take first in case we have to run for it, and pack our knapsacks in advance.'
'When the time comes, we'll put two people on the lookout, one in the loft at the front of the house and one in the back.'
'Hey, what's the use of so much food if there isn't any water, gas or electricity?'
'We'll have to cook on the wood stove. Filter the water and boil it. We should clean some big jugs and fill them with water. We can also store water in the three kettles we use for canning, and in the washtub.'
'Besides, we still have about two hundred and thirty pounds of winter potatoes in the spice storeroom.'
All day long that's all I hear. Invasion, invasion, nothing but invasion. Arguments about going hungry, dying, bombs, fire extinguishers, sleeping bags, identity cards, poison gas, etc., etc. Not exactly cheerful.
A good example of the explicit warnings of the male contingent is the following conversation with Jan:
Annex: 'We're afraid that when the Germans retreat, they'll take the entire population with them.'
Jan: 'That's impossible. They haven't got enough trains.'
Annex: 'Trains? Do you really think they'd put civilians on trains? Absolutely not. Everyone would have to hoof it.' (Or, as Dussel always says, per pedes apostolorum.)
Jan: 'I can't believe that. You're always looking on the dark side. What reason would they have to round up all the civilians and take them along?' Annex: 'Don't you remember Goebbels saying that if the Germans have to go, they'll slam the doors to all the occupied territories behind them?' Jan: 'They've said a lot of things.'
Annex: 'Do you think the Germans are too noble or humane to do it? Their reasoning is: if we go under, we'll drag everyone else down with us.' Jan: 'You can say what you like, I just don't believe
Annex: 'It's always the same old story. No one wants to see the danger until it's staring them in the face.'
Jan: 'But you don't know anything for sure. You're just making an assumption.' Annex: 'Because we've already been through it all ourselves, First in Germany and then here. What do you think's happening in Russia?'
Jan: 'You shouldn't include the Jews. I don't think anyone knows what's going on in Russia. The British and the Russians are probably exaggerating for propaganda purposes, just like the Germans.'
Annex: 'Absolutely not. The BBC has always told the truth. And even if the news is slightly exaggerated, the facts are bad enough as they are. You can't deny that millions of peace-loving citizens in Poland and Russia have been murdered or gassed.'
I'll spare you the rest of our conversations. I'm very calm and take no notice of all the fuss. I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway. I'll just let matters take their course and concentrate on studying and hope that everything will be all right in the end. Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1944
Dear Kitty,
I can't tell you how I feel. One minute I'm longing for peace and quiet, and the next for a little fun. We've forgotten how to laugh-I mean, laughing so hard you can t stop.
This morning I had 'the giggles'; you know, the kind we used to have at school. Margot and I were giggling like real teenagers.
Last night there was another scene with Mother. Margot was tucking her wool blanket around her when suddenly she leapt out of bed and carefully examined the blanket. What do you think she found? A pin! Mother had patched the blanket and forgotten to take it out. Father shook his head meaningfully and made a comment about how careless Mother is. Soon afterward Mother came in from the bathroom, and just to tease her I said, 'Du bist doch eine echte Rabenmutter.' [Oh, you are cruel.]
Of course, she asked me why I'd said that, and we told her about the pin she'd overlooked. She immediately assumed her haughtiest expression and said, 'You're a fine one to talk. When you're sewing, the entire floor is covered with pins. And look, you've left the manicure set lying around again. You never put that away either!'
I said I hadn't used it, and Margot backed me up, since she was the guilty party.
Mother went on talking about how messy I was until I got fed up and said, rather curtly, 'I wasn't even the one who said you were careless. I'm always getting blamed for other people's mistakes!'
Mother fell silent, and less than a minute later I was obliged to kiss her good- night. This incident may not have been very important, but these days everything gets on my nerves.
Anne Mary Frank
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
The sun is shining, the sky is deep blue, there's a magnificent breeze, and I'm longing-really longing-for everything: conversation, freedom, friends, being alone. I long. . . to cry! I feel as if I were about to explode. I know crying would help, but I can't cry. I'm restless. I walk from one room to another, breathe through the crack in the window frame, feel my heart beating as if to say, 'Fulfill my longing at last. . .'
I think spring is inside me. I feel spring awakening, I feel it in my entire body and soul. I have to force myself to act normally. I'm in a state of utter confusion, don't know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that I'm longing for something. . .
Yours, Anne
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
A lot has changed for me since Saturday. What's happened is this: I was longing for something (and still am), but. . . a small, a very small, part of the problem has been resolved.
On Sunday morning I noticed, to my great joy (I'll be honest with you), that Peter kept looking at me. Not in the usual way. I don't know, I can't explain it, but I suddenly had the feeling he wasn't as in love with Margot as I used to think. All day long I tried not to look at him too much, because whenever I did, I caught him looking at me and then-well, it made me feel wonderful inside, and that's not a feeling I should have too often.
Sunday evening everyone, except Pim and me, was clustered around the radio, listening to the 'Immortal Music of the German Masters.' Dussel kept twisting and turning the knobs, which annoyed Peter, and the others too. After restraining himself for half an hour, Peter asked somewhat irritably if he would stop fiddling with the radio. Dussel replied in his haughtiest tone, 'Ich mach' das schon!' [I'll decide that.] Peter got angry and made an insolent remark. Mr. van Daan sided with him, and Dussel had to back down. That was it. The reason for the disagreement wasn't particularly interesting in and of itself, but Peter has apparently taken the matter very much to heart, because this morning, when I was rummaging around in the crate of books in the attic, Peter came up and began telling me what had happened. I didn't know anything about it, but Peter soon realized he'd found an attentive listener and started warming up to his subject.
'Well, it's like this,' he said. 'I don't usually talk much, since I know beforehand I'll just be tongue-tied. I start stuttering and blushing and I twist my words around so much I finally have to stop, because I can't find the right words. That's what happened yesterday. I meant to say something entirely different, but once I started, I got all mixed up. It's awful. I used to have a bad habit, and sometimes I wish I still did: whenever I was mad at someone, I'd beat them up instead of arguing with them. I know this method won't get me anywhere, and that's why I admire you. You're never at a loss for words: you say exactly what you want to say and aren't in the least bit shy.' 'Oh, you're wrong about that,' I replied. 'Most of what I say comes out very differently from the way I'd planned. Plus I talk too much and too long, and that's just as bad.'
'Maybe, but you have the advantage that no one can see you're embarrassed. You don't blush or go to pieces.'
I couldn't help being secretly amused at his words. However, since I wanted him to go on talking quietly about himself, I hid my laughter, sat down on a cushion on the floor, wrapped my arms around my knees and gazed at him intently.
I'm glad there's someone else in this house who flies into the same rages as I do. Peter seemed relieved that he could criticize Dussel without being afraid I'd tell. As for me, I was pleased too, because I sensed a strong feeling of fellowship, which I only remember having had with my girlfriends. Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1944
The minor run-in with Dussel had several repercussions, for which he had only himself to blame. Monday evening Dussel came in to see Mother and told her triumphantly that Peter had asked him that morning if he'd slept well, and then added how sorry he was about what had happened Sunday evening-he hadn't really meant what he'd said. Dussel assured him he hadn't taken it to heart. So everYthing was right as rain again. Mother passed this story on to me, and I was secretly amazed that Peter, who'd been so angry at Dussel, had humbled himself, despite all his assurances to the contrary.
I couldn't refrain from sounding Peter out on the subject, and he instantly replied that Dussel had been lying. You should have seen Peter's face. I wish I'd had a camera. Indignation, rage, indecision, agitation and much more crossed his face in rapid succession.
That evening Mr. van Daan and Peter really told Dussel off. But it couldn't have been all that bad, since Peter had another dental appointment today. Actually, they never wanted to speak to each other
