جمعه چهاردهم اوریل 1944

FRIDAY, APRIL 14, 1944

Dear Kitty,

Everyone here is still very tense. Pim has nearly reached the bothng point; Mrs. van D. is lying in bed with a cold, grumbling; Mr. van D. is growing pale without his cigarettes; Dussel, who’s having to give up many of his comforts, is carping at everyone; etc., etc. We seem to have run out of luck lately. The toilet’s leaking, and the faucet’s stuck. Thanks to our many connections, we’ll soon be able to get these repaired.

I’m occasionally sentimental, as you know, but from time to time I have reason to be: when Peter and I are sitting close together on a hard wooden crate among the junk and dust, our arms around each other’s shoulders, Peter toying with a lock of my hair; when the birds outside are trilling their songs, when the trees are in bud, when the sun beckons and the sky is so blue-oh, that’s when I wish for so much!

All I see around me are dissatisfied and grumpy faces, all I hear are sighs and stifled complaints. You’d think our lives had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Honestly, things are only as bad as you make them. Here in the Annex no one even bothers to set a good example. We each have to figure out how to get the better of our own moods!

Every day you hear, “If only it were all over!”

Work, love, courage and hope,

Make me good and help me cope!

I really believe, Kit, that I’m a little nutty today, and I don’t know why. My writing’s all mixed up, I’m jump- ing from one thing to another, and sometimes I seriously doubt whether anyone will ever be interested in this drivel. They’ll probably call it “The Musings of an Ugly Duckling.” My diaries certainly won’t be of much use to Mr. Bolkestein or Mr. Gerbrandy.* [* Gerrit Bolkestein was the Minister of Education and Pieter Gerbrandy was the Prime Minister of the Dutch government in exile in London. See Anne’s letter of March 29, 1944.]

Yours, Anne M. Frank

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 1944

Dearest Kitty,

“There’s just one bad thing after another. When will it all end?” You can sure say that again. Guess what’s happened now? Peter forgot to unbolt the front door. As a result, Mr. Kugler and the warehouse employees couldn’t get in. He went to Keg’s, smashed in our office kitchen window and got in that way. The windows in the Annex were open, and the Keg people saw that too. What must they be thinking? And van Maaren? Mr. Kugler’s furious. We accuse him of not doing anything to reinforce the doors, and then we do a stupid thing like this! Peter’s extremely upset. At the table, Mother said she felt more sorry for Peter than for anyone else, and he nearly began to cry. We’re equally to blame, since we usually ask him every day if he’s unbolted the door, and so does Mr. van Daan. Maybe I can go comfort him later on. I want to help him so much! Here are the latest news bulletins about life in the Secret Annex over the last few weeks: A week ago Saturday, Boche suddenly got sick. He sat quite still and started drooling.

Miep immediately picked him up, rolled him in a towel, tucked him in her shopping bag and brought him to the dog-and-cat clinic. Boche had some kind of intestinal problem, so the vet gave him medicine. Peter gave it to him a few times, but Boche soon made himself scarce. I’ll bet he was out courting his sweetheart.

But now his nose is swollen and he meows whenever you pick him up-he was probably trying to steal food and somebody smacked him. Mouschi lost her voice for a few days. Just when we decided she had to be taken to the vet too, she started getting better.

We now leave the attic window open a crack every night. Peter and I often sit up there in the evening.

Thanks to rubber cement and oil paint, our toilet ; could quickly be repaired. The broken faucet has been replaced.

Luckily, Mr. Kleiman is feeling better. He’s going to see a specialist soon. We can only hope he won’t need an operation.

This month we received eight Tation books. Unfortunately, for the next two weeks beans have been substituted for oatmeal or groats. Our latest delicacy is piccalilli. If you’re out of luck, all you get is a jar full of cucumber and mustard sauce.

Vegetables are hard to come by. There’s only lettuce, lettuce and more lettuce. Our meals consist entirely of potatoes and imitation gravy.

The Russians are in possession of more than half the Crimea. The British aren’t advancing beyond Cassino. We’ll have to count on the Western Wall. There have been a lot of unbelievably heavy air raids. The Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages in The Hague was bombed. All Dutch people will be issued new ration registration cards.

Enough for today.

Yours, Anne M. Frank

SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 1944

My dearest Kitty,

Remember yesterday’s date, since it was a red-letter day for me. Isn’t it an important day for every girl when she gets her first kiss? Well then, it’s no less important to me. The time Bram kissed me on my right cheek or Mr. Woudstra on my right hand doesn’t count. How did I suddenly come by this kiss? I’ll tell you.

Last night at eight I was sitting with Peter on his divan and it wasn’t long before he put an arm around me. (Since it was Saturday, he wasn’t wearing his overalls.)”Why don t we move over a little,” I said, “so won t keep bumping my head against the cupboard.”

He moved so far over he was practically in the corner. I slipped my arm under his and across his back, and he put his arm around my shoulder, so that I was nearly engulfed by him. We’ve sat like this on other occasions, but never so close as we were last night. He held me firmly against him, my left side against his chest; my heart had already begun to beat faster, but there was more to come.

He wasn’t satisfied until my head lay on his shoulder, with his on top of mine. I sat up again after about five minutes, but before long he took my head in his hands and put it back next to his. Oh, it was so wonderful. I could hardly talk, my pleasure was too intense; he caressed my cheek and arm, a bit clumsily, and played with my hair. Most of the time our heads were touching.

I can’t tell you, Kitty, the feeling that ran through me. I was too happy for words, and I think he was too.

At nine-thirty we stood up. Peter put on his tennis shoes so he wouldn’t make much noise on his nightly round of the building, and I was standing next to him. How I suddenly made the right movement, I don’t know, but before we went downstairs, he gave me a. kiss, through my hair, half on my left cheek and half on my ear. I tore downstairs without looking back, and I long so much for today.

Sunday morning, just before eleven.

Yours, Anne M. Frank