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WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1, 1944Dearest Kitty,
My own affairs have been pushed to the background by . . . a break-in. Im b you with all my break-ins, but what I do when burglars take such pleasure in h Gies & Go. with their presehis i is much more plicated than the last one, in July 1943.
Last night at seven-thirty Mr. van Daan was heading, as usual, for Mr. Kuglers office when he saw that both the glass door and the office door were open. He was surprised, but he went on through and was even more astoo see that the alcove doors were open as well and that there was a terrible mess in the front office.
"Theres been a burglary" flashed through his mind. But just to make sure, he went downstairs to the front door, checked the lod found everything closed. "Bep aer must just have been very careless this evening," Mr. van. D. cluded. He remained for a while in Mr. Kuglers office, switched off the lamp a upstairs without w much about the open doors or the messy office.
Early this m Peter k our door to tell us that the front door was wide
open and that the projector and Mr. Kuglers new briefcase had disappeared from the closet. Peter was instructed to lock the door. Mr. van Daan told us his discoveries of the night before, and we were extremely worried.
The only explanation is that the burglar must have had a duplicate key, sihere were no signs of a forced entry. He must have sneaked in early in the evening, shut the door behind him, hidden himself when he heard Mr. van Daan, fled with the loot after Mr. van Daa upstairs and, in his hurry, not bothered to shut the door.
Who could have our key? Why didnt the burglar go to the warehouse? Was it one of our own warehouse employees, and will he turn us in, now that hes heard Mr. van Daan and maybe even seen him?
Its really scary, since we dont know whether the burglar will take it into his head to try a in again. Or was he so startled when he heard someone else in the building that hell stay away?
Yours, Anne
P.S. Wed be delighted if you could hunt up a good detective for us. Obviously, theres one dotion: he must be relied upon not to mform on people in hiding.
THURSDAY, MARCH 2, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Margot and I were iic together today. I t enjoy being there with her the way I imagid be with Peter (or someone else). I know she feels the same about most things as I do!
While doing the dishes, Bep began talking to Mother and Mrs. van Daan about how disced she gets. What help did those two offer her? Our tactless mother, especially, only made things go from bad to worse. Do you know what her advice was? That she should think about all the other people in the world who are suffering!
How thinking about the misery of others help if youre miserable yourself? I said as much. Their response, of course, was that I should stay out of versations of this sort.
The grown-ups are such idiots! As if Peter, Margot, Bep and I didnt all have the same feelings. The only thing that helps is a mothers love, or that of a very, very close friend. But these two mothers dont uand the first thing about us! Perhaps
Mrs. van Daan does, a bit more than Mother. Oh, I wish I could have said something to poor Bep, something that I know from my own experience would have helped. But Father came between us, pushing me roughly aside. Theyre all so stupid!
I also talked tot about Father and Mother, about how could be here if they werent so aggravating. Wed be able tanize evenings in which everyone could take turns discussing a given subject. But weve already been through all that.
Its impossible for me to talk here! Mr. van Daan goes on the offensive, Mets sarcastid t say anythina in a normal voice, Father doesnt feel like taking part, nor does Mr. Dussel, and Mrs. van D. is attacked so often that she just sits there with a red face, hardly able to put up a fight anymore. And what about us? We arent allowed to have an opinion! My, my, arent they progressive! Not have an opinion!
People tell you to shut up, but they t keep you from having an opinion. You t forbid someoo have an opinion, no matter how young they are! The only thing that would help Bep, Margot, Peter and me would be great love aion, which we do here. And no one, especially not the idiotic sages around here, is capable of uanding us, since were more sensitive and much more advanced in our thinking than any of them ever suspect!
Love, what is love? I dont think you really put it into words. Love is uanding someone, g for him, sharing his joys and sorrows. This eventually includes physical love. Youve shared something, given something away and received something iurn, whether or not youre married, whether or not you have a baby.
Losing your virtue doesnt matter, as long as you know that for as long as you live youll have someo your side who uands you, and who doesnt have to be shared with anyone else!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
At the moment, Mroug at me again; shes clearly jealous because I talk to Mrs. van Daan more than to her. What do I care!
I mao get hold of Peter this afternoon, aalked for at least forty-five minutes. He wao tell me something about himself, but didnt find it easy. He finally got it out, though it took a long time. I holy didnt know whether it was better for me to stay or to go. But I wanted so much to help him! I told him about Bep and how tactless our mothers are. He told me that his parents fight stantly, about politid cigarettes and all kinds of things. As Ive told you before, Peters very shy, but not too shy to admit that hed be perfectly happy not to see his parents for a year or two. "My father isnt as nice as he looks," he said. "But iter of the cigarettes, Mothers absolutely right."
I also told him about my mother. But he came to Fathers defense. He thought he was a "terrific guy.”
Tonight when I was hanging up my apron after doing the dishes, he called me over and asked me not to say anything downstairs about his parents having had anument and not being on speaking terms. I promised, though Id already told Margot.
But Im sure Margot wont pass it on.
"Oh no, Peter," I said, you dont have to worry about me. Ive learned not to blab everything I hear. I never repeat what you tell me.”
He was glad to hear that. I also told him what terrible gossips we are, and said, "Margots quite right, of course, when she says Im not being ho, because as much as I want to stop gossiping, theres nothing I like better than discussing Mr. Dussel.”
"Its good that you admit it," he said. He blushed, and his sincere pliment almost embarrassed me too.
Thealked about "upstairs" and "downstairs" some more. Peter was really rather surprised to hear that dont like his parents. "Peter," I said, "you know Im always ho, so why shouldnt I tell you this as well? We see their faults too.”
I added, "Peter, Id really like to help you. Will you let me? Youre caught in an aosition, and I know, even though you dont say anything, that it upsets you.”
"Oh, your help is always wele!”
"Maybe itd be better for you to talk to Father. You tell him anything, he wont pass it on.”
"I know, hes a real pal.”
"You like him a lot, dont you?”
Peter nodded, and I tinued, "Well, he likes you too, you know!”
He looked up quickly and blushed. It was really toug to see hoy these few words made him.
"You think so?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "You tell from the little things he lets slip now and then.”
Then Mr. van Daan came in to do some dictating.
Peters a "terrific guy," just like Father!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
FRIDAY, MARCH 3,1944
My dearest Kitty,
When I looked into the dle tonight, I felt calm and happy again. It seems Grandma is in that dle, and its Grandma who watches over and protects me and makes me feel happy again. But. . . theres someone else who governs all my moods and thats. .
. Peter. I went to get the potatoes today, and while I was standing oairway with my pan full, he asked, "What did you d the lunch break?”
I sat down oairs, and we began to talk. The potatoes didnt make it to the kit until five-fifteen (an hour after Id goo get them). Peter didnt say anything more about his parents; we just talked about books and about the past. Oh, he gazes at me with such warmth in his eyes; I dont think it will take mue to fall in love with him.
He brought the subject up this evening. I went to his room after peeling potatoes and remarked on how hot it was. "You tell the temperature by looking at Margot and me, because we turn white when its cold and red when its hot." I said.
"In love?" he asked.
"Why should I be in love?" It retty silly answer (or, rather, question).
"Why not?" he said, and then it was time for dinner.
What did he mean? Today I finally mao ask him whether my chatter bothered him. All he said was, "Oh, its fih me!" I t tell how much of his reply was due to shyness.
Kitty, I sound like someone whos in love and talk about nothing but her dearest
darling. Aer is a darling. Will I ever be able to tell him that? Only if he thinks the same of me, but Im the kind of person you have to treat with kid gloves, I know that all too well.
And he likes to be left alone, so I dont know how much he likes me. In any case, were getting to know each other a little better. I wish we dared to say more. But who knows, maybe that time will e soohan I think!
Once or twice a day he gives me a knowing glance, I wink back, and were both happy. It seems crazy to talk about his being happy, a I have the overwhelming feelihinks the same way I do.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
SATURDAY, MARCH 4, 1944
Dear Kitty,
This is the first Saturday in months that hasiresome, dreary and b. The reason is Peter. This m as I was on my way to the attic to hang up my apron, Father asked whether I wao stay and practice my French, and I said yes. We spoke French together for a while and I explained something to Peter, and then we worked on lish. Father read aloud from Dis, and I was ih heaven, since I was sitting on Fathers chair, close to Peter.
I went downstairs at quarter to eleven. When I went back up at eleven-thirty, Peter was already waiting for me oairs. We talked until quarter to one. Whenever I leave the room, for example after a meal, aer has a d no one else hear, he says, "Bye, Anne, see you later.”
Oh, Im so happy! I wonder if hes going to fall in love with me after all? In any case, hes a nice boy, and you have no idea how good it is to talk to him!
Mrs. van D. thinks its all right for me to talk to Peter, but today she asked me teasingly, " I trust you two up there?”
"Of course," I protested. "I take that as an insult!”
M, noon and night, I look forward to seeier.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
PS. Before I fet, last night everything was blaed in snow. Now its thawed and theres almost nothi.
MONDAY, MARCH 6, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Ever sier told me about his parents, Ive felt a certain sense of responsibthty toward him-dont you think thats stras as though their quarrels were just as much my business as his, a I dont dare bring it up anymore, because Im afraid it makes him unfortable. I wouldnt want to intrude, not for all the money in the world.
I tell by Peters face that he pohings just as deeply as I do. Last night I was annoyed when Mrs. van D. scoffed, "The thinker!" Peter flushed and looked embarrassed, and I nearly blew my top.
Why dont these people keep their mouths shut?
You t imagine what its like to have to stand on the sidelines and see how lonely he is, without being able to do anything. I imagine, a<bdo>?9９lｉｂ.</bdo>s if I were in his place, how despo he must sometimes feel at the quarrels. And about love. Poor Peter, he o be loved so much!
It sounded so cold when he said he didnt need any friends. Oh, hes s! I dont think he means it. He gs to his masity, his solitude and his feigned indif- ference so he maintain his role, so hell never, ever have to show his feelings.
Poor Peter, how long he keep it up? Wont he explode from this superhuman effort?
Oh, Peter, if only I could help you, if only you would let me! Together we could banish our loneliness, yours and mine!
Ive been doing a great deal of thinking, but not saying much. Im happy when I see him, and happier still if the sun shines wheogether. I washed my hair yesterday, and because I knew he was door, I was very rambunctious. I couldnt help it; the more quiet and serious I am on the ihe noisier I get oside!
Who will be the first to discover the k in my armor?
Its just as well that the van Daans dont have a daughter. My quest could never be so challenging, so beautiful and so h someone of the same sex!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
PS. You know Im always ho with you, so I think I should tell you that I live from one enter to the . I keep hoping to discover that hes dying to see me, and Im in raptures when I notice his bashful attempts. I think hed like to be able to express himself as easily as I do; little does he know its his awkwardhat I find so toug.
TUESDAY, MARCH 7,1944
Dearest Kitty,
When I think bay life in 1942, it all seems so unreal. The Anne Frank who ehat heaveence was pletely different from the one who has grown wise within these walls. Yes, it was heavenly. Five admirers on every street er, twenty or so friends, the favorite of most of my teachers, spoiled rotten by Father and Mother, bags full of dy and a big allowance. What more could anyone ask for?
Youre probably w how I could have charmed all those people. Peter says It s ecause I m "attractive," but that isnt it entirely. The teachers were amused aertained by my clever answers, my witty remarks, my smthng fad my critical mind. Thats all I was: a terrible flirt, coquettish and amusing. I had a few plus points, which kept me in everybodys good graces: I was hardw, ho and generous. I would never have refused anyone who wao peek at my answers, I was magnanimous with my dy, and I wasnt stuck-up.
Would all that admiratioually have made me overfident? Its a good thing that, at the height of my glory, I was suddenly plunged into reality. It took me more than a year to get used to doing without admiration.
How did they see me at school? As the class edian, the eternal ringleader, never in a bad mood, never a crybaby. Was it any wohat everyone wao bicycle to school with me or do me little favors?
I look back at that Anne Frank as a pleasant, amusing, but superficial girl, who has nothing to do with me. What did Peter say about me? "Whenever I saw you, you were
surrounded by a flock of girls and at least two boys, you were always laughing, and you were always the ter of attention!" He was right.
Whats remained of that Anne Frank? Oh, I havent fotten how to laugh or toss off a remark, Im just as good, if not better, at raking people over the coals, and I still flirt and be amusing, if I want to be . . .
But theres the catch. Id like to live that seemingly carefree and happy life for an evening, a few days, a week. At the end of that week Id be exhausted, and would be grateful to the first person to talk to me about something meaningful. I want friends, not admirers. Peo- ple who respect me for my character and my deeds, not my flattering smile. The circle around me would be much smaller, but what does that matter, as long as theyre sincere?
In spite of everything, I wasnt altogether happy in 1942; I ofte Id beeed, but because I was on the go all day long, I didnt think about it. I enjoyed myself as much as I could, trying sciously or unsciously to fill the void with jokes.
Looking back, I realize that this period of my life has irrevocably e to a close; my happy-go-lucky, carefree schooldays are gone forever. I dont even miss them. Ive outgrown them. I o longer just kid around, since my serious side is always there.
I see my life up to New Years 1944 as if I were looking through a powerful magnifying glass. When I was at home, my life was filled with sunshihen, in the middle of 1942, everything ged ht. The quarrels, the accusations -- I couldnt take it all in. I was caught off guard, and the only way I ko keep my bearings was to talk back.
The first half of 1943 brought g spells, loneliness and the gradual realization of my faults and short- ings, which were numerous and seemed even more so. I filled the day with chatter, tried to draw Pim closer to me and failed. This left me on my own to face the difficult task of improving myself so I wouldnt have to hear their reproaches, because they made me so despo.
The sed half of the year was slightly better. I became a teenager, and was treated more like a grown-up. I began to think about things and to write stories, finally ing to the clusion that the others no longer had anything to do with me. They had nht to swing me bad forth like a pendulum on a clock. I wao ge myself in my own way. I realized I could man- age without my mother, pletely and totally, and that hurt. But what affected me even more was the
realization that I was never going to be able to fide in Father. I didnt trust a myself.
After New Years the sed big ge occurred: my dream, through which I discovered my longing for . . . a boy; not firlfriend, but for a boyfriend. I also discovered an inner happiness underh my superficial and cheerful exterior. From time to time I was quiet. Now I live only for Peter, since what happens to me iure depends largely on him!
I lie i night, after ending my prayers with the words "Ich Janke air fur all das Cute una Liebe una Se,"* [* Thank you, God, for all that is good and dear aiful.] and Im filled with joy. I think of going into hiding, my health and my whole being as das Cute; Peters love (which is still so new and fragile and whieither of us dares to say aloud), the future, happiness and love as das Liebe; the world, nature and the tremendous beauty of everything, all that splendor, as das Se.
At suents I dont think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains. This is where Mother and I differ greatly. Her advi the faelancholy is: "Think about all the suffering in the world ahankful youre not part of it." My advice is: "Go outside, to the try, enjoy the sun and all nature has to o outside and try to recapture the happiness within yourself; think of all the beauty in yourself and ihing around you and be happy.”
I dont think Mothers advice be right, because what are you supposed to do if you bee part of the suffering? Youd be pletely lost. On the trary, beauty remains, even in misfortune. If you just look for it, you discover more and more happiness and regain your balance. A person whos happy will make others happy; a person who has ce and faith will never die in misery!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8, 1944
Margot and I have been writing each other notes, just for fun, of course.
As strange, but I only remember the day after what has happehe night before. For example, I suddenly remembered that Mr. Dussel was sn loudly last night. (Its now quarter to three on Wednesday af- ternoon and Mr. Dussel is sn again, which is why it flashed through my mind, of course.) When I had to use the potty, I deliberately made more o get the sn to stop.
Margot: Which is better, the sn or the gasping for air?
Ahe sns better, because it stops when I make noise, without waking the person iion.
What I didnt write tot, but what Ill fess to you, dear Kitty, is that Ive been dreaming of Peter a great deal. The night before last I dreamed I was skating right here in our living room with that little boy from the Apollo ice-skating rink; he was with his sister, the girl with the spindly legs who always wore the same blue dress. I introduced myself, overdoing it a bit, and asked him his eter.
In my dream I wondered just hoeters I actually knew!
Then I dreamed we were standing iers room, fag each other beside the stairs.
I said something to him; he gave me a kiss, but replied that he didnt love me all that mud that I shouldnt flirt. In a desperate and pleading voice I said, "Im not flirting, Peter!”
When I woke up, I was glad Peter hasnt said it after all.
Last night I dreamed we were kissing each other, but Peters cheeks were very disappointing: they werent as soft as they looked. They were more like Fathers cheeks -- the cheeks of a man who already shaves.
FRIDAY, MARCH 10, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
The proverb "Misfortunes never e singly" defi- nitely applies to today. Peter just got through saying it. Let me tell you all the awful things that have happened and that are still hanging over our heads.
First, Miep is sick, as a result of Henk and Aagjes weddierday. She caught cold in the Westerkerk, where the service was held. Sed, Mr. Kleiman hasuro work sihe last time his stomach started bleeding, so Beps beeo hold down the fort alohird, the police have arrested a man (whose name I wont put in writing). Its terrible not only for him, but for us as well, since hes been supplying us with potatoes, butter and jam. Mr. M., as Ill call him, has five children uhe age of thirteen, and another on the way.
Last night we had another little scare: we were in the middle of dinner when suddenly someone knocked on the wall door. For the rest of the evening we were nervous and gloomy.
Lately I havent been at all in the mood to write down whats been going on here. Ive been more ed up in myself. Do me wrong, Im terribly upset about whats happeo pood-hearted Mr. M., but theres not mu for him in my diary.
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I was iers room from four-thirty to five-fifteen. We <big>?９9lib.</big>worked on our Frend chatted about ohing and another. I really look forward to that hour or so iernoon, but best of all is that I thiers just as pleased to see me.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL 213 SATURDAY, MARCH 11, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
I havent been able to sit still lately. I wander up- stairs and down and then back again. I like talking to Peter, but Im always afraid of being a nuisance. Hes told me a bit about the past, about his parents and about himself, but its not enough, and every five minutes I wonder why I find myself longing for more. He used to think I was a real pain in the neck, and the feeling was mutual. Ive ged my mind, but how do I know hes ged his? I think he has, but that doesnt necessarily mean we have to bee the best of friends, although as far as Im ed, it would make our time here more bearable. But I wohis drive me crazy. I spend enough time thinking about him and dont have to get you all worked up as well, simply because Im so miserable!
SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Things are getting crazier here as the days go by.
Peter hasnt looked at me since yesterday. Hes been ag as if hes mad at me. Im doing my best not to chase after him and to talk to him as little as possible, but its
not easy! Whats going on, what makes him keep me at arms length one minute and rush bay side the ? Perhaps Im imagining that its worse than it really is.
Perhaps hes just moody like me, and tomorrow everything will be all right again!
I have the hardest time trying to maintain a normal facade when Im feeling so wretched and sad. I have to talk, help around the house, sit with the others and, above all, act cheerful! Most of all I miss the outdoors and having a place where I be alone for as long as I want! I think Im getting everything all mixed up, Kitty, but then, Im in a state of utter fusion: on the one hand, Im half crazy with desire for him, hardly be in the same room without looking at him; and oher hand, I wonder why he should matter to me so mud why I t be calm again!
Day and night, during every waking hour, I do nothing but ask myself, "Have you given him enough ce to be alone? Have you been spending too much time upstairs? Do you talk too much about serious subjects hes not yet ready to talk about? Maybe he doesnt even like you? Has it all been your imagination? But then why has he told you so much about himself? Is he sorry he did?" And a whole lot more.
Yesterday afternoon I was so worn out by the sad news from the outside that I lay down on my divan for a nap. All I wanted was to sleep and not have to think. I slept until four, but then I had to go door. It wasnt easy, answering all Mothers questions and iing an excuse to explain my nap to Father. I pleaded a headache, which wasnt a lie, since I did have one. . . on the inside!
Ordinary people, ordinary girls, teenagers like myself, would think Im a little nuts with all my self-pity. But thats just it. I pour my heart out to you, and the rest of the time Im as impudent, cheerful and self-fident as possible to avoid questions and keep from getting on my own nerves.
Margot is very kind and would like me to fide in her, but I t tell her everything. She takes me too seriously, far too seriously, and spends a lot of time thinking about her loony sister, looking at me closely whenever I open my mouth and w, "Is she ag, or does she really mean it?”
Its because were always together. I dont want the person I fide in to be around me all the time. When will I untangle my jumbled thoughts? When will I find inner peace again?
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, MARCH 14, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
It might be amusing for you (though not for me) to hear what were going to eat today. The ing lady is w downstairs, so at the moment Im seated at the van Daans oilcloth-covered table with a handkerchief sprinkled with fragrant preerfume pressed to my nose and mouth. You probably dont have the fai idea what Im talking about, so let me "begin at the begin- ning." The people who supply us with food coupons have been arrested, so we have just our five black-market ra- -, tion books-no coupons, no fats and oils. Since Miep and Mr. Kleiman are sick again, Bep t mahe shop- ping. The food is wretched, and so are we. As of tomor- roont have a scrap of fat, butter or margarine. We t eat fried potatoes for breakfast (which weve been doing to save on bread), so were having hot cereal instead, and because Mrs. van D. thinks were starving, we bought some half-and-half. Lunch today sists of mashed potatoes and pickled kale. This explains the precautionary measure with the handkerchief. You wouldnt believe how much kale stink when its a few years old! The kit smells like a mixture of spoiled plums, rotten eggs and brine. Ugh, just the thought of having to eat that muck makes me want to throw up! Besides that, our potatoes have tracted such strange diseases that o of every two buckets of pommes de terre winds up in the garbage. We eain ourselves by trying to figure out which disease theyve got, and weve reached the clusion that they suffer from cer, smallpox and measles.
Holy, being in hiding during the fourth year of the war is no piic. If only the whole stinking mess were over!
To tell you the truth, the food wouldnt matter so mue if life here were more pleasant in other ways. But thats just it: this tedious existence is starting to make us all disagreeable. Here are the opinions of the five grown-ups on the present situation (childre allowed to have opinions, and for once Im stig to the rules):
Mrs. van Daan: "Id stopped wanting to be queen of the kit long ago. But sitting around doing nothing was b, so I went back to cooking. Still, I t help plaining: its impossible to cook without oil, and all those disgusting smells make me siy stomach. Besides, what do I get iurn for my efforts? Ingratitude and rude remarks. Im always the black sheep; I get blamed for everything. Whats more, its my opinion that the war is making very little progress. The Germans will win in the end. Im terrified that were going to starve, and when Im in a bad mood, I snap at everyone who es near.”
Mr. van Daan: "I just smoke and smoke and smoke. Then the food, the political
situation and Kerlis moods dont seem so bad. Kerlis a sweetheart. If I dont have anything to smoke, I get sick, then I o eat meat, life bees unbearable, nothings good enough, and theres bound to be a flaming row. My Kerlis an idiot.”
Mrs. Frank: "Foods not very important, but Id love a slice of rye bread right now, because Im so hungry. If I were Mrs. van Daan, Id have put a stop to Mr. van Daans smoking long ago. But I desperately need a cigarette now, because my heads in such a whirl. The van Daans are horrible people; the English may make a lot of mistakes, but the war is progressing. I should keep my mouth shut and be grateful Im not in Poland.”
Mr. Frank: "Everythings fine, I dont need a thing. Stay calm, weve got plenty of time. Just give me my potatoes, and Ill be quiet. Better set aside some of my rations for Bep. The political situation is improving, Im extremely optimistic.”
Mr. Dussel: "I must plete the task Ive set for myself, everything must be finished on time. The political situation is looking gut, its eempossible for us to get caught.
Me, me, me . . . .”
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Whew! Released from the gloom and doom for a few moments! All Ive been hearing today is: "If this and that happens, were in trouble, and if so-and-so gets sick, well be left to fend for ourselves, and if . . .”
Well, you know the rest, or at any rate I assume youre famthar enough with the residents of the Ao guess what theyd be talking about.
The reason for all the "ifs" is that Mr. Kugler has been called up for a six-day work detail, Bep is down with a bad cold and will probably have to stay home tomorrow, Miep hasnt gotten over her flu, and Mr. Kleimans stom- ach bled so much he lost sciousness. What a tale of woe!
We think Mr. Kugler should go directly to a reliable doctor for a medical certificate of ill health, which he present to the City Hall in Hilversum. The warehouse -- employees have been given a day off tomorrow, so Bep will be alone in the office. If (theres another "if) Bep has to stay home, the door will remain locked and well have
to be as quiet as mice so the Keg pany wont hear us. At one oclock Jan will e for half an hour to che us poor forsaken souls, like a zookeeper.
This afternoon, for the first time in ages, Jan gave us some news of the outside world. You should have seen us gathered around him; it looked exactly like a print:
"At Grandmothers Knee.”
He regaled his grateful audieh talk of-what else?-food. Mrs. P., a friend of Mieps, has been cooking his meals. The day before yesterday Jan ate carrots with green peas, yesterday he had the leftovers, today shes cooking marroeas, and tomorrow shes plan- ning to mash the remaining carrots with potatoes.
We asked about Mieps doctor.
"Doctor?" said Jan. "What doctor? I called him this m and got his secretary on the line. I asked for a flu prescription and was told I could e pick it up tomor- row m betwee and nine. If youve got a particularly bad case of flu, the doctor himself es to the phone and says, Stick out your tongue and say "Aah.”
Oh, I hear it, your throats ied. Ill write out a prescription and you bring it to the phar- macy. Good day. And thats that. Easy job hes got, diagnosis by phone. But I shouldnt blame the doctors." After all, a person has only two hands, and these days therere too many patients and too few doctors.”
Still, we all had a good laugh at Jans phone call. I just imagine what a doctors waiting room looks like these days. Doctors no lourn up their the poorer patients, but at those with minor illnesses. "Hey, what are you doing here?”
they think. "Go to the end of the line; real patients have priority!”
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
The weather is geous, indescribably beautiful; Ill be going up to the atti a moment.
I now know why Im so much more restless thaer. He has his own room, where he work, dream, think and sleep. Im stantly being chased from one er to another. Im never alone in the room I share with Dussel, though I long to be so much. Thats another reason I take refuge iic. When Im there, or with you, I
be myself, at least for a little while. Still, I dont want to moan and groan. On the trary, I want to be brave!
Thank goodhe others notiothing of my innermost feelings, except that every day Im growing cooler and more ptuous of Mother, less affe- ate to Father and less willing to share a sihought with Margot; Im closed up tighter than a drum. Above all, I have to maintain my air of fideno one must know that my heart and mind are stantly at war with each other. Up to now reason has always wotle, but will my emotiohe upper hand? Sometimes I fear they will, but more often I actually hope they do!
Oh, its so terribly hard not to talk to Peter about these things, but I know I have to let him begin; its so hard to act during the daytime as if everything Ive said and done in my dreams had aken place! Kitty, Anne is crazy, but then these are crazy times and even crazier circumstances.
The part is being able to write down all my thoughts and feelings; otherwise, Id absolutely suffocate. I wonder eter thinks about all these things? I keep thinking Ill be able to talk to him about them one day. He must have guessed something about the inner me, since he couldnt possibly love the outer Anne hes known so far! How could someone like Peter, who loves pead quiet, possibly stand my bustle and noise? Will he be the first and only person to see whats beh my granite mask? Will it take him long? Isnt there some old saying about love being akin to pity? Isnt that whats happening here as well? Because I often pity him as much as I do myself!
I holy dont know how to begin, I really dont, so how I expect Peter to when talking is so much harder for him? If only I could write to him, then at least hed know what I was trying to say, sis so hard to say it out loud!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
FRIDAY, MARCH 17, 1944
My dearest darling, Everything turned out all right after all; Bep just had a sore throat, not the flu, and Mr. Kugler got a medical certificate to excuse him from the work detail. The entire Annex breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everythings fine here! Except that Margot and I are rather tired of our parents.
Do me wrong. I still love Father as much as ever and Margot loves both Father and Mother, but when youre as old as we are, you want to make a few decisions for yourself, get out from uheir thumb. Whenever I go upstairs, they ask what Im going to do, they wo me salt my food, Mother asks me every evening at eight-fifteen if it isnt time for me to ge into my nighty, I and they have to approve every book I read. I must admit, theyre not at all strict about that a me read nearly everything, but Margot and I are sid tired of having to listen to their ents and questions all day long.
Theres something else that displeases them: I no longer feel like giving them little kisses m, noon and night. All those cute niames seem so affected, and Fathers fondness for talking about farting and going to the bathroom is disgusting. In short, Id like nothier than to do without their pany for a while, and they dont uand that. Not that Margot and I have ever said any of this to them. What would be the point? They wouldnt uand anyway.
Margot said last night, "What really bothers me is that if you happen to put your head in your hands and sigh once or twice, they immediately ask whether you have a headache or dont feel well.”
For both of us, its been quite a blow to suddenly realize that very little remains of the close and harmoni- ous family we used to have at home! This is mostly because everythings out of kilter here. By that I mean that were treated like childre es to external matters, while, inwardly, were much older than irls e.
Even though Im only fourteen, I know what I want, I know whht and wh, I have my own opinions, ideas and principles, and though it may sound odd ing from a teenager, I feel Im more of a person than a child -- I feel Im pletely indepe of others. I know Im better at debating or carrying on a discussion than Mother, I know Im more objective, I dont exaggerate as much, Im much tidier aer with my hands, and because of that I feel (this may make you laugh) that Im superior to her in many ways. To love someone, I have to admire and respect the person, but I feel her respeor admiration for Mother!
Everything would be all right if only I had Peter, since I admire him in many ways.
Hes so det and clever!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
SATURDAY, MARCH 18, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Ive told you more about myself and my feelings than Ive ever told a living soul, so why shouldnt that include sex?
Parents, and people in general, are very peculiar when it es to sex. Instead of telling their sons and daughters everything at the age of twelve, they send the children out of the room the moment the subject arises and leave them to find out everything on their own. Later on, when parents notice that their children have, somehow, e by their information, they assume they know more (or less) than they actually do. So why dont they try to make amends by asking them whats what?
A major stumbling block for the adults -- though in my opinion its no more than a pebble -- is that theyre afraid their children will no longer look upon marriage as sacred and pure ohey realize that, in most cases, this purity is a lot of nonsense.
As far as Im ed, its n for a man t a little experieo a marriage. After all, it has nothing to do with the marriage itself, does it?
Soon after I turned eleven, they told me about menstruation. But even then, I had no idea where the blood came from or what it was for. When I was twelve and a half, I learned some more from Jacque, who wasnt as ignorant as I was. My own intuition told me what a man and a woman do when theyre together; it seemed like a crazy idea at first, but when Jacque firmed it, I roud of myself for having figured it out!
It was also Jacque who told me that children didnt e out of their mothers tummies. As she put it, "Where the ingredients go in is where the finished produes out!" Jacque and I found out about the hymen, and quite a few other details, from a book on sex education. I also khat you could keep from having children, but how that worked inside your body remained a mystery. When I came here, Father told me about prostitutes, etc., but all in all there are still unanswered questions.
If mothers doheir childrehing, they hear it in bits and pieces, and that t be right.
Even though its Saturday, Im not bored! Thats because Ive been up iic with Peter. I sat there dreaming with my eyes closed, and it was wonderful.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
SUNDAY, MARCH 19, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Yesterday was a very important day for me. After lunch everything was as usual. At five I put oatoes, and Mave me some blood sausage to take to Peter.
I didnt want to at first, but I finally went. He wouldnt accept the sausage, and I had the dreadful feel- ing it was still because of that argument wed had about distrust.
Suddenly I couldnt bear it a moment longer and my eyes filled with tears. Without another word, I re- turhe platter to Mother ao the bathroom to have a good cry. Afterward I decided to talk things out with Peter. Before dihe four of us were helping him with a crossword puzzle, so I couldnt say anything. But as we were sitting down to eat, I whispered to him, "Are you going to practice your shorthand<q>藏书网</q> tonight, Peter?”
"No," was his reply.
"Id like to talk to you later on.”
He agreed.
After the dishes were done, I went to his room and asked if hed refused the sausage because of our last quar- rel. Luckily, that wasnt the reason; he just thought it was bad mao seem so eager. It had been very hot downstairs and my face was as red as a lobster. So after taking down some water for Margot, I went back up to get a little fresh air. For the sake of appearances, I first went and stood beside the van Daans window befoing to Peters room. He was standing on the left side of the open window, so I went over to the right side. Its much easier to talk o an open window in semidarkhan in broad daylight, and I thier felt the same way. We told each other so much, so very much, that I t repeat it all. But it felt good; it was the most won- derful evening Ive ever had in the Annex. Ill give you a brief description of the various subjects we touched on.
First we talked about the quarrels and how I see them in a very different light these days, and then about how weve bee alienated from our parents. I told Peter about Mother and Father and Margot and myself. At one point he asked, "You always give each ood-night kiss, dont you?”
"One? Dozens of them. You dont, do you?”
"No, Ive never really kissed anyone.”
"Not even on your birthday?"
"Yeah, on my birthday I have.”
We talked about how her of us really trusts our parents, and how his parents love each reat deal and wish hed fide in them, but that he doesnt want to.
How I cry my heart out in bed and he goes up to the loft and swears. How Margot and I have only retly gotten to know each other aill tell each other very little, since were always together. We talked about every imagihing, about trust, feelings and ourselves. Oh, Kitty, he was just as I thought he would be.
Thealked about the year 1942, and how different we were back then; we dont even reize ourselves from that period. How we couldnt stand each other at first.
Hed thought I was a noisy pest, and Id quickly cluded that he was nothing special.
I didnt uand why he didnt flirt with me, but now Im glad. He also mentioned how he ofteo retreat to his room. I said that my noise and exuberand his silence were two sides of the same , and that I also liked pead quiet but dont have anything for myself alone, except my diary, and that everyone would rather see the bae, starting with Mr. Dussel, and that I dont always want to sit with my parents. We discussed how glad he is that my parents have children and how glad I am that hes here.
How I now uand his o withdraw and his relationship to his parents, and how much Id like to help him when they argue.
"But youre always a help to me!" he said.
"How?" I asked, greatly surprised.
"By being cheerful.”
That was the hing he said all evening. He also told me that he didnt mind my ing to his room the way he used to; in fact, he liked it. I also told him that all of Fathers and Mothers pet names were meaningless, that a kiss here and there didnt automatically lead to trust. We also talked about doing things your own way, the diary, loneliness, the differeween everyones inner and outer selves, my mask, etc.
It was wonderful. He must have e to love me as a friend, and, for the time being, thats enough. Im so grateful and happy, I t find the words. I must apolo- gize, Kitty, since my style is not up to my usual standard today. Ive just written whatever came into my head!
I have the feeling that Peter and I share a secret. Whenever he looks at me with those eyes, with that smile and that wink, its as if a light goes on inside me. I hope things will stay like this and that well have many, many more happy hours together.
Yrateful and happy Anne MONDAY, MARCH 20, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
This m Peter asked me if Id e again one evening. He swore I wouldnt be disturbing him, and said that where there was room for ohere was room for two.
I said I couldnt see him every evening, since my parents didnt think it was a good idea, but he thought I shouldhat bother me. So I told him Id like to e some Saturday evening and also asked him if hed let me know when you could see the moon.
"Sure," he said, "maybe we go downstairs and look at the moon from there." I agreed; Im not really so scared of burglars.
In the meantime, a shadow has fallen on my happiness. For a long time Ive had the feeling that Margot likes Peter. Just how much I dont know, but the whole situation is very unpleasant. Now every time I go see Peter Im hurting her, without meaning to.
The funny thing is that she hardly lets it show. I know Id be insanely jealous, but Margot just says I shouldnt feel sorry for her.
"I think its so awful that youve bee the odd o," I added.
"Im used to that," she replied, somewhat bitterly.
I dont dare tell Peter. Maybe later on, but he and I o discuss so many other things first.
Mother slapped me last night, which I deserved. I mustnt carry my indifferend pt for her too far. In spite of everything, I should try once again to be friendly and keep my remarks to myself!
Even Pim isnt a<q></q>s nice as he used to be. Hes been trying not to treat me like a child, but now hes much too cold. Well just have to see what es of it! Hes warned me that if I dont do my algebra, I wo any tut after the war. I could simply wait and see what happens, but Id like to start again, provided I get a new book.
Thats enough for now. I do nothing but gaze at Peter, and Im filled to overflowing!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
Evidenargots goodness. I received this today, March 20, 1944:
Anne, yesterday when I said I wasnt jeal- ous of you, I wasnt beiirely ho.
The situation is this: Im not jealous of either you or Peter. Im just sorry I havent found anyone willi whom to share my thoughts and feelings, and Im not likely to in the near future. But thats why I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that you will both be able to place your trust in each other. Youre already missing out on so much here, things other people take franted.
Oher hand, Im certain Id never have gotten as far with Peter, because I think Id o feel very close to a person before I could share my thoughts. Id want to have the feeling that he uood me through and through, even if I didnt say much.
For this reason it would have to be someone I felt was intellectually superior to me, and that isnt the case with Peter. But I imagine your feeling close to him.
So theres no need for you to reproach yourself because you think you te taking something I was entitled to; nothing could be further from the truth. You aer have everything to gain by your friendship.
My answer:
Dearest Margot, Your letter was extremely kind, but I still dont feel pletely happy about the situation, and I dont think I ever will.
At the moment, Peter and I dont trust each other as much as you seem to think. Its just that when youre standing beside an open window at twthght, you say more to each other than in bright sunshis also easier to whisper your feelings than to shout them from the rooftops. I think youve begun to feel a kind of sisterly affe for Peter and would like to help him, just as much as I would. Perhaps youll be able to do that someday, though thats not the kind of trust we have in mind. I believe that trust has to e from both sides; I also think thats the reason why Father and I have never really grown so close. But lets not talk about it anymore. If theres anything you still want to discuss, please write, because its easier for me to say what I mean as on paper than face-to-face. You know how le much I admire you, and only
hope that some of yoodness and Fathers goodness will rub off on me, because, in that sense, you two are a lot alike.
Yours, Anne
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 22,1944
Dearest Kitty,
I received this letter last night from Margot:
Dear Anne, After your letter of yesterday I have the unpleasant feeling that your sce bothers you whenever you go to Peters to work or talk; theres really no reason for that. In my heart, I know theres someone who deserves t my trust (as I do his), and I wouldnt be able to tolerate Peter in his place.
However, as you wrote, I do think of Peter as a kind of brother. . . a younger brother; weve been sending out feelers, and a brotherly and sisterly affeayor may not develop at some later date, but its certainly not reached that stage yet. So theres no need for you to feel sorry for me. Now that youve found panionship, enjoy it as much as you .
In the meahings are getting more and more wonderful here. I think, Kitty, that true love may be developing in the Annex. All those jokes about marryier if we stayed here long enough werent so silly after all. Not that Im thinking of marrying him, mind you. I dont even know what hell be like when he grows up. Or if well even love each other enough to get married.
Im sure noeter loves me too; I just dont know in what way. I t figure out if he wants only a good friend, or if hes attracted to me as a girl or as a sister.
When he said I always helped him when his parents were arguing, I was tremendously happy; it was oep toward making me believe in his friendship. I asked him yesterday what hed do if there were a dozen Annes who kept popping in to see him.
His answer was: "If they were all like you, it wouldnt be so bad." Hes extremely hospitable, and I think he really likes to see me. Mean- while, hes been w hard at learning French, even studying in bed until ten-fifteen.
Oh, when I think back to Saturday night, to our words, our voices, I feel satisfied with myself for the very first time; what I mean is, Id still say the same and wouldnt
want to ge a thing, the way I usually do. Hes so handsome, whether hes smthng or just sitting still. Hes so sweet and good aiful. I think what surprised him most about me was when he discovered that Im not at all the superficial, worldly Anne I appear to be, but a dreamer, like he is, with just as many troubles!
Last night after the dinner dishes, I waited for him to ask me to stay upstairs. But nothing happened; I went away. He came downstairs to tell Dussel it was time to listen to the radio and hung around the bathroom for a while, but when Dussel took too long, he went back upstairs. He paced up and down his room ao bed early.
The entire evening I was so restless I kept going to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I read a bit, daydreamed some more, looked at the clod waited, waited, waited, all the while listening to his foot- steps. I went to bed early, exhausted.
Tonight I have to take a bath, and tomorrow?
Tomorrows so far away!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
My answer:
Dearest Margot, I think the best thing is simply to wait and see what happens. It t be much longer before Peter and I will have to decide whether to go back to the ere or do some- thing else. I dont know how itll turn out; I t see any farther than the end of my nose.
But Im certain of ohing: if Peter and I do bee friends, Im going to tell him youre also very fond of him and are prepared to help him if he needs you. You wouldnt wao, Im sure, but I dont care; I dont knoeter thinks of you, but Ill ask him wheime es. Its certainly nothing bad -- on the trary! Youre wele to join us iic, or wherever we are. You wont be disturbing us, because we have an unspoken agreement to talk only in the evenings when its dark.
Keep your spirits up! Im doing my best, though its not always easy. Your time may e soohan you think.
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, MARCH 23, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Things are more or less back to normal here. Our en have been released from prison, thank goodness!
Mieps been back since yesterday, but today it was her husbands turn to take to his bed-chills and fever, the usual flu symptoms. Bep is better, though she still has a cough, and Mr. Kleiman will have to stay home for a long time.
Yesterday a plane crashed nearby. The crew was able to parachute out in time. It crashed on top of a school, but luckily there were no children ihere was a small fire and a couple of people were killed. As the airmen made their dest, the Germans sprayed them with bullets. The Amsterdammers who saw it seethed with rage at such a dastardly deed. We-by which I mean the ladies-were also scared out of our wits. Brrr, I hate the sound of gunfire.
Now about myself.
I was with Peter yesterday and, somehow, I holy dont knoe wound up talking about sex. Id made up my mind a long time ago to ask him a few things. He knows everything; when I said that Margot and I werent very well informed, he was amazed. I told him a lot about Margot and me and Mother and Father and said that lately I didnt dare ask them anything. He offered to enlighten me, and I gratefully accepted: he described how traceptives work, and I asked him very boldly how boys could tell they were grown up. He had to think about that one; he said hed tell me tonight. I told him what had happeo Jacque, and said that girls are defenseless against strong boys. "Well, you dont have to be afraid of me," he said.
When I came back that evening, he told me how it is with boys. Slightly embarrassing, but still awfully o be able to discuss it with him. her he nor I had ever imagined wed be able to talk so openly to a girl or a boy, respectively, about sutimate matters. I think I know everything now. He told me a lot about what he called Prasentivmitteln* [* Should be Praservativmitteln: prophylactics] in German.
That night ihroom Margot and I were talking about Bram and Trees, two friends of hers.
This m I was in for a nasty surprise: after breakfast Peter beed me upstairs. "That was a dirty trick you played on me," he said. "I heard what you and Margot were saying ihroom last night. I think you just wao find out how much Peter knew and then have a good laugh!”
I was stunned! I did everything I could to talk him out of that eous idea; I could uand how he must have felt, but it just wasnt true!
"Oh no, Peter," I said. "Id never be so mean. I told you I wouldnt pass on anything you said to me and I wont. To put on an act like that and then deliberately be so mean. . . er, thats not my idea ofa joke.
It wouldnt be fair. I didnt say anything, ho. Wont you believe me?" He assured me he did, but I think well have to talk about it again sometime. Ive dohing all day but worry about it. Thank goodness he came right out and said what was on his mind. Imagine if hed gone around thinking I could be that mean. Hes so sweet!
Now Ill have to tell him everything!
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, MARCH 24, 1944
Dear Kitty,
I often go up to Peters room after dinner nowadays to breathe in the fresh evening air. You get around to meaningful versations more quickly in the dark than with the sun tig your face. Its cozy and snug sitting beside him on a chair and looking outside. The van Daans and Dussel make the silliest remarks when I disappear into his room. "Annes zweite Heimat,"* [* Annes sed home] they say, or "Is it proper fentleman to receive young girls in his room at night with the lights out?" Peter has amazing presenind in the face of these so-called witticisms. My mother, ially, is also bursting with curiosity and simply dying to ask what we talk about, only shes secretly afraid Id refuse to answer. Peter says the grown-ups are just jealous because were young and that we shouldnt take their obnoxious ents to heart.
Sometimes he es downstairs to get me, but thats awkward too, because in spite of all his precautions his face turns bright red and he hardly get the words out of his mouth. Im glad I dont blush; it must be extremely unpleasant.
Besides, it bothers me that Margot has to sit downstairs all by herself, while Im upstairs enjoyiers pany. But what I do about it? I wouldnt mind it if she came, but shed just be the odd o, sitting there like a lump on a log.
Ive had to listen to tless remarks about our sudden friendship. I t tell you how often the versation at meals has been about an Annex wedding, should the war last another five years. Do we take any notice of this parental chitchat? Hardly, sis all so silly. Have my parents fotten that they were young once? Apparently they have. At any rate, they laugh at us when were serious, and theyre serious when were joking.
I dont know whats going to happe, or whether well run out of things to say.
But if it goes on like this, well eventually be able to be together without talking. If only his parents would stop ag sely. Its probably because they dont like seeing me so ofteer and I certainly ell them what we talk about. Imagine if they kneere discussing sutimate things.
Id like to ask Peter whether he knows what girls look like down there. I dont think boys are as plicated as girls. You easily see what boys look like in photographs or pictures of male nudes, but with women its different. In women, the genitals, or whatever theyre called, are hiddeween their legs. Peter has probably never seen a girl up close. To tell you the truth, her have I. Boys are a lot easier.
How oh would I go about describing a girls parts? I tell from what he said that he doesnt kly how it all fits together. He was talking about the "Muttermund," [* cervix], but thats on the inside, where you t see it. Everythings pretty well arranged in us women. Until I was eleven or twelve, I didnt realize there was a sed set of labia on the inside, since you couldhem. Whats even funnier is that I thought urine came out of the clitoris. I asked Mother oime what that little bump was, and she said she didnt know. She really play dumb when she wants to!
But to get back to the subject. How oh you explain what it all looks like without any models?
Shall I try anyway? Okay, here goes!
When youre standing up, all you see from the front is hair. Between ys there are two soft, cushiony things, also covered with hair, which press together when youre standing, so you t see whats ihey separate when you sit down, and theyre very red and quite fleshy on the inside. In the upper part, betweeer
labia, theres a fold of skin that, on sed thought, looks like a kind of blister. Thats the clitoris. Then e the inner labia, which are also pressed together in a kind of crease. When they open up, you see a fleshy little mound, no bigger thaop of my thumb. The upper part has a couple of small holes in it, which is where the urine es out. The lower part looks as if it were just skin, ahats where the vagina is. You barely find it, because the folds of skin hide the opening. The holes so small I hardly imagine how a man could get in there, much less how a baby could e out. Its hard enough trying to get your index finger ihats all there is, a plays su important role!
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
SATURDAY, MARCH 25, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
You never realize how much youve ged until after its happened. Ive ged quite drastically, everything about me is different: my opinions, ideas, critical outlook.
Inwardly, outwardly, nothings the same. And, I might safely add, sis true, Ive ged for the better. I oold you that, after years of being adored, it was hard for me to adjust to the harsh reality of grown-ups and rebukes. But Father and Mother are largely to blame for my having to put up with so much. At home they wanted me to enjoy life, which was fine, but here they shouldnt have enced me to agree with them and only shown me "their" side of all the quarrels and gossip. It was a long time before I discovered the score was fifty-fifty. I now know that many blunders have been itted here, by young and old alike. Father and Mothers biggest mistake in dealing with the van Daans is that theyre never did and friendly (admittedly, the friendliness might have to be feigned). Above all, I want to keep the peace, and to her quarrel nossip. With Father and Margot thats not difficult, but it is with Mother, which is why Im glad she gives me an occasional rap on the knuckles. You win Mr. van Daan to your side by agreeing with him, listening quietly, not saying mud most of all . . . responding to his teasing and his y jokes with a joke of your own. Mrs. van D. be won over by talking openly to her and admitting when youre wrong. She also frankly admits her faults, of which she has many. I know all too well that she doesnt think as badly of me as she did in the beginning. And thats simply because Im ho and tell people right to their faces what I think, eves not very flattering. I want to be ho; I think it gets you further and also makes you feel better about yourself.
Yesterday Mrs. van D. was talking about the rice we gave Mr. Kleiman. "All we do is give, give, give. But at a certain point I think that enough is enough. If hed only take
the trouble, Mr. Kleiman could sge up his own rice. Why should we give away all our supplies? We hem just as badly.”
"No, Mrs. van Daan," I replied. "I dont agree with you. Mr. Kleiman may very well be able to get hold of a little rice, but he doesnt like having to worry about it. Its not our place to criticize the people who are helping us. We should give them whatever they need if ossibly spare it. One less plate of rice a week wont make that much difference; we always eat beans.”
Mrs. van D. did my way, but she added that, even though she disagreed, she was willing to back down, and that was airely different matter.
Well, Ive said enough. Sometimes I know what my place is and sometimes I have my doubts, but Ill eventually get where I want to be! I know I will! Especially now that I have help, sier helps me through many a rough patd rainy day!
I holy dont know how much he loves me and whether well ever get as far as a kiss; in any case, I dont want to force the issue! I told Father I often go see Peter and asked if he approved, and of course he did!
Its much easier now to tell Peter things Id nor- mally keep to myself; for example, I told him I want to write later on, and if I t be a writer, to write in addition to my work.
I dont have mu the way of money or worldly possessions, Im not beautiful, intelligent or clever, but Im happy, and I io stay that way! I was born happy, I love people, I have a trusting nature, and Id like everyone else to be happy too.
Your devoted friend, Anne M. Frank
Ay day, though clear and bright, Is just as dark as any night.
(I wrote this a few weeks ago and it no longer holds true, but I included it because my poems are so few and far between.)
MONDAY, MARCH 27, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
At least one long chapter on our life in hiding should be about politics, but Ive been
avoiding the subject, si is me so little. Today, however, Ill devote aire letter to politics.
Of course, there are many different opinions on this topid its not surprising to hear it frequently discussed in times of war, but. . . arguing so much about politics is just plain stupid! Let them laugh, swear, make bets, grumble and do whatever they want as long as they stew in their own juice. But dohem argue, sihat only makes things worse. The people who e from outside bring us a lot of hat later proves to be untrue; however, up to now our radio has never lied. Jan, Miep, Mr.
Kleiman, Bep and Mr. Kugler go up and down in their political moods, though Ja of all.
Here in the Ahe mood never varies. The end- less debates over the invasion, air raids, speeches, etc., etc., are apanied by tless exclamations such as "Eempossible!, Urn Gottes Willen* [* Oh, for heavens sake]. If theyre just getting started now, how long is it going to last!, Its going splendidly, But, great!”
Optimists and pessimists -- not to mention the realists -- air their opinions with unflagging energy, and as with everything else, theyre all certain that they have a monopoly oruth. It annoys a certain lady that her spouse has such supreme faith in the British, and a certain husband attacks his wife because of her teasing and dispar- aging remarks about his beloved nation!
And so it goes from early in the m to late at night; the funny part is that they never get tired of it. Ive discovered a trick, and the effect is overwhelming, just like prig someoh a pin and watg them jump. Heres how it works: I start talking about politics.
All it takes is a single question, a word or a sentence, and before you know it, the entire family is involved!
As if the German "Wehrmaews" and the English BBC werent enough, theyve now added special air-raid annous. In a word, splendid. But the other side of the is that the British Air Force is operating around the cloot uhe German propaganda mae, which is king out lies twenty-four hours a day!
So the radio is switched on every m at eight (if not earlier) and is listeo every hour until en or even eleven at night. This is the best evide that the adults have infiience, but also that their brains have turo mush (some of them, I mean, since I wouldnt want to insult anyone). One broadcast, two at the most, should be enough to last the entire day. But no, those old ninpoops. . .
never mind, Ive already said it all! "Music While You Work," the Dutch broadcast from England, Frank Phillips or Queen Wilhelmina, they each get a turn and fInd a willing listener. If the adults areing or sleeping, theyre clustered around the radio talking about eating, sleeping and politics. Whew! Its getting to be a bore, and its all I do to keep from turning into a dreary old yself! Though with all the old folks arouhat might not be such a bad idea!
Heres a shining example, a speech made by our beloved Winston Churchill.
Nine oclock, Sunday evening. The teapot, us cozy, is oable, and the guests ehe room.
Dussel sits to the left of the radio, Mr. van D. in front of it aer to the side.
Mother is o Mr. van D., willi Mrs. van D. behind them. Margot and I are sitting in the last roim at the table. I realize this isnt a very clear description of our seating arras, but it doesnt matter. The men smoke, Peters eyes close from the strain of listening, Mama is dressed in her long, dark negligee, Mrs. van D. is trembling because of the planes, which take no notice of the speech but fly blithely on toward Essen, Father is slurping his tea, and Margot and I are united in a sisterly way by the sleeping Mouschi, who has taken possession of both our knees. Margots hair is in curlers and my nightgown is too small, too tight and too short. It all looks so intimate, cozy and peaceful, and for o really is. Yet I await the end of the speech willi dread. Theyre impatient, straining at the leash to start anument!
Pst, pst, like a cat luring a mouse from its hole, they goad each other into quarrels and dissent.
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, MARCH 28, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
As much as Id like to write more on politics, I have lots of other o report today. First, Mother has virtually forbiddeo go up to Peters, since, acc to her, Mrs. van Daan is jealous. Sed, Peters invited Margot to join us upstairs.
Whether he really means it or is just saying it out of politeness, I dont know. Third, I asked Father if he thought I should take any notirs. van Daans jealousy and he said I didnt have to.
What should I do now? Mothers angry, doesnt want me going upstairs, wants me to go back to doing my homework in the room I share willi Dussel. She may be jealous
herself. Father doesnt begrudge us those few hours and thinks its nice we get along so well. Margot likes Peter too, but feels that three people t talk about the same things as two.
Furthermore, Mother thinks Peters in love with me. To tell you the truth, I wish he were. Then wed be even, and itd be a lot easier to get to know each other. She also claims hes always looking at me. Well, I suppose we do give each other the occasional wink. But I t help it if he keeps admiring my dimples, I?
Im in a very difficult position. Mainst me and Im against her. Father turns a blio the silent struggle between Mother and me. Mother is sad, because she still loves me, but Im not at all unhappy, because she no longer means anything to me.
As for Peter. . . I dont want to give him up. Hes so sweet and I admire him so much. He and I could have a really beautiful relationship, so why are the old folks poking their noses into our business again? Fortu- nately, Im used to hiding my feelings, so I ma to show how crazy I am about him. Is he ever going to say anything? Am I ever going to feel his cheek against mihe way I felt Petels cheek in my dream? Oh, Peter ael, youre one and the same! They dont uand us; theyd never uand that were tent just to sit beside each other and not say a word. They have no idea of what draws us together! Oh, when will we overe all these difficulties? As good that we have to surmount them, si makes the end that much more beautiful. When he lays his head on his arms and closes his eyes, hes still a child;
when he plays with Mouschi or talks about her, hes loving; when he carries the potatoes or other heavy loads, hes strong; when he goes to watch the gunfire or walks through the dark house to look for burglars, hes brave; and when hes so awkward and clumsy, hes hopelessly endearing. Its muicer when he explains something to me than when I have to teach him. I wish he were superior to me in nearly every way!
What do we care about our two mothers? Oh, if only hed say something.
Father always says Im ceited, but Im not, Im merely vain! I havent had many people tell me I retty, except for a boy at school who said I looked so cute when I smiled. Yesterday Peter paid me a true - pliment, and just for fun Ill give you a rough idea of our versation.
Peter often says, "Smile!" I thought it was strange, so yesterday I asked him, "Why
do you always wao smile?”
"Because you get dimples in your cheeks. How do you do that?”
"I was born with them. Theres also one in my . Its the only mark of beauty I possess.”
"No, no, thats not true!”
"Yes it is. I know Im not beautiful. I never have been and I never will be!”
"I dont agree. I think youre pretty.”
"I am not.”
"I say you are, and youll have to take my word for it." So of course I then said the same about him.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 29, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Mr. Bolkestein, the et Minister, speaking och broadcast from London, said that after the war a colle would be made of diaries aers dealing with the war. Of course, everyone pouny diary. Just imagine how iing it would be if I were to publish a novel about the Secret Ahe title alone would make people think it was a detective story.
Seriously, though, ten years after the eople would find it very amusing to read how we lived, what we ate and what we talked about as Jews in hiding. Although I tell you a great deal about our lives, you still know very little about us. Hhtehe women are during air raids; last Sunday, for instance, when 350 British planes dropped 550 tons of bombs on IJmuiden, so that the houses trembled like blades of grass in the wind. Or how many epidemics are raging here.
You know nothing of these matters, and it would take me all day to describe everything down to the last detail. People have to stand in lio buy vegetables and all kinds of goods; doctors t visit their patients, siheir cars and bikes are stolen the moment they turn their backs; burglaries and thefts are so on that you
ask yourself whats suddenly gotten into the Dutake them so light-fingered.
Little childre- and eleven- year-olds, smash the windows of peoples homes and steal whatever they lay their hands on. People dont dare leave the house for even five minutes, siheyre liable to e bad find all their belongings gone.
Every day the neers are filled with reward notices for the return of stolen typewriters, Persian rugs, electric clocks, fabrics, etc. The electric clocks on street ers are dismantled, public phones are stripped down to the last wire.
Morale among the Dutch t be good. Everyones hungry; except for the ersatz coffee, a weeks food ratio last two days. The invasions long in ing, the men are being shipped off to Germany, the children are sick or undernourished, everyones wearing worn-out clothes and run-down shoes. A new sole costs 7.50 guil- ders on the black market. Besides, few shoemakers will do repairs, or if they do, you have to wait four months for your shoes, which might very well have disappeared in the meantime.
One good thing has e out of this: as the food gets worse and the decrees more severe, the acts of sabo- tage against the authorities are increasing. The ration board, the police, the officials-theyre all either helping their fellow citizens or denoung them and sending them off to prison. Fortunately, only a small pertage of Dutch people are on the wrong side.
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, MARCH 31, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Just imagis still fairly cold, a most people have been without coal for nearly a month. Sounds awful, doesnt it? Theres a general mood of optimism about the Russian front, because thats going great guns! I dont often write about the political situation, but I must tell you where the Russians are at the moment. Theyve reached the Polish border and the Prut River in Romania. Theyre close to Odessa, and theyve surrouernopol. Every night were expeg ara unique from Stalin.
Theyre firing off so many salutes in Moscow, the city must be rumbling and shaking all day long. Whether they like to pretend the fightings nearby or they simply dont have any other way to express their joy, I dont know!
Hungary has been occupied by German troops.
There are still a million Jews living there; they too are doomed.
Nothing special is happening here. Today is Mr. van Daans birthday. He received two packets of tobacco, one serving of coffee, which his wife had mao save, lemon punch from Mr. Kugler, sardines from Miep, eau de cologne from us, lilacs, tulips and, last but not least, a cake with raspberry filling, slightly gluey because of the poor quality of the flour and the lack of butter, but deli- cious anyway.
All that talk about Peter and me has died down a bit. Hes ing to pick me up tonight. Pretty nice of him, dont you think, since he hates doing it! Were very good friends. We spend a lot of time together and talk about every imaginable subject. Its so having to hold back when we e to a delicate topic, the way I would with other boys. For example, we were talking about blood and somehow the versation turo menstruatioc. He thinks we women are quite tough to be able to withstand the loss of blood, and that I am too. I wonder why?
My life here has gotteer, much better. God has not forsaken me, and He never will.
Yours, Anne
M. Frank
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