安妮日记- 第24部分

yours；　anne　

p。s。　will　the　reader　please　take　into　consideration　that　this　story　was　written　before　the　writers　fury　had　cooled？

x



AUGUST；　1943

。
tuesday；　august　3；　1943

dearest　kitty；

things　are　going　well　on　the　political　front。　italy　has　banned　the　fascist　party。　the　people　are　fighting　the　fascists　in　many　places　……　even　the　army　has　joined　the　fight。　how　can　a　country　like　that　continue　to　wage　war　against　england？

our　beautiful　radio　was　taken　away　last　week。　dussel　was　very　angry　at　mr。　kugler　for　turning　it　in　on　the　appointed　day。　dussel　is　slipping　lower　and　lower　in　my　estimation；　and　hes　already　below　zero。　hatever　he　says　about　politics；　history；　geography　or　ything　else　is　so　ridiculous　that　i　hardly　dare　repeat　it：　hitler　will　fade　from　history；　the　harbor　in　rotterdam　is　bigger　than　the　one　in　hamburg；　the　english　are　idiots　for　not　taking　the　opportunity　to　bomb　italy　to　smithereens；　etc。；　etc。

we　just　had　a　third　air　raid。　i　decided　to　grit　my　teeth　and　practice　being　courageous。

mrs。　van　daan；　the　one　who　always　said　〃let　them　fall〃　and　〃better　to　end　with　a　bang　than　not　to　end　at　all；〃　is　the　most　cowardly　one　among　us。　she　was　shaking　like　a　leaf　this　morning　and　even　burst　into　tears。　she　was　forted　by　her　husband；　with　whom　she　recently　declared　a　truce　after　a　week　of　squabbling；　i　nearly　got

sentimental　at　the　sight。

mouschi　has　now　proved；　beyond　a　shadow　of　a　doubt；　that　having　a　cat　has　disadvantages　as　well　as　advantages。　the　whole　house　is　crawling　with　fleas；　and　its　getting　worse　each　day。　mr。　kleiman　sprinkled　yellow　powder　in　every　nook　and　cranny；　but　the　fleas　havent　taken　the　slightest　notice。　its　making　us　all　very　jittery；

were　forever　imagining　a　bite　on　our　arms　and　legs　or　other　parts　of　our　bodies；　so　we　leap　up　and　do　a　few　exercises；　since　it　gives　us　an　excuse　to　take　a　better　look　at　our　arms　or　necks。　but　now　were　paying　the　price　for　having　had　so　little　physical　exercise；　were　so　stiff　we　can　hardly　turn　our　heads。　the　real　calisthenics　fell　by　the　wayside　long　ago。

yours；　anne　

wednesday；　august　4；1943

dearest　kitty；

now　that　weve　been　in　hiding　for　a　little　over　a　year；　you　know　a　great　deal　about　our　lives。　still；　i　cant　possibly　tell　you　everything；　since　its　all　so　different　pared　to　ordinary　times　and　ordinary　people。　nevertheless；　to　give　you　a　closer　look　into　our　lives；　from　time　to　time　ill　describe　part　of　an　ordinary　day。　ill　start　with　the　evening　and　night。

nine　in　the　evening。　bedtime　always　begins　in　the　annex　with　an　enormous　hustle　and　bustle。　chairs　are　shifted；　beds　pulled　out；　blankets　unfolded　……　nothing　stays　where　it　is　during　the　daytime。　i　sleep　on　a　small　divan；　which　is　only　five　feet　long；　so　we　have　to　add　a　few　chairs　to　make　it　longer。　forter；　sheets；　pillows；　blankets：

everything　has　to　be　removed　from　dussel　s　bed；　where　its　kept　during　the　day。

in　the　next　room　theres　a　terrible　creaking：　thats　margots　folding　bed　being　set　up。

more　blankets　and　pillows；　anything　to　make　the　wooden　slats　a　bit　more　fortable。

upstairs　it　sounds　like　thunder；　but　its　only　mrs。　van　d。s　bed　being　shoved　against　the　window　so　that　her　majesty；　arrayed　in　her　pink　bed　jacket；　can　sniff　the　night　air　through　her　delicate　little　nostrils。

nine　oclock。　after　peters　finished；　its　my　turn　for　the　bathroom。　i　wash　myself　from　head　to　toe；　and　more　often　than　not　i　find　a　tiny　flea　floating　in　the　sink　（only　during　the　hot　months；　weeks　or　days）。　i　brush　my　teeth；　curl　my　hair；　manicure　my　nails　and　dab　peroxide　on　my　upper　lip　to　bleach　the　black　hairs　……　all　this　in　less　than　half　an　hour。

nine…thirty。　i　throw　on　my　bathrobe。　with　soap　in　one　hand；　and　potty；　hairpins；　panties；　curlers　and　a　wad　of　cotton　in　the　other；　i　hurry　out　of　the　bathroom。　the　next　in　line　invariably　calls　me　back　to　remove　the　gracefully　curved　but　unsightly　hairs　that　ive　left　in　the　sink。

ten　oclock。　time　to　put　up　the　blackout　screen　and　say　good…night。　for　the　next　fifteen　minutes；　at　least；　the　house　is　filled　with　the　creaking　of　beds　and　the　sigh　of　broken　springs；　and　then；　provided　our　upstairs　neighbors　arent　having　a　marital　spat　in　bed；　all　is　quiet。

eleven…thirty。　the　bathroom　door　creaks。　a　narrow　strip　of　light　falls　into　the　room。

squeaking　shoes；　a　large　coat；　even　larger　than　the　man　inside　it　。　。　。　dussel　is　returning　from　his　nightly　work　in　mr。　kuglers　office。　i　hear　him　shuffiing　back　and　forth　for　ten　whole　minutes；　the　rustle　of　paper　（from　the　food　hes　tucking　away　in　his　cupboard）　and　the　bed　being　made　up。　then　the　figure　disappears　again；　and　the　only　sound　is　the　occasional　suspicious　noise　from　the　bathroom。

approximately　three　oclock。　i　have　to　get　up　to　use　the　tin　can　under　my　bed；　which；　to　be　on　the　safe　side；　has　a　rubber　mat　underneath　in　case　of　leaks。　i　always　hold　my　breath　while　i　go；　since　it　clatters　into　the　can　like　a　brook　down　a　mountainside。

the　potty　is　returned　to　its　place；　and　the　figure　in　the　white　nightgown　（the　one　that　causes　margot　to　exclaim　every　evening；　〃oh；　that　indecent　nighty！〃）　climbs　back　into　bed。　a　certain　somebody　lies　awake　for　about　fifteen　minutes；　listening　to　the　sounds　of　the　night。　in　the　first　place；　to　hear　whether　there　are　any　burglars　downstairs；　and　then　to　the　various　beds　……　upstairs；　next　door　and　in　my　room　……　to　tell　whether　the　others　are　asleep　or　half　awake。　this　is　no　fun；　especially　when　it　concerns　a　member　of　the　family　named　dr。　dussel。　first；　theres　the　sound　of　a　fish　gasping　for　air；　and　this　is　repeated　nine　or　ten　times。　then；　the　lips　are　moistened　profusely。

this　is　alternated　with　little　smacking　sounds；　followed　by　a　long　period　of　tossing　and　turning　and　rearranging　the　pillows。　after　five　minutes　of　perfect　quiet；　the　same　sequence　repeats　itself　three　more　times；　after　which　hes　presumably　lulled　himself　back　to　sleep　for　a　while。

sometimes　the　guns　go　off　during　the　night；　between　one　and　four。　im　never　aware　of　it　before　it　happens；　but　all　of　a　sudden　i　find　myself　standing　beside　my　bed；　out　of　sheer　habit。　occasionally　im　dreaming　so　deeply　（of　irregular　french　verbs　or　a　quarrel　upstairs）　that　i　realize　only　when　my　dream　is　over　that　the　shooting　has　stopped　and　that　ive　remained　quietly　in　my　room。　but　usually　i　wake　up。　then　i　grab　a　pillow　and　a　handkerchief；　throw　on　my　robe　and　slippers　and　dash　next　door　to　father；　just　the　way　margot　described　in　this　birthday　poem：

when　shots　rino　out　in　the　dark　of　night；　the　door　creaks　open　and　into　sight　e　a　hanky；　a　pillow；　a　figure　in　white。　。　。

once　ive　reached　the　big　bed；　the　worst　is　over；　except　when　the　shooting　is　extra　loud。

six　forty…five。　brrring　。　。　。　the　alarm　clock；　which　raises　its　shrill　voice　at　any　hour　of　the　day　or　night；　whether　you　want　it　to　or　not。　creak。　。　。　wham。　。　。　mrs。　van　d。

turns　it　off。　screak　。　。　。　mr。　van　d。　gets　up；　puts　on　the　water　and　races　to　the　bathroom。

seven…fifteen。　the　door　creaks　again。　dussel　can　go　to　the　bathroom。　alone　at　last；　i　remove　the　blackout　screen　。　。　。　and　a　new　day　begins　in　the　annex。

yours；　anne　

thursday；　august　5；　1943

dearest　kitty；

today　lets　talk　about　the　lunch　break。

its　twelve…thirty。　the　whole　gang　breathes　a　sigh　of　relief：　mr。　van　maaren；　the　man　with　the　shady　past；　and　mr。　de　kok　have　gone　home　for　lunch。

upstairs　you　can　hear　the　thud　of　the　vacuum　cleaner　on　mrs。　van　d。s　beautiful　and　only　rug。　margot　tucks　a　few　books　under　her　arm　and　heads　for　the　class　for　〃slow　learners；〃　which　is　what　dussel　seems　to　be。　pim　goes　and　sits　in　a　corner　with　his　constant　panion；　dickens；　in　hopes　of　finding　a　bit　of　peace　and　quiet。　mother　hastens　upstairs　to　help　the　busy　little　housewife；　and　i　tidy　up　both　the　bathroom　and　myself　at　the　same　time。

twelve　forty…five。　one　by　one　they　trickle　in：　first　mr。

gies　and　then　either　mr。　kleiman　or　mr。　kugler；　followed　by　bep　and　sometimes　even　miep。

one。　clustered　around　the　radio；　they　all　listen　raptly　to　the　bbc。　this　is　the　only　time　the　members　of　the　annex　family　dont　interrupt　each　other；　since　even　mr。　van　daan　cant　argue　with　the　speaker。

one…fifteen。　food　distribution。　everyone　from　downstairs　gets　a　cup　of　soup；　plus　dessert；　if　there　happens　to　be　any。　a　contented　mr。　gies　sits　on　the　divan　or　leans　against　the　desk　with　his　newspaper；　cup　and　usually　the　cat　at　his　side。　if　one　of　the　three　is　missing；　he　doesnt　hesitate　to　let　his　protest　be　heard。　mr。　kleiman　relates　the　latest　news　from　town；　and　hes　an　excellent　source。　mr。　kugler　hurries　up　the　stairs；　gives　a　short　but　solid　knock　on　the　door　and　es　in　either　wringing　his　hands　or　rubbing　them　in　glee；　depending　on　whether　hes　quiet　and　in　a　bad　mood　or　talkative　and　in　a　good　mood。

one　forty…five。　everyone　rises　from　the　table　and　goes　about　their　business。　margot　and　mother　do　the　dishes；　mr。　and　mrs。　van　d。　head　for　the　divan；　peter　for　the　attic；　father　for　his　divan；　dussel　too；　and　anne　does　her　homework。

what　es　next　is　the　quietest　hour　of　the　day；　when　theyre　all　asleep；　there　are　no　disturbances。　to　judge　by　his　face；　dussel　is　dreaming　of　food。　but　i　dont　look　at　him　long；　because　the　time　whizzes　by　and　before　you