The Diary of a Young Girl_ The Definitive Edition - Anne Frank [49]
Sometimes the guns go off during the night, between one and four. I’m never aware of it before it happens, but all of a sudden I find myself standing beside my bed, out of sheer habit. Occasionally I’m 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 I’ve 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:
Once I’ve 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 let’s talk about the lunch break.
It’s 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 companion, 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 don’t interrupt each other, since even Mr. van Daan can’t 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 doesn’t hesitate to let his protest be heard. Mr. Kleiman relates the latest news from town, and he’s an excellent source. Mr. Kugler hurries up the stairs, gives a short but solid knock on the door and comes in either wringing his hands or rubbing them in glee, depending on whether he’s 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 comes next is the quietest hour of the day; when they’re all asleep, there are no disturbances. To judge by his face, Dussel is dreaming of food. But I don’t look at him long, because the time whizzes by and before you know it, it’ll be 4 P.M. and the pedantic Dr. Dussel will be standing with the clock in his hand because I’m one minute late clearing off the table.
Yours, Anne
SATURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
A few weeks ago I started writing a story, something I made up from beginning to end, and I’ve enjoyed it so much that the products of my pen are piling up.
Yours, Anne
MONDAY, AUGUST 9, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
We now continue with a typical day in the Annex. Since we’ve already had lunch, it’s time to describe dinner.
Mr. van Daan. Is served first, and takes a generous portion of whatever he likes. Usually joins in the conversation, never fails to give his opinion. Once he’s spoken, his word is final. If anyone dares to suggest otherwise, Mr.