Tales From the Secret Annex Part 3

The child could not possibly answer; violent sobs kept her from speaking. Suddenly, she upset a chair, ran weeping out of the room and up to the attic, where she sank down on some bags in a corner, sobbing as if her heart would break.

The mother shrugged her shoulders as she cleared the table downstairs; she wasn't surprised at her child's con- duct. Such "crazy" moods were not unusual; she decided to let the girl alone-there was nothing to be gained, and the everlasting tears were always on the point of coming. A fine specimen of a twelve-year-old farmer's daughter!

In the attic, Kathy had calmed down somewhat and was collecting her thoughts. She would presently go downstairs, tell her mother that she had simply been sitting on the boulder by the door and thinking about things, and offer to finish all of the work that afternoon. Her mother then would surely understand that she did not mind the work, and should she be asked why she had been sitting still all morning, she would answer that there was something important she HAD to figure out. Then, in the evening, when she had to deliver the eggs, she would buy a pretty, silver, glittering thimble for her mother; she had just enough money to buy one in the village.

Mother would realize that she wasn't so slow-witted and crazy, after all. Oh, if she could only get rid of that dreadful nickname! Here was a thought: If she had any money left over after buying the thimble, she'd get a bag of sweets and, on her way to school, divide them among the girls. Then they'd like her and ask her to play with them. They would soon see that she was as good at games Kathy 29 as anyone, and n.o.body would ever call her anything but Kathy after that.

Softly she descended the stairs. When she met her mother in the pa.s.sage, all courage to talk and explain the morning's absence left her, and she quickly started cleaning the windows, one of her regular tasks.

It was almost sundown when Kathy took the basket of eggs and began her rounds. After a half hour's walk she reached the first customer, who stood in her doorway, dish in hand.

"I'll take ten tonight, my child," said the friendly woman.

She counted off ten and, with a greeting, continued on her way.

In three quarters of an hour the basket was empty, and Kathy stepped into the small general store. A pretty thimble and a bagful of sweets were soon put into the basket, and now Kathy turned back toward home. About halfway, she saw two of the girls who had teased her in the morning coming toward her. She bravely suppressed a longing to hide, and, her heart beating wildly, she went on.

"Look! Here comes Crazykate!"

At her wits' end, Kathy took the bag of sweets from her basket and politely held it out to the children. They quickly grabbed it from her and ran away with it. One of them stuck out her tongue at Kathy.

Lonesome and heartbroken, Kathy sat down in the gra.s.s at the edge of the road, and wept, wept, and wept. Finally, in the dark, she dried her tears, picked up the basket, and slowly set off in the direction of home.

Somewhere in the gra.s.s, the thimble glittered. . .

The Flower Girl

February 20, 1944

Every morning at seven-thirty the door of a little house at the edge of the village opens, and out steps a rather small girl, carrying a basket heaped with flowers on each arm. After shutting the door, she switches her burdens and starts the day's work. The people of the village, who answer her smiling nod as she pa.s.ses, feel sorry for her. "That road is much too long and the job too hard," they think, "for a child of twelve."

But the little girl, herself, naturally doesn't know the thoughts of her fellow villagers. Merrily, and as quickly as her short legs will take her, she walks on and on and on. The road to the town is really very long; it takes her at least two and a half hours of steady walking to reach it and, with two heavy baskets, that's not easy.

When she finally trudges through the streets of the town she is exhausted, and it's only the prospect of soon being able to sit down and rest that sustains her. But the little one is brave and doesn't slow down her gait until she gets to her spot in the market. Then she sits down and waits and waits. . .

Sometimes she sits and waits all day because there are not enough people who want to buy something from the poor flower girl. Quite often Krista has to carry her baskets, still half full, back to the village in the evening.

But today things are different. It is Wednesday, and the market is unusually crowded and busy. Beside her, market women cry their wares, and all about her the little girl hears scolding and angry voices.

Pa.s.sers-by can scarcely hear Krista, for her high little voice is almost drowned out in the market hubbub. But all day long, Krista doesn't stop calling, "Pretty flowers, a dime a bunch! Buy my pretty flowers!" Some people who, finished with their errands, take time to look into the baskets gladly pay a dime for one of the lovely small bouquets.

At twelve o'clock, Krista walks to the opposite side of the market square, where the owner of the coffee stand is in the habit of giving her, free of charge, a cupful with plenty of sugar. For this kind man Krista keeps her prettiest flowers.

Then she takes her seat again and once more starts crying her wares. At last, about three-thirty, she picks up her baskets and returns to the village. Now she walks much more slowly than she did in the morning. Krista is tired, terribly tired.

The trip back takes her a full thI:ee hours, and it is six- thirty when she reaches the door of the little old house. Inside everything is still the way she left it--cold, lone- some, and untidy. Her sister, with whom she shares the place, works in the village from early morning to late at night. Krista can't afford to rest; she is no sooner home than she begins to peel potatoes and clean vegetables. Her sister gets back from work at seven-thirty, and they finally sit down and have something to eat.

At eight in the evening the door of the cottage opens again, and once more the little girl comes out with the two big baskets on her arms. Now she walks into the fields that surround the little house. She doesn't have to go far; soon she bends down in the gra.s.s and picks flowers, all kinds of them, big ones and little ones, and all of them go into the baskets. The sun has almost set, and the child still sits in the gra.s.s, collecting her next day's supply.

The task is finished at last; the baskets are full. The sun has set, and Krista lies down in the gra.s.s, her hands folded under her head, and looks up into the sky.

This is her favorite quarter hour, and n.o.body need think that the hardworking little flower girl is dissatisfied. She never is and never will be so long as, every day, she may have this wonderful short rest.

In the field, amid the flowers, beneath the darkening sky, Krista is content. Gone is fatigue, gone is the mar- ket, gone are the people. The little girl dreams and thinks only of the bliss of having, each day, this short while alone with G.o.d and nature.

The Guardian Angel

February 22, 1944

Once upon a time, an old lady and her young granddaughter lived for many years on the very edge of a large forest. The girl's parents had died when she was still quite small, and the grandmother had always taken good care of her. The little house in which they lived was a lonesome place, but they didn't seem to realize it and were happy together.

One morning the old lady couldn't get up, because she was in great pain. Her granddaughter was now fourteen years old, and she looked after her grandma as well as she could. It lasted five days; then the grandmother died and the girl was all alone in that lonesome cottage. As she knew hardly anyone and did not want to call in strangers to bury her grandmother, she dug a grave under an old tree in the woods, and there laid her grandma to rest.

When the poor girl came back to the house, she felt get up until evening, to get a bite to eat. So it went, day after day. The poor child no longer took pleasure in anything and only mourned and mourned for her dear old granny.

Then something happened that changed her entirely in just one day. It was night, and the girl was asleep when, suddenly, her grandmother stood before her. She was dressed in white from head to foot; her white hair hung down her shoulders, and she carried a small lamp.

From her bed, the girl watched her and waited for the grandmother to speak. "My dear little girl," the grandma began, "I have been watching you now every day for four weeks, and you never do anything but weep and sleep. That is not good, and I have come to tell you that you must work and spin; that you must take care of our little house and also dress prettily again.

"You mustn't think that, now I am dead, I no longer look after you; I am in heaven and always watch you from above. I have become your guardian angel, and I am always with you, just as before. Take up your work again, darling, and never forget that your granny is with you!"

Then Granny disappeared, and the girl slept on.

Next morning when she awoke, she remembered what her grandmother had said, and she was filled with joy and no longer felt forsaken. She started working again, sold her spinning in the market, and followed her granny's ad- vice at all times.

Later, much later, she also wasn't alone in the outside world. She was married to a fine man, a miller. She thanked her granny for not having left her alone, and she well knew that, though she now always had good com- pany, her guardian angel would not leave her until the end of her days.

Fear

March 25, 1944

It was a terrible time through which I was living. The war raged about us, and n.o.body knew whether or not he would be alive the next hour. My parents, brothers, sisters, and I made our home in the city, but we expected that we either would be evacuated or have to escape in some other way. By day the sound of cannon and rifle shots was almost continuous, and the nights were myste- riously filled with sparks and sudden explosions that seemed to come from some unknown depth.

I cannot describe it; I don't remember that tumult quite clearly, but I do know that all day long I was in the grip of fear. My parents tried everything to calm me, but it didn't help. I felt nothing, nothing but fear; I could neither eat nor sleep -- fear clawed at my mind and body and shook me. That lasted for about a week; then came an evening and a night which I recall as though it had been yesterday.

At half past eight, when the shooting had somewhat died down, I lay in a sort of half doze on a sofa. Suddenly all of us were startled by two violent explosions. As though stuck with knives, we all jumped up and ran into the hall. Even Mother, usually so calm, looked pale. The explosions repeated themselves at pretty regular intervals.

Then: a tremendous crash, the noise of much breaking gla.s.s, and an earsplitting chorus of yelling and screaming. I put on what heavy clothes I could find in a hurry, threw some things into a rucksack, and ran. I ran as fast as I could, ran on and on to get away from the fiercely burning ma.s.s about me. Everywhere shouting people darted to and fro; the street was alight with a fearsome red glow.

I didn't think of my parents or of my brothers and sis- ters. I had thoughts only for myself and knew that I must rush, rush, rush! I didn't feel any fatigue; my fear was too strong. I didn't know that I had lost my rucksack. All I felt and knew was that I had to run. I couldn't possibly say how long I ran on with the image of the burning houses, the desperate people and their dis- torted faces before me. Then I sensed that it had got more quiet. I looked around and, as if waking up from a night- mare, I saw that there was nothing or no one behind me. No fire, no bombs, no people. I looked a little more closely and found that I stood in a meadow. Above me the stars glistened and the moon shone; it was brilliant weather, crisp but not cold.

I didn't hear a sound. Exhausted, I sat down on the gra.s.s, then spread the blanket I had been carrying on my arm, and stretched out on it.

I looked up into the sky and realized that I was no longer afraid; on the contrary, I felt very peaceful inside. The funny thing was that I didn't think of my family, nor yearn for them; I yearned only for rest, and it wasn't long before I fell asleep there in the gra.s.s, under the sky.

When I woke up the sun was just rising. I immediately knew where I was; in the daylight I recognized the houses at the outskirts of our city. I rubbed my eyes and had a good look around. There was no one to be seen; the dan- delions and the clover-leaves in the gra.s.s were my only company. Lying back on the blanket for a while, I mused about what to do next. But my thoughts wandered off from the subject and returned to the wonderful feeling of the night before, when I sat in the gra.s.s and was no longer afraid.