دوشنبه بیست و هشتم فوریه 1944

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1944

My dearest Kitty,

It’s like a nightmare, one that goes on long after I’m awake. I see him nearly every hour of the day and yet I can’t be with him, I can’t let the others notice, and I have to pretend to be cheerful, though my heart is aching. Peter Schiff and Peter van Daan have melted into one Peter, who’s good and kind and whom I long for desperately.

Mother’s horrible, Father’s nice, which makes him even more exasperating, and Margot’s the worst, since she takes advantage of my smiling face to claim me for herself, when all I want is to be left alone.

Peter didn’t join me in the attic, but went up to the loft to do some carpentry work. At every rasp and bang, another chunk of my courage broke off and I was even more unhappy. In the distance a clock was tolling’ ‘Be pure in heart, be pure in mind!”

I’m sentimental, I know. I’m despondent and foolish, I know that too.

Oh, help me!

Yours, Anne M. Frank

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1, 1944

Dearest Kitty,

My own affairs have been pushed to the background by a break-in. I’m boring you with all my break-ins, but what can I do when burglars take such pleasure in honoring Gies & Go. with their presence? This incident is much more complicated than the last one, in July 1943.

Last night at seven-thirty Mr. van Daan was heading, as usual, for Mr. Kugler’s office when he saw that both the glass door and the office door were open. He was surprised, but he went on through and was even more astonished to see that the alcove doors were open as well and that there was a terrible mess in the front office.

“There’s been a burglary” flashed through his mind. But just to make sure, he went downstairs to the front door, checked the lock and found everything closed. “Bep and

Peter must just have been very careless this evening,” Mr. van. D. concluded. He remained for a while in Mr. Kugler’s office, switched off the lamp and went upstairs without worrying much about the open doors or the messy office. Early this morning Peter knocked at our door to tell us that the front door was wide open and that the projector and Mr. Kugler’s new briefcase had disappeared from the closet. Peter was instructed to lock the door. Mr. van Daan told us his discoveries of the night before, and we were extremely worried. The only explanation is that the burglar must have had a duplicate key, since there were no signs of a forced entry. He must have sneaked in early in the evening, shut the door behind him, hidden himself when he heard Mr. van Daan, fled with the loot after Mr. van Daan went upstairs and, in his hurry, not bothered to shut the door.

Who could have our key? Why didn’t the burglar go to the warehouse? Was it one of our own warehouse employees, and will he turn us in, now that he’s heard Mr. van Daan and maybe even seen him?

It’s really scary, since we don’t know whether the burglar will take it into his head to try and get in again. Or was he so startled when he heard someone else in the building that he’ll stay away?

Yours, Anne

P.S. We’d be delighted if you could hunt up a good detective for us. Obviously, there’s one condotion: he must be relied upon not to mform on people in hiding.

THURSDAY, MARCH 2, 1944

Dearest Kitty,

Margot and I were in the attic together today. I can’t enjoy being there with her the way I imagine it’d be with Peter (or someone else). I know she feels the same about most things as I do!

While doing the dishes, Bep began talking to Mother and Mrs. van Daan about how discouraged she gets. What help did those two offer her? Our tactless mother, especially, only made things go from bad to worse. Do you know what her advice was? That she should think about all the other people in the world who are suffering! How can thinking about the misery of others help if you’re miserable yourself? I said as much. Their response, of course, was that I should stay out of conversations of this sort.

The grown-ups are such idiots! As if Peter, Margot, Bep and I didn’t all have the same feelings. The only thing that helps is a mother’s love, or that of a very, very close friend. But these two mothers don’t understand the first thing about us! Perhaps Mrs. van Daan does, a bit more than Mother. Oh, I wish I could have said something to poor Bep, something that I know from my own experience would have helped. But Father came between us, pushing me roughly aside. They’re all so stupid!

I also talked to Margot about Father and Mother, about how nice it could be here if they weren’t so aggravating. We’d be able to organize evenings in which everyone could take turns discussing a given subject. But we’ve already been through all that. It’s impossible for me to talk here! Mr. van Daan goes on the offensive, Mother i gets sarcastic and can’t say anythina in a normal voice, Father doesn’t feel like taking part, nor does Mr. Dussel, and Mrs. van D. is attacked so often that she just sits there with a red face, hardly able to put up a fight anymore. And what about us? We aren’t allowed to have an opinion! My, my, aren’t they progressive! Not have an opinion! People can tell you to shut up, but they can’t keep you from having an opinion. You can’t forbid someone to have an opinion, no matter how young they are! The only thing that would help Bep, Margot, Peter and me would be great love and devotion, which we don’t get here. And no one, especially not the idiotic sages around here, is capable of understanding us, since we’re more sensitive and much more advanced in our thinking than any of them ever suspect!

Love, what is love? I don’t think you can really put it into words. Love is understanding someone, caring for him, sharing his joys and sorrows. This eventually includes physical love. You’ve shared something, given something away and received something in return, whether or not you’re married, whether or not you have a baby. Losing your virtue doesn’t matter, as long as you know that for as long as you live you’ll have someone at your side who understands you, and who doesn’t have to be shared with anyone else!

Yours, Anne M. Frank.

At the moment, Mother’s grouching at me again; she’s clearly jealous because I talk to Mrs. van Daan more than to her. What do I care!

I managed to get hold of Peter this afternoon, and we talked for at least forty-five minutes. He wanted to tell me something about himself, but didn’t find it easy. He finally got it out, though it took a long time. I honestly didn’t know whether it was better for me to stay or to go. But I wanted so much to help him! I told him about Bep and how tactless our mothers are. He told me that his parents fight constantly, about politics and cigarettes and all kinds of things. As I’ve told you before, Peter’s very shy, but not too shy to admit that he’d be perfectly happy not to see his parents for a year or two. “My father isn’t as nice as he looks,” he said. “But in the matter of the cigarettes, Mother’s absolutely right.”

I also told him about my mother. But he came to Father’s defense. He thought he was a “terrific guy.”

Tonight when I was hanging up my apron after doing the dishes, he called me over and asked me not to say anything downstairs about his parents’ having had another argument and not being on speaking terms. I promised, though I’d already told Margot. But I’m sure Margot won’t pass it on.

“Oh no, Peter,” I said, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve learned not to blab everything I hear. I never repeat what you tell me.”

He was glad to hear that. I also told him what terrible gossips we are, and said, “Margot’s quite right, of course, when she says I’m not being honest, because as much as I want to stop gossiping, there’s nothing I like better than discussing Mr. Dussel.”

“It’s good that you admit it,” he said. He blushed, and his sincere compliment almost embarrassed me too.

Then we talked about “upstairs” and “downstairs” some more. Peter was really rather surprised to hear that don’t like his parents. “Peter,” I said, “you know I’m always honest, so why shouldn’t I tell you this as well? We can see their faults too.”

I added, “Peter, I’d really like to help you. Will you let me? You’re caught in an awkward position, and I know, even though you don’t say anything, that it upsets you.”

“Oh, your help is always welcome!”

“Maybe it’d be better for you to talk to Father. You can tell him anything, he won’t pass it on.”

“I know, he’s a real pal.”

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

Peter nodded, and I continued, “Well, he likes you too, you know!” He looked up quickly and blushed. It was really touching to see how happy these few words made him.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You can tell from the little things he lets slip now and then.” Then Mr. van Daan came in to do some dictating.

Peter’s a “terrific guy,” just like Father!

Yours, Anne M. Frank.