retire to your room."

Maria hovered for a moment, then left, squeezing Bruno's shoulder as she left. Bruno wanted to tell her to stay, wanted to tell her he'd feel better if she stood next to him, but he remained silent. He would not play the weak. Not in front of his father; not in front of anyone.

Maria paused at the door, and turned to say something, but shut it with a slam when Ralf snapped, "Out!"

Bruno, who still lay on the couch, felt a wave of apprehension. What was going to happen to him? He had nowhere to go. What if he was kicked out? With a shudder, he thought of the cold alleyways and wet streets he'd be forced to wander for the rest of his life.

Suddenly furious with himself for his thoughts, he resolved to leave with dignity and do his best to find his mother. After all, he was still an explorer.

His father looked down at him. Ralf rubbed his face, exhausted. "Bruno," he said, "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that."

"You're pushing me away. I don't want that to happen."

"Then don't let it happen."

Bruno kept his voice curt. Ralf brought a chair over and sat down. "I can't say I understand what you went through. I understand what it felt like to watch. But not to feel. So, that being said, I'm sorry about what I said. I was angry, and so were you. "

Bruno was silent.

"I hope we can be as close as we used to be."

"We weren't close."

"Fine. But maybe we can fix that."

"Maybe." Bruno's reply was short. He hoped it would make his father go away. Bruno held no rancor, but he had trouble trusting a man who had knowingly sent children to their deaths in Auschwitz.

Ralf was silent for a moment. "Bruno, you should go get some rest."

"I'm not tired." But the first strings of sleep began to tug at his eyes.

"Alright. Well, I'll send for your mother tomorrow, and you can wait for her here. It shouldn't take more than a week for her to arrive. Maybe we could go into the city, and I could show you around."

Bruno yawned involuntarily. "Unh huh…" and he fell asleep.