Free The Boy at the Top of the Mountain by John Boyne Page B

for a walk and Anshel was downstairs ready to teach Pierrot silent words through fingers and thumbs.
    Beatrix raised a hand in the air, and he waited a moment before raising his own in reply and walking over, growing curious now as to what his new life would entail.

C HAPTER S IX
A Little Less French, a Little More German
    The following morning Beatrix came into Pierrot’s bedroom to tell him that they were going to take a trip down the mountain in order to buy him some new clothes.
    ‘The things you brought with you from Paris were not suitable for here,’ she said, glancing round and walking over to close the door. ‘The master has very strict ideas about such things. And it will be safer for you to wear traditional German clothing anyway. Your own clothes were a little too bohemian for his tastes.’
    ‘Safer?’ asked Pierrot, surprised by her choice of words.
    ‘It wasn’t easy to persuade him to let you come here,’ she explained. ‘He’s not accustomed to children. I had to promise that you would be no trouble.’
    ‘Doesn’t he have any of his own?’ Pierrot had hoped that there might be another child his age who would come when the master did.
    ‘No. And it would be best if you didn’t do anything to upset him, in case he decides to send you back to Orleans.’
    ‘The orphanage wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,’ said Pierrot. ‘Simone and Adèle were very kind to me.’
    ‘I’m sure they were. But it’s family that matters. And you and I are family. The only family that either one of us has left. We must never let each other down.’
    Pierrot nodded, but there was one thing that he had been thinking about ever since his aunt’s letter arrived. ‘Why did we never meet until now?’ he asked. ‘How come you never visited Papa, Maman and me in Paris?’
    Beatrix shook her head and stood up. ‘That’s not a story for today,’ she said. ‘But we’ll talk about it another time if you like. Now come along, you must be hungry.’
    After breakfast they made their way outside to where Ernst was leaning casually against the car, reading a newspaper. When he looked up and saw them, he smiled and folded it in half, placing it under his arm and opening the back door. Pierrot glanced at his uniform – how smart it looked! – and wondered whether his aunt might be persuaded to buy him something like that. He’d always liked uniforms. His father had kept one in a wardrobe in their Paris apartment – an apple-green cloth tunic with a rounded collar, six buttons running down the centre, and trousers to match – but never wore it. Once, when Papa caught Pierrot trying on the jacket, he had frozen in the doorway, unable to move, and Maman had scolded her son for rooting around in things that were not his.
    ‘Good morning, Pierrot!’ said the chauffeur cheerfully, tousling the boy’s hair. ‘Did you sleep well?’
    ‘Very well, thank you.’
    ‘I had a dream last night that I was playing football for Germany,’ said Ernst. ‘I scored the winning goal against the English and everyone cheered as I was carried off the field on the shoulders of the other players.’
    Pierrot nodded. He didn’t like it when people recounted their dreams. Like some of Anshel’s more complicated stories, they never really made any sense.
    ‘Where to, Fräulein Fischer?’ Ernst asked, bowing low before Beatrix and tipping his cap dramatically.
    She laughed as she climbed into the back seat. ‘I must have received a promotion, Pierrot,’ she said. ‘Ernst never refers to me in such respectful terms. Into town, please. Pierrot needs new clothes.’
    ‘Don’t listen to her,’ said Ernst, taking his place in the driver’s seat and turning the ignition on. ‘Your aunt knows how highly I think of her.’
    Pierrot turned to look at Beatrix, whose eyes were meeting the chauffeur’s in the rear-view mirror, and noticed the half-smile that lit up her face and the slight flush of red that appeared on her