whether he ought to squirm away and sit up straight. What if the conductor came and saw him all curled up against Mamusia? But he couldn’t resist.
She had tried to make him understand again last night. That Papa wanted them to go, just like Arthur and his other friends. She had cried a little then quickly wiped the tears away. He couldn’t bear to see her crying. It made him angry too. Angry at her. But more angry at everyone else. He mustn’t let her cry again. He would take care of her. And Stefcia. After all, he was in double figures now. And he had Papa’s binoculars. They hung black and solid against his chest. He flicked open the snap on the leather case and adjusted them to his eyes, first the little knob in the middle, then the two separate lenses, just like Papa had shown him. Now he could see the trees from up close, could almost make out the details of leaves and yes, a fat brown clump of cones, clinging to the needles of a pine behind. But it was hard to keep it all steady with the chugging of the train.
The Krakow station was noisy with the rattle of porters’ trolleys and voices blaring Polish over loudspeakers. It was hard to understand what they said. It was two years, no three, since they had come here, because his grandparents had been to stay with them instead, up in the hills above Vienna so that Papa could come and visit on weekends. But here was his grandfather now, trying to lift him up in his arms and then with a laugh giving up and hugging him instead, his little man. His big moustache was a soft scrubbingbrush tickling Bruno’s face. Grandpa had round smiling eyes, and his hair was cut like a porcupine, all bristly, and he was grinning and grinning, kissing Mamusia, even kissing Stefcia and holding Anna high up in the air and bringing her down again, up, down, so that her curls tumbled round her plump cheeks and she chortled and then laughed that joyous laugh of hers, like some wild bird.
A porter put them and all their things into a beautiful black car. They hadn’t really brought very much, though his mother had allowed his beetle collection, because he wanted to add to it over the summer, and some of his favourite books. The car took them round the big square with its covered central market, the Sukiennice , his grandfather said, asking him to repeat it so he did and then passed a church which looked even bigger than the Stephansdom and had a tower topped with lots of spires. He could just see them if he bent forward.
Home, as his mother loudly announced was only a few minutes away, round one corner into a narrow street, then another, and they were there in a big pale yellow house, with curly windows and grandma was inside and the hugging started again. Grandma didn’t look the same. She had grown smaller, and her hair was streaked grey and white and black, but he remembered the softness of her voice, which had a kind of lilting music. He was going to have his own room she told him, but not here. Here he would share with Stefcia, which he didn’t mind at all, since they chatted like old mates way into the night. First though, there was dinner at the huge linen-covered table that sparkled with silver and crystal. He watched his grandmother light candles and mutter some strange incantation as she wafted the smoke of the candles towards her. He noticed his mother and Grandpa exchanging looks and then a shrug and then they were all eating, and Grandma explained to him that she had been praying, welcoming in the Sabbath and thanking God for the good things they were about to eat. His grandfather seemed a little impatient with God and made a joke, saying that women always turned to him and to ritual when their men failed them. His grandfather was always making jokes Bruno wasn’t too sure he understood. But Grandpa gave him wine to drink, which made him feel very grown up.
Later while he was laying out a game of solitaire his grandfather had shown him how to play, he overheard him
She had tried to make him understand again last night. That Papa wanted them to go, just like Arthur and his other friends. She had cried a little then quickly wiped the tears away. He couldn’t bear to see her crying. It made him angry too. Angry at her. But more angry at everyone else. He mustn’t let her cry again. He would take care of her. And Stefcia. After all, he was in double figures now. And he had Papa’s binoculars. They hung black and solid against his chest. He flicked open the snap on the leather case and adjusted them to his eyes, first the little knob in the middle, then the two separate lenses, just like Papa had shown him. Now he could see the trees from up close, could almost make out the details of leaves and yes, a fat brown clump of cones, clinging to the needles of a pine behind. But it was hard to keep it all steady with the chugging of the train.
The Krakow station was noisy with the rattle of porters’ trolleys and voices blaring Polish over loudspeakers. It was hard to understand what they said. It was two years, no three, since they had come here, because his grandparents had been to stay with them instead, up in the hills above Vienna so that Papa could come and visit on weekends. But here was his grandfather now, trying to lift him up in his arms and then with a laugh giving up and hugging him instead, his little man. His big moustache was a soft scrubbingbrush tickling Bruno’s face. Grandpa had round smiling eyes, and his hair was cut like a porcupine, all bristly, and he was grinning and grinning, kissing Mamusia, even kissing Stefcia and holding Anna high up in the air and bringing her down again, up, down, so that her curls tumbled round her plump cheeks and she chortled and then laughed that joyous laugh of hers, like some wild bird.
A porter put them and all their things into a beautiful black car. They hadn’t really brought very much, though his mother had allowed his beetle collection, because he wanted to add to it over the summer, and some of his favourite books. The car took them round the big square with its covered central market, the Sukiennice , his grandfather said, asking him to repeat it so he did and then passed a church which looked even bigger than the Stephansdom and had a tower topped with lots of spires. He could just see them if he bent forward.
Home, as his mother loudly announced was only a few minutes away, round one corner into a narrow street, then another, and they were there in a big pale yellow house, with curly windows and grandma was inside and the hugging started again. Grandma didn’t look the same. She had grown smaller, and her hair was streaked grey and white and black, but he remembered the softness of her voice, which had a kind of lilting music. He was going to have his own room she told him, but not here. Here he would share with Stefcia, which he didn’t mind at all, since they chatted like old mates way into the night. First though, there was dinner at the huge linen-covered table that sparkled with silver and crystal. He watched his grandmother light candles and mutter some strange incantation as she wafted the smoke of the candles towards her. He noticed his mother and Grandpa exchanging looks and then a shrug and then they were all eating, and Grandma explained to him that she had been praying, welcoming in the Sabbath and thanking God for the good things they were about to eat. His grandfather seemed a little impatient with God and made a joke, saying that women always turned to him and to ritual when their men failed them. His grandfather was always making jokes Bruno wasn’t too sure he understood. But Grandpa gave him wine to drink, which made him feel very grown up.
Later while he was laying out a game of solitaire his grandfather had shown him how to play, he overheard him
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