Bruno was sure that he had never seen a skinnier or sadder boy in his life but decided that he had better talk to him.
And like that, Bruno and Shmuel became friends. Two boys with a liking for each other and a dire need to make friends. Two boys of incompatible social standings—the former the son of a ‘very important’ and ‘righteous’ Nazi soldier, the latter a lean, famished, dirty boy in striped pyjamas. Two boys separated by nothing but a fence.
The story explores the infamous Auschwitz through the eyes of a 9-year-old Bruno, and it makes me ponder—how big and transcendental are love, hate and fear!
Love, hate, fear—they are all very formidable forces. They make us act in very distinct ways.
Love nurtures.
What are you going to be when you grow up? I know! An explorer…
…says the old Pavel, who has never spoken to Bruno before. He would not today either, but Bruno fell off his swing and hurt his knee.
Bruno must be rushed to a hospital, lest he should bleed out, but Pavel says no need. How can he know—Pavel is not a doctor? Except, he says he is. Ever since Bruno has come to Out-With (Auschwitz), he has only seen him peeling potatoes; he is doing that as he speaks. Pavel peels potatoes, then returns to the farm outside his bedroom window—where everyone looks frail and scary, as if they have never been happy.
“But you peel potatoes,” Bruno says, annoyed.
“I practised as a doctor before I came here.”
“You could not have been much good then if you had to practice,” Bruno smirks. Old Pavel smiles. He lifts his eyes to look at Bruno, and says,
“What are you going to be when you grow up? I know! An explorer!”
“How do you know that?” Little Bruno asks, fascinated, and Pavel keeps smiling at him with disappointed, dreamy eyes.
Fear makes us fail people.
Just then, his mother walks in and gets shocked at what she sees.
The other day, when Bruno asked his father about the farm and its people, he said well, they’re not really people. Bruno did not know what that meant, but she did. She knew perfectly what that meant. She asks Bruno to leave, hushes him when he starts narrating what happened. Then, with her back facing Pavel, she promises not to tell anyone he touched Bruno.
Should she not have celebrated Pavel for that? A reward, a thanking gift, a warm acknowledgement at least? Or did she hate him? For what, then?
She held nothing against him. Yet, when she said thank you, her words were muffled, her eyes stuck at her feet. Fear cripples our ability to be human. It makes us run, and sometimes we leave people behind, abandoned.
Just like Bruno did that day when Lieutenant Kotler caught Shmuel eating the sweet he had given him.
He felt that he should say it one last time and really mean it. ‘I’m very sorry, Shmuel,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t tell him the truth. I’ve never let a friend down like that before. Shmuel, I’m ashamed of myself.’
When Kotler clutched Shmuel’s arm, Bruno must have wanted to rescue his friend—how disgusting Kotler could be. Yet when he turned to ask him, he froze. He could not claim his friend.
Kotler screamed, You’ll see what happens to rats who steal. Bruno kept staring at Shmuel but could say nothing.
Hate makes us indifferent at best, monsters at worst
The leader had promised the countrymen their country shall return to glory. For that, though, the people in the camps must be hated.
For the soldiers, they were not really people now.
And their wives were fine with that, as long as the atrocities and madness happened away from their homes. As long as their stomachs remained full, the hundreds in their backyard may starve. As long as their children did not have to see it, the hell may flourish.
We think we can reason our way to control, but we cannot.
When love, hate or fear consumes us, how far can our actions be driven by reason?
When Pavel sees Bruno bleeding, why does he dress his wound? He knows he is forbidden, and might even be beaten if caught. And could an officer look at a man, woman or child and tell if they were Jews? Could they, without those striped clothes? And what happened when Bruno decided to cross the fence, wear those same clothes and go with Shmuel to find his friend’s father?
“And then the room went very dark and somehow, despite the chaos that followed, Bruno found that he was still holding Shmuel’s hand in his own and nothing in the world would have persuaded him to let go.”
Love, hate and fear are bigger than us. They flow, simply flow, sweeping along everything/everyone who falls in their way. They are incapable of differentiating, so we deploy reason to do so. When they consume us, however, our frail reason only ever stands so much.
The little choice we have is what we let consume us.
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