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seven oclock。 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 been stolen。 but no； this time it was wonderful news； the best weve had in months； maybe even since the war began。 mussolini has resigned and the king of italy has taken over the government。
we jumped for joy。 after the awful events of yesterday； finally something good happens and brings us。 。 。 hope！ hope for an end to the war； hope for peace。
mr。 kugler dropped by and told us that the fokker aircraft factory had been hit hard。
meanwhile； there was another air…raid alarm this morning； with planes flying over； and another warning siren。 ive had it up to here with alarms。 ive 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 by the end of the year are keeping us awake。 。
yours； anne
thursday； july 29； 1943
dearest kitty；
mrs。 van daan； dussel and i were doing the dishes； and i was extremely quiet。 this is very unusual for me and they were sure to notice； so in order to avoid any questions； i quickly racked my brains for a neutral topic。 i thought the book henry from across the street might fit the bill； but i couldnt have been more wrong； if mrs。
van daan doesnt jump down my throat； mr。 dussel does。 it all boiled down to this：
mr。 dussel had remended the book to margot and me as an example of excellent writing。 we thought it was anything 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 were doing the dishes； and dussel launched into a veritable tirade。
〃how can you possibly understand the psychology of a man？ that of a child isnt so difficult ＇！＇。 but youre far too young to read a book like that。 even a twenty…year…old man would be unable to prehend it。〃 （so why did he go out of his way to remend it to margot and me？）
mrs。 van d。 and dussel continued their harangue： 〃you know way too much about things youre not supposed to。 youve been brought up all wrong。 later on； when youre older； you wont be able to enjoy anything anymore。 youll say； oh； i read that twenty years ago in some book。 youd better hurry if you want to catch a husband or fall in love； since everything is bound to be a disappointment to you。 you already know all there is to know in theory。 but in practice？ thats another story！鈥�
can you imagine how i felt？ i astonished myself by calmly replying； 〃you may think i havent been raised properly； but many people would disagree！鈥�
they apparently believe that good child…rearing includes trying to pit me against my parents； since thats all they ever do。 and not telling a girl my age about grown…up subjects is fine。 we can all see what happens when。 people are raised that way。
at that moment i could have slapped them both for poking fun at me。 i was beside myself with rage； and if i only knew how much longer we had to put up with each others pany； id start counting the days。
mrs。 van daans a fine one to talk！ she sets an example all right a bad one！
shes known to be exceedingly pushy； egotistical； cunning； calculating and perpetually dissatisfied。 add to that； vanity and coquettishness and theres no question about it：
shes a thoroughly despicable person。 i could write an entire book 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。 is friendly to strangers； especially men； so its easy to make a mistake when you first get to know her。
mother thinks that mrs。 van d。 is too stupid for words； margot that shes too unimportant； pim that shes too ugly （literally and figuratively！）； and after long observation （im never prejudiced at the beginning）； ive e to the conclusion that shes all three of the above； and lots more besides。 she has so many bad traits； why should i single out just one of them？
yours； anne
p。s。 will the reader please take into consideration that this story was written before the writers fury had cooled？
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AUGUST； 1943
灏彙ｈ銆倀銆倄t…澶�/鍫�
tuesday； august 3； 1943
dearest kitty；
things are going well on the political front。 italy has banned the fascist party。 the people are fighting the fascists in many places even the army has joined the fight。 how can a country like that continue to wage war against england？
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 and lower in my estimation； and hes already below zero。 hatever he says about politics； history； geography or ything else is so ridiculous that i hardly dare repeat it： hitler will fade from history； the harbor in rotterdam is bigger than the one in hamburg； the english are idiots for not taking the opportunity to bomb italy to smithereens； etc。； etc。
we just had a third air raid。 i decided to grit my teeth and practice being courageous。
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 one among us。 she was shaking like a leaf this morning and even burst into tears。 she was forted by her husband； with whom she recently declared a truce after 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 has disadvantages as well as advantages。 the whole house is crawling with fleas； and its getting worse each day。 mr。 kleiman sprinkled yellow powder in every nook and cranny； but the fleas havent taken the slightest notice。 its making us all very jittery；
were forever imagining a bite on our arms and legs or other parts of our bodies； so we leap up and do a few exercises； since it gives us an excuse to take a better look at our arms or necks。 but now were paying the price for having had so little physical exercise； were so stiff we can hardly turn our heads。 the real calisthenics 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