Tales From the Secret Annex Part 9

After this conversation about G.o.d, both Hans and Cady felt they had concluded a friendship that went much deeper than any outsider would have suspected. In the meantime Cady had got so used to writing everything that happened around her in her diary that soon she could describe her thoughts and feelings better there than any- where else, except to Hans. One day she wrote: "Though I have a real friend, I am not always happy and cheerful. Do all people have such changing moods?

But if I were always happy, perhaps I wouldn't think enough about all sorts of things that are certainly worth thinking about.

"Our conversation about G.o.d is still running through my head, and often, while reading in bed or in the woods, I think: How can G.o.d speak to me through myself? And then a whole discussion goes on inside me.

"I believe that G.o.d 'speaks through myself because be- fore sending people into the world He gives each one of them a little bit of Himself. It is that little bit of G.o.d in a person that makes the difference between good and evil and that provides the answer to His questions. That little bit is nature in the same sense as the growing of the flow- ers and the singing of the birds.

"But G.o.d also sowed pa.s.sions and desires in men and in all men these desires are at war with justice.

"Who knows? Someday perhaps men will listen more to the 'little bit of G.o.d' that is called conscience than to their desires. "

On September 3 the peace of the sanatorium was dis- turbed for the first time since Cady's arrival.

At one o'clock when she happened to be listening to the news on her headset, she was horrified when the A. and B. commentator announced that Minister Chamberlain had declared war on Germany. Cady had never taken an interest in politics, which was perfectly normal for a girl of fourteen, and anyway she wasn't moved by events in distant countries. But she had a vague idea that this dec- laration of war would affect her too someday. When the nurse served tea after lunch, she told the other patients the news.

All the patients who shared Cady's room were well on their way to ecovery. The day before the war broke out, a new lady had arrived in the ward. Her bed was next to Cady's. Except for "good morning" and "good night," Cady hadn't ex- changed a word with this lady, but now, all by itself, for

* Here, there was a break in the original ma.n.u.script. -Trans.

beside Cady had been silent.

Cady was aware of this and she noticed that tears were running down over the rather young-looking face, making it look sad and pitiful. She didn't dare to ask any questions for fear of disturbing the lady, who was deep in thought. A little later in the day, Cady was reading when she heard her neighbor sobbing. Quickly she laid her book down on her bedside table and asked in a soft voice: "Should 1 call the nurse? Don't you feel well?"

The woman looked up. Her face was stained with tears. For a moment she looked into Cady's eyes, then she said: "No, my child, never mind about me. My trouble is something that no nurses or medicine can help." At that Cady felt even sorrier for the woman. She looked so discouraged and dejected that after those words Cady couldn't rest: "Maybe 1 can help you," she said.

The woman, who had slumped down on her pillows, sat up again, dried her tears with her handkerchief, and gave Cady a friendly look. "I can see you're not asking out of curiosity," she said. "Though you're still very young, I'll tell you what's making me so miserable." Here she paused a moment, looked around her with unseeing eyes, and then went on: "My son, it's about my son. He's in England at boarding school, he was supposed to come home next month, and now, now. . ." Sobs prevented her from saying any more, but Cady filled in:

"And now he can't come back anymore?" The answer was a faint nod: "Who knows how long this war will go on and what will happen over there. I don't believe all this talk about its being over in a few months. A war always lasts longer than people expect."

"But so far there's been no fighting except in Poland. You mustn't worry so. After all, your son is being taken care of." Though Cady knew nothing about the boy, she felt she had to make some answer to the woman's words of discouragement. But the woman didn't seem to hear her. "After every war," she went on, "people' say never again, it was so terrible, it must never be allowed to hap- pen again, but people always have to start fighting each other, and that's how it will always be, as long as humans live and breathe they will always quarrel and whenever they are at peace they will go looking for something to fight about."

"I don't know, I've never been through a war, and. . . but we're not at war, so far it doesn't affect us. Of course what you tell me about your son is a shame, but when the war is over I'm sure you'll be reunited in good health.

But. . . wait a minute. What's to prevent your son from coming now? Travel between Holland and England hasn't been stopped. Just ask the doctor, he's sure to know. If your son leaves soon, he'll get home all right." Never had Cady seen such a sudden change in a face: "Do you really think so, I'd never thought of that; here comes the nurse, I'll ask her."

The nearest nurse came over at a sign from Cady and her neighbor. "Sister," the woman asked, "do you know if communications between Holland and England have been cut?"

"Not that I know of. Are you going to England?"

"No, that's not why I ask. Thank you very much, Sister."

After giving Cady another grateful look, the woman turned around and began to think out what she would write to her son.

It was a hard time for the Jews. The fate of many would be decided in 1942. In July they began to round up boys and girls and deport them. Luckily Cady's girl friend Mary seemed to have been forgotten. Later it wasn't just the young people, no one was spared. In the fall and win- ter Cady went through terrible experiences. Night after night she heard cars driving down the street, she heard children screaming and doors being slammed. Mr. and Mrs. Van Altenhoven looked at each other and Cady in the lamplight, and in their eyes the question could be read: "Whom will they take tomorrow?"

One evening in December, Cady decided to run over to Mary's house and cheer her up a little. That night the noise in the street was worse than ever. Cady rang three times at the Hopkens's and when Mary came to the front of the house and looked cautiously out of the window, she called out her name to rea.s.sure her. Cady was let in. The whole family sat waiting in gym suits, with packs on their backs. They all looked pale and didn't say a word when Cady stepped into the room. Would they sit there like this every night for months? The sight of all these pale, fright- ened faces was terrible. Every time a door slammed out- side, a shock went through the people sitting there. Those slamming doors seemed to symbolize the slamming of the door of life.

At ten o'clock Cady took her leave. She saw there was no point in her sitting there, there was nothing she could do to help or comfort these people, who already seemed to be in another world. The only one who kept her courage up a little was Mary. She nodded to Cady from time to time and tried desperately to get her parents and sisters to eat something.

Mary took her to the door and bolted it after her. Cady started home with her little flashlight. She hadn't taken five steps when she stopped still and listened; she heard steps around the corner, a whole regiment of soldiers. She couldn't see much in the darkness, but she knew very well who was coming and what it meant. She flattened herself against a wall, switched off her light, and hoped the men wouldn't see her. Then suddenly one of them stopped in front of her, brandishing a pistol and looking at her with threatening eyes and a cruel face. "Come!" That was all he said, and immediately she was roughly seized and led away.

"I'm a Christian girl of respectable parents," she managed to say. She trembled from top to toe and wondered what this brute would do to her. At all costs she must try to show him her ident.i.ty card.

"What do you mean respectable? Let's see your card."

Cady took it out of her pocket.

"Why didn't you say so right away?" the man said as he looked at it. "So ein Lumpenpack!" Before she knew it she was lying on the street. Furious over his own mistake, the German had given the "respectable Christian girl" a vio- lent shove. Without a thought for her pain or anything else, Cady stood up and ran home.

After that night a week pa.s.sed before Cady had a chance to visit Mary. But one afternoon she took time off, regardless of her work or other appointments. Before she got to the Hopkens's house she was as good as sure she wouldn't find Mary there, and, indeed, when she came to the door, it was sealed up.

Cady was seized with despair. "Who knows," she thought, "where Mary is now?" She turned around and went straight back home. She went to her room and slammed the door. With her coat still on, she threw her- self down on the sofa, and thought and thought about Mary.

Why did Mary have to go away when she, Cady, could stay here? Why did Mary have to suffer her terrible fate when she was left to enjoy herself? What difference was there between them? Was she better than Mary in any way? Weren't they exactly the same? What crime had Mary committed? Oh, this could only be a terrible injustice. And suddenly she saw Mary's little figure before her, shut up in a cell, dressed in rags, with a sunken, emaciated face. Her eyes were very big, and she looked at Cady so sadly and reproachfully. Cady couldn't stand it anymore, she fell on her knees and cried and cried, cried till her whole body shook. Over and over again she saw Mary's eyes begging for help, help that Cady knew she couldn't give her.

"Mary, forgive me, come back. . ."

Cady no longer knew what to say or to think. For this misery that she saw so clearly before her eyes there were no words. Doors slammed in her ears, she heard children crying and in front of her she saw a troop of armed brutes, just like the one who had pushed her into the mud, and in among them, helpless and alone, Mary, Mary who was the same as she was.

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND ESSAYS.

Do You Remember?

REMINISCENCES OF MY SCHOOL DAYS.

July 7, 1943

Do you remember? I spend happy hours talking about school, the instructors, our adventures, and -- boys. When we still were part of ordinary, everyday life, everything was just marvelous. That one year in the Lyceum was sheer bliss for me; the teachers, all that they taught me, the jokes, the prestige, the romances, and the adoring boys.

Do you remember the day I came home from midtown, and there was a package in the mailbox, marked "D'un ami-R."? It couldn't have come from anyone but Rob. Wrapped in the little parcel was a breastpin worth at least two and one-half guilders, and ultramodern. Rob's father dealt in such things. I wore it two days, and then it broke.

Do you remember how Lies and I betrayed the cla.s.s? We had a French test. I was pretty well prepared, but not Lies. She copied everything from me and I peeked at her work -- to improve it! Though Lies' paper was a trifle better than mine, probably through the help I had given her, the teacher decided to give us both a big fat zero. Great indignation! We went to the headmaster to complain and set things straight. At the end of the conference, Lies blurted out, "But, mind you, sir, the entire cla.s.s had open books under the desks!" The head promised not to punish the cla.s.s, provided that all who had copied their work would raise their hands when asked about it. Ten hands, not even half the true number, went up. A day or two later, we were unexpectedly given the French test all over again. Lies and I were "cut dead" as traitors. Pretty soon I found myself unable to endure this treatment, and I wrote a long, pleading letter to Cla.s.s 16 II, begging forgiveness. In two weeks, the whole thing was forgotten.

The letter was about as follows:

To the pupils of Cla.s.s 16 II,

Anne Frank and Lies Goosens herewith offer the pupils of Cla.s.s 16 II their sincere apologies for the cowardly betrayal in connection with the French test.

It was an unpremeditated, thoughtless act, and we admit without hesitation that we are the only ones who should have been punished. We think that any- one, in anger, might let a word or sentence slip that carries unpleasant consequences, but that was never intended to cause any harm. We hope that 16 II will regard the incident in that light and repay evil with good. Nothing can be done about it, and the two guilty ones can't undo their misdeed.

We wouldn't write this letter if we were not genu- inely sorry. We ask those who have "cut" us until now to reconsider, for, after all, our act was not so heinous that we have to be looked upon as criminals for all eternity. We beg those who cannot get over our mistake to give us a thorough scolding or, if they pre- fer, ask us to perform some service which, if at all possible, we shall carry out.

We trust that all of the pupils in Cla.s.s 16 II will forget the affair.