安妮日记英文版_安妮·弗兰克-第22部分

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　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　know　it；　itll　be　4　p。m。　and　the　pedantic　dr。　dussel　will　be　standing　with　the　clock　in　his　hand　because　im　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　ive　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　weve　already　had　lunch；　its　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　hes　spoken；　his　word　is　final。　if　anyone　dares　to　suggest　otherwise；　mr。　van　d。　can　put　up　a　good　fight。　oh；　he　can　hiss　like　a　cat。　。　。　but　id　rather　he　didnt。　once　youve　seen　it；　you　never　want　to　see　it　again。　his　opinion　is　the　best；　he　knows　the　most　about　everything。　granted；　the　man　has　a　good　head　on　his　shoulders；　but　its　swelled　to　no　small　degree。

madame。　actually；　the　best　thing　would　be　to　say　nothing。　some　days；　especially　when　a　foul　mood　is　on　the　way；　her　face　is　hard　to　read。　if　you　analyze　the　discussions；　you　realize　shes　not　the　subject；　but　the　guilty　party！　a　fact　everyone　prefers　to　ignore。　even　so；　you　could　call　her　the　instigator。　stirring　up　trouble；　now　thats　what　mrs。　van　daan　calls　fun。　stirring　up　trouble　between　mrs。　frank　and　anne。　margot　and　mr。　frank　aren　t　qwte　as　easy。

but　lets　return　to　the　table。　mrs。　van　d。　may　think　she　doesnt　always　get　enough；　but　thats　not　the　case。　the　choicest　potatoes；　the　tastiest　morsel；　the　tenderest　bit　of　whatever　there　is；　thats　madames　motto。　the　others　can　all　have　their　turn；　as　long　as　i　get　the　best。　（exactly　what　she　accuses　anne　frank　of　doing。）　her　second　watchword　is：　keep　talking。　as　long　as　somebodys　listening；　it　doesnt　seem　to　occur　to　her　to　wonder　whether　theyre　interested。　she　must　think　that　whatever　mrs。　van　daan　says　will　interest　everyone。

smile　coquettishly；　pretend　you　know　everything；　offer　everyone　a　piece　of　advice　and　mother　them　　thats　sure　to　make　a　good　impression。　but　if　you　take　a　better　look；　the　good　impression　fades。　one；　shes　hardworking；　two；　cheerful；　three；　coquettish　　and　sometimes　a　cute　face。　thats　petronella　van　daan。

the　third　diner。　says　very　little。　young　mr。　van　daan　is　usually　quiet　and　hardly　makes　his　presence　known。　as　far　as　his　appetite　is　concerned；　hes　a　danaldean　vessel　that　never　gets　full。　even　after　the　most　substantial　meal；　he　can　look　you　calmly　in　the　eye　and　claim　he　could　have　eaten　twice　as　much。

number　four　　margot。　eats　like　a　bird　and　doesnt　talk　at　all。　she　eats　only　vegetables　and　fruit。　〃spoiled；〃　in　the　opinion　of　the　van　daans。　〃too　little　exercise　and　fresh　air；〃　in　ours。

beside　her　　mama。　has　a　hearty　appetite；　does　her　share　of　the　talking。　no　one　has　the　impression；　as　they　do　with　mrs。　van　daan；　that　this　is　a　housewife。　whats　the　difference　between　the　two？　well；　mrs。　van　d。　does　the　cook