Tales From the Secret Annex Part 10

Anne Frank and Lies Goosens

Do you remember how Pim told Rob in the tram that Anne was much prettier than Denise, especially when she smiled, and how Sanne, who was also a pa.s.senger, over- heard this and repeated it to me? And that Rob answered, "Your nostrils are much too wide, Pim!"

Do you remember that Maurice wanted to call on Father to ask him if he could keep company with his daughter?

Do you remember that Rob and Anne Frank carried on a busy correspondence while Rob was sick in the hospital?

Do you remember how Sam pursued me on his bike and wanted to ride hand-in-hand with me?

Do you remember how Bram kissed me on the cheek when I gave him my solemn promise not to tell a soul about the goings-on between him and Suzy?

Oh how I wish that those happy, carefree days could come again!

The Flea

Wednesday, July 7, 1943

We've been having another calamity here, Mouschi's fleas. We didn't know cat fleas could get on people; but they can.

Yesterday I caught one on the upper part of my leg, then ten minutes later one farther down, and in the eve- ning on Dussel's bed there was another running around on my leg. He slipped through my fingers, the critters are so terribly nimble. This morning when I was dressing in front of the cupboard another of those marvels jumped up on me. I'd never seen a flea that could run and jump. I caught him and pretty near crushed him, but Mr. Flea managed to get away. I sighed and took my clothes off again, and examined by naked boddy* and my clothes un- til I found the flea in my panties. Less than a second later his head was off.

*Misspelled in the original-Trans.

The Battle of the Potatoes

Wednesday, August 4, 1943

After about three months of peace, interrupted by occasional bickering, there was a big fight today. It happened while we were peeling potatoes early in the morn- ing, and no one expected it. I'll give the gist of the argument; I couldn't keep up with it all, because everybody was talking at once.

Mrs. Van Daan started it (as usual) by saying that any- body who didn't help with the potato peeling in the morn- ing would have to help in the afternoon. n.o.bodyan- swered, and that didn't suit the Van Daans at all because a minute later Mr. Van Daan said the best way would be for everyone to peel his own potatoes, except Peter, be- cause potato peeling wasn't suitable work for boys. (You see his brand of logic!)

And Mr. Van Daan went on: "I also fail to see why the men should always help; that's a very unfair distribution of labor; why should one do a lot more work for the com- munity than the others?" At that point Mother stepped in, because she saw where the discussion was heading: "Aha, Mr. Van Daan, I see what you're getting at, you're going to say the children don't work enough. Don't you realize that when Margot doesn't help, Anne does, and vice versa? Peter doesn't help either, but in his case you think it unnecessary. Well, I find it unnecessary for the girls!"

Then Mr. Van Daan barked and Mrs. Van Daan splut- tered, Dussel tried to calm them down, and Mommy shouted. The confusion was frightful, and there was poor little me, watching our supposedly "wise parents" literally at each other's throats.

The words flew thick and fast, Mrs. Van Daan accused Dussel of playing a double game (I think so too), Mr. Van Daan said something to Mother about community spirit, and said he worked so hard they should have pity on him. Then he suddenly started shouting: "It would make more sense for the children to help a little more instead of always sitting there with their noses stuck in books; there's no need for girls to learn so much!" (Modern, isn't he?) Mother said pretty calmly that she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for Van Daan.

Then he started in again: "Why don't the girls ever carry the potatoes upstairs and why don't they ever get hot water, they're not all that weak." "You're crazy," Mother shouted suddenly, and that kind of frightened me, I wouldn't have thought she'd dare.

The rest doesn't really matter; nothing much came of it. Margot and I were appointed housemaids to the Secret Annex. Here a vulgar expression comes to mind. "You can I kiss my . . ." Because naturally nothing of the kind will happen.

Van Daan also had the effrontery to say that Margot's washing up morning and noon for a whole year was no work at all.

When Father heard what had happened, he wanted to run upstairs and give Van Daan a good piece of his mind, but Mother thought it better to tell the man that if everyone should only take his own chestnuts out of the fire, then everyone should live on his own money.

My conclusion is this: the whole fuss is typical of the Van Daans, always warming up the same old slops. If Father weren't much too good to such people, he could remind them that we and the others literally saved their lives. In a labor camp they'd have to do worse things than peel potatoes. . . or even hunt cat fleas.

Villains!

Friday, August 6, 1943

Who are the villains here! Real villains! The Van Daans.

What's the trouble now?

I'm going to tell you.

It's the honest truth that we've got all these fleas in the house because of the Van Daans' indifference. For months we warned them: "Take your cat to the exterminator," we said. The answer was always: "Our cat has no fleas."

When the fleas were only too plainly proven and the itch kept us awake at night, Peter, who simply felt sorry for the cat, took a look, and true enough the fleas jumped straight in his face. He went to work, combed the cat with Mrs. Van Daan's fine comb, and brushed it with our one and only brush. What came to light?

At least a hundred fleas!

We asked Koophuis for advice, and the next day we put a disgusting green powder on everything. It didn't help.

Then we got a spray gun with a kind of flea-Flit. Father,

Dussel, Margot, and I were busy for a long time; we rubbed and swept and scrubbed and sprayed. Everything was full of it, clothes, blankets, floors, sofas, every nook and cranny; nothing was left unflitted.

Upstairs, too, Peter's room. The Van Daans thought there was no need for it in their room. We urged them to do at least their clothing, blankets, and chairs. They said they would. Everything was taken up to the attic and sup- posedly sprayed. Don't you believe it! The Franks are easy to fool. Nothing was done, there was no smell.

The excuse was: "The Flit smell would spoil our provisions."

Conclusion: They're to blame for bringing the fleas here. We get the stink, the itch and the bother.

Mrs. Van Daan can't stand the smell at night. Mr. Van Daan pretends to spray, but he brings the chairs, blankets, etc. back again unsprayed. Just let the Franks stifle in their fleas.

My First Day at the Lyceum

August 11, 1943

With a lot of fuss, talk, and planning, things were finally fixed so that I could register at the Lyceum and -- without an entrance exam! I was a poor student in every subject, but particularly in math, and I trembled as I thought of the geometry course that stared me in the face.

At the end of September, the mail brought the long- awaited letter announcing the date in October on which I was to report at the Lyceum. That day it rained cats and dogs, and it was impossible to go by bike. So I used the tram, together with plenty of others.

There was a big crowd at the school; groups of boys and girls stood about, chatting; some walked from one group to another, recognizing friends and acquaintances, and asking, "What cla.s.s are you in?"

Aside from Lies Goosens, I hadn't discovered a single person I knew who would become a cla.s.smate, and that situation didn't strike me as very pleasant. The school doors opened, and in our cla.s.sroom we were welcomed by a gray teacher with a mouse face, who wore a long dress and flat-heeled shoes.

She stood there rubbing her hands as she watched the hubbub in front of her and made the usual announce- ments. The teacher called and checked the names of the students, told us what books had to be ordered, and dis- cussed some other details. Then we were dismissed and could go home again.

To tell the truth, I was deeply disappointed; I had ex- pected at least to see the schedule and-to meet the direc- tor. I did see, in one of the halls, a jolly, fat little man with red cheeks, who, smiling at everyone who pa.s.sed, stood talking with another chap of the same height, who was thin, had a dignified face and silky hair, and wore spectacles. But I had no idea that the fat man was the building superintendent, and the thin one the director.

Back home I gave an excited report of my experiences, but, to be honest, I knew as much of the school, the instructors, the children, and the schedule as I did before I left.