“You have no business talking about your rights to the room.Where am I supposed to go? Maybe I should ask Mr. van Daan to build me acubbyhole in the attic. You’re not the only one who can’t find a quiet place towork. You’re always looking for a fight. If your sister Margot, who has moreright to work space than you do, had come to me with the same request, I’dnever even have thought of refusing, but you. . .”And once again he brought up the business about the mythology and theknitting, and once again Anne was insulted.However, I showed no sign of it and let Dussel finish: “But no, it’s impossibleto talk to you. You’re shamefully self-centered. No one else matters, as longas you get your way. I’ve never seen such a child. But after all is said anddone, I’ll be obliged to let you have your way, since I don’t want peoplesaying later on that Anne Frank failed her exams because Mr. Dussel refusedto relinquish his table!”He went on and on until there was such a deluge of words I could hardly keepup. For one fleeting moment I thought, “Him and his lies. I’ll smack his uglymug so hard he’ll go bouncing off the wall!” But the next moment I thought,”Calm down, he’s not worth getting so upset about!”At long last Mr. Dussel’ s fury was spent, and he left the room with anexpression of triumph mixed with wrath, his coat pockets bulging with food.I went running over to Father and recounted the entire story, or at least thoseparts he hadn’t been able to follow himself. rim decided to talk to Dussel thatvery same evening, and they spoke for more than half an hour.They first discussed whether Anne should be allowed to use the table, yes orno. Father said that he and Dussel had dealt with the subject once before, atwhich time he’d professed to agree with Dussel because he didn’t want tocontradict the elder in front of the younger, but that, even then, he hadn’tthought it was fair. Dussel felt I had no right to talk as if he were an intruderlaying claim to everything in sight. But Father protested strongly, since hehimself had heard me say nothing of the kind. And so the conversation wentback and forth, with Father defending my“selfishness” and my “busywork” and Dussel grumbling the whole time.Dussel finally had to give in, and I was granted the opportunity to workwithout interruption two afternoons a week. Dussel looked very sullen, didn’tspeak to me for two days and made sure he occupied the table from five tofive-thirty — all very childish, of course.Anyone who’s so petty and pedantic at the age of fifty-four was born that wayand is never going to change.FRIDAY, JULY 16, 1943Dearest Kitty,There’s been another break-in, but this time a real one!Peter went down to the warehouse this morning at seven, as usual, andnoticed at once that both the warehouse door and the street door were open.He immediately reported this to Pim, who went to the private office, tunedthe radio to a German station and locked the door. Then they both went backupstairs. In such cases our orders are not to wash ourselves or run any water,to be quiet, to be dressed by eight and not to go to the bathroom,” and asusual we followed these to the letter. We were all glad we’d slept so well andhadn’t heard anything. For a while we were indignant because no one fromthe office came upstairs the entire morning; Mr. Kleiman left us ontenterhooks until eleven-thirty. He told that the burglars had forced theoutside door and the warehouse door with a crowbar, but when they didn’tfind anything worth stealing, they tried their luck on the next floor. Theystole two cashboxes containing 40 guilders, blank checkbooks and, worst ofall, coupons for 330 pounds of sugar, our entire allotment. It won’t be easy towangle new ones.Mr. Kugler thinks this burglar belongs to the same gang as the one who madean unsuccessful attempt six weeks ago to open all three doors (the warehousedoor and the two outside doors).The burglary caused another stir, but the Annex seems to thrive onexcitement. Naturally, we were glad the cash register and the typewriters hadbeen safely tucked away in our clothes closet.Yours, AnnePS. Landing in Sicily. Another step closer to the . . . !MONDAY, JULY 19,1943Dearest Kitty,North Amsterdam was very heavily bombed on Sunday. There wasapparently a great deal of destruction. Entire streets are in ruins, and it willtake a while for them to dig out all the bodies. So far there have been twohundred dead and countless wounded; the hospitals are bursting at the seams.We’ve been told of children searching forlornly in the smoldering ruins fortheir dead parents. It still makes me shiver to think of the dull, distant dronethat signified the approaching destruction.FRIDAY, JULY 23, 1943Bep is currently able to get hold of notebooks, especially journals andledgers, useful for my bookkeeping sister! Other kinds are for sale as well,but don’t ask what they’re like or how long they’ll last. At the moment they’re all labeled”No Coupons Needed!” Like everything else you can purchase without rationstamps, they’re i totally worthless. They consist of twelve sheets of gray Ipaper with narrow lines that slant across the page. Margot is thinking abouttaking a course in calligraphy; I’ve advised her to go ahead and do it. Motherwon’t let me because of my eyes, but I think that’s silly. Whether I do I that orsomething else, it all comes down to the same I thing.Since you’ve never been through a war, Kitty, and since you know very littleabout life in hiding, in spite of my letters, let me tell you, just for fun, whatwe each want to do first when we’re able to go outside again.Margot and Mr. van Daan wish, above all else, to have a hot bath, filled tothe brim, which they can lie in for more than half an hour. Mrs. van Daanwould like a cake, Dussel can think of nothing but seeing his Charlotte, andMother is dying for a cup of real coffee. Father would like to visit Mr.Voskuijl, Peter would go downtown, and as for me, I’d be so overjoyed Iwouldn’t know where to begin.Most of all I long to have a home of our own, to be able to move aroundfreely and have someone help me with my homework again, at last. In otherwords, to go back to school!Bep has offered to get us some fruit, at so-called bargain prices: grapes 2.50guilders a pound, gooseberries 70 cents a pound, one peach 50 cents, melons75 cents a pound. No wonder the papers write every evening in big, fatletters: “Keep Prices Down!”MONDAY, JULY 26, 1943Dear Kitty,Yesterday was a very tumultuous day, and we’re still all wound up. Actually,you may wonder if there’s ever a day that passes without some kind ofexcitement.The first warning siren went off in the morning while we were at breakfast,but we paid no attention, because it only meant that the planes were crossingthe coast. I had a terrible headache, so I lay down for an hour after breakfastand then went to the office at around two.At two-thirty Margot had finished her office work and was just gathering herthings together when the sirens began wailing again. So she and I troopedback upstairs. None too soon, it seems, for less than five minutes later theguns were booming so loudly that we went and stood in the hall.The house shook and the bombs kept falling. I was clutching my “escapebag,” more because I wanted to have something to hold on to than because Iwanted to run away. I know we can’t leave here, but if we had to, being seenon the streets would be just as dangerous as getting caught in an air raid.After half an hour the drone of engines faded and the house began to humwith activity again. Peter emerged from his lookout post in the front attic,Dussel remained in the front office, Mrs. van D. felt safest in the privateoffice, Mr. van Daan had been watching from the loft, and those of us on thelanding spread out to watch the columns of smoke rising from the harbor.Before long the smell of fire was everywhere, and outside it looked as if thecity were enveloped in a thick fog.A big fire like that is not a pleasant sight, but fortunately for us it was allover, and we went baCk to our various chores. Just as we were startingdinner: another air-raid alarm. The food was good, but I lost my appetite themoment I heard the siren. Nothing happened, however, and forty-fiveminutes later the all clear was sounded. After the dishes had been washed:another air-raid warning, gunfire and swarms of planes. “Oh, gosh, twice inone day,” we thought,”that’s twice in one day,” we thought, “that’s twice too many.” Little good thatdid us, because once agai the bombs rained down, this time on the others ofthe city. According to British reports, Schiphol Airport was bombed. Theplanes dived and climbed, the air was abuzz with the drone of engines. It wasvery scary, and the whole time I kept thinking, “Here it comes, this is it.”I can assure you that when I went to bed at nine, my legs were still shaking.At the stroke of midnight I woke up again: more planes! Dussel wasundressing, but I took no notice and leapt up, wide awake, at the sound of thefirst shot. I stayed in Father’s bed until one, in my own bed until one-thirty,and was back in Father’s bed at two. But the planes kept on coming. At lastthey stopped firing and I was able to go back “home” again. I finally fellasleep at half past two.Seven o’clock. I awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Mr.van Daan was with Father. My first thought was: burglars.”Everything,” I heard Mr. van Daan say, and I thought everything had beenstolen. But no, this time it was wonderful news, the best we’ve had in months,maybe even since the war began. Mussolini has resigned and the King ofItaly has taken over the government.We jumped for joy. After the awful events of yesterday, finally somethinggood happens and brings us. . . hope! Hope for an end to the war, hope forpeace.Mr. Kugler dropped by and told us that the Fokker aircraft factory had beenhit hard. Meanwhile, there was another air-raid alarm this morning, withplanes flying over, and another warning siren. I’ve had it up to here withalarms.I’ve hardly slept, and the last thing I want to do is work.But now the suspense about Italy and the hope that the war will be over bythe end of the year are keeping us awake. .Yours, AnneTHURSDAY, JULY 29, 1943Dearest Kitty,Mrs. van Daan, Dussel and I were doing the dishes, and I was extremelyquiet. This is very unusual for me and they were sure to notice, so in order toavoid any questions, I quickly racked my brains for a neutral topic. I thoughtthe book Henry from Across the Street might fit the bill, but I couldn’t havebeen more wrong; if Mrs. van Daan doesn’t jump down my throat, Mr. Dusseldoes. It all boiled down to this: Mr. Dussel had recommended the book toMargot and me as an example of excellent writing. We thought it wasanything but that. The little boy had been portrayed well, but as for the rest. .. the less said the better. I mentioned something to that effect while we weredoing the dishes, and Dussel launched into a veritable tirade.”How can you possibly understand the psychology of a man?That of a child isn’t so difficult !. But you’re far too young to read a booklike that. Even a twenty-year-old man would be unable to comprehend it.”(So why did he go out of his way to recommend it to Margot and me?) Mrs.van D. and Dussel continued their harangue: “You know way too much aboutthings you’re not supposed to. You’ve been brought up all wrong. Later on,when you’re older, you won’t be able to enjoy anything anymore. You’ll say,‘Oh, I read that twenty years ago in some book.’ You’d better hurry if youwant to catch a husband or fall in love, since everything is bound to be adisappointment to you. You already know all there is to know in theory. Butin practice? That’s another story!”Can you imagine how I felt? I astonished myself by calmly replying, “Youmay think I haven’t been raised properly, but many people would disagree!”They apparently believe that good child-rearing includes trying to pit meagainst my parents, since that’s all they ever do. And not telling a girl my ageabout grown-up subjects is fine. We can all see what happens when. peopleare raised that way.At that moment I could have slapped them both for poking fun at me. I wasbeside myself with rage, and if I only knew how much longer we had to putup with each other’s company, I’d start counting the days.Mrs. van Daan’s a fine one to talk! She sets an example all right — a bad one!She’s known to be exceedingly pushy, egotistical, cunning, calculating andperpetually dissatisfied. Add to that, vanity and coquettishness and there’s noquestion about it: she’s a thoroughly despicable person. I could write an entirebook about Madame van Daan, and who knows, maybe someday I will.Anyone can put on a charming exterior when they want to. Mrs. van D. isfriendly to strangers, especially men, so it’s easy to make a mistake when youfirst get to know her.Mother thinks that Mrs. van D. is too stupid for words, Margot that she’s toounimportant, Pim that she’s too ugly (literally and figuratively!), and afterlong observation (I’m never prejudiced at the beginning), I’ve come to theconclusion that she’s all three of the above, and lots more besides. She has somany bad traits, why should I single out just one of them?Yours, AnneP.S. Will the reader please take into consideration that this story was writtenbefore the writer’s fury had cooled?TUESDAY, AUGUST 3, 1943Dearest Kitty,Things are going well on the political front. Italy has banned the FascistParty. The people are fighting the Fascists in many places — even the armyhas joined the fight. How can a country like that continue to wage war againstEngland?Our beautiful radio was taken away last week. Dussel was very angry at Mr.Kugler for turning it in on the appointed day. Dussel is slipping lower andlower in my estimation, and he’s already below zero. hatever he says aboutpolitics, history, geography or ything else is so ridiculous that I hardly darerepeat it: Hitler will fade from history; the harbor in Rotterdam is bigger thanthe one in Hamburg; the English are idiots for not taking the opportunity tobomb Italy to smithereens; etc., etc.We just had a third air raid. I decided to grit my teeth and practice beingcourageous.Mrs. van Daan, the one who always said “Let them fall” and”Better to end with a bang than not to end at all,” is the most cowardly oneamong us. She was shaking like a leaf this morning and even burst into tears.She was comforted by her husband, with whom she recently declared a truceafter a week of squabbling; I nearly got sentimental at the sight.Mouschi has now proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that having a cat hasdisadvantages as well as advantages. The whole house is crawling with fleas,and it’s getting worse each day. Mr. Kleiman sprinkled yellow powder inevery nook and cranny, but the fleas haven’t taken the slightest notice.It’s making us all very jittery; we’re forever imagining a bite on our arms andlegs or other parts of our bodies, so we leap up and do a few exercises, sinceit gives us an excuse to take a better look at our arms or necks. But now we’repaying the price for having had so little physical exercise; we’re so stiff wecan hardly turn our heads. The real calisthenics fell by the wayside long ago.Yours, Anne