دوشنبه بیستم مارس 1944

کتاب: آن فرانک: خاطرات یک دختر جوان / فصل 59

آن فرانک: خاطرات یک دختر جوان

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دوشنبه بیستم مارس 1944

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متن انگلیسی فصل

MONDAY, MARCH 20, 1944

Dearest Kitty,

This morning Peter asked me if I’d come again one evening. He swore I wouldn’t be disturbing him, and said that where there was room for one, there was room for two. I said I couldn’t see him every evening, since my parents didn’t think it was a good idea, but he thought I shouldn’t let that bother me. So I told him I’d like to come some Saturday evening and also asked him if he’d let me know when you could see the moon.

“Sure,” he said, “maybe we can go downstairs and look at the moon from there.” I agreed; I’m not really so scared of burglars.

In the meantime, a shadow has fallen on my happiness. For a long time I’ve had the feeling that Margot likes Peter. Just how much I don’t know, but the whole situation is very unpleasant. Now every time I go see Peter I’m hurting her, without meaning to. The funny thing is that she hardly lets it show. I know I’d be insanely jealous, but Margot just says I shouldn’t feel sorry for her. “I think it’s so awful that you’ve become the odd one out,” I added. “I’m used to that,” she replied, somewhat bitterly.

I don’t dare tell Peter. Maybe later on, but he and I need to discuss so many other things first.

Mother slapped me last night, which I deserved. I mustn’t carry my indifference and contempt for her too far. In spite of everything, I should try once again to be friendly and keep my remarks to myself!

Even Pim isn’t as nice as he used to be. He’s been trying not to treat me like a child, but now he’s much too cold. We’ll just have to see what comes of it! He’s warned me that if I don’t do my algebra, I won’t get any tutoring after the war. I could simply wait and see what happens, but I’d like to start again, provided I get a new book.

That’s enough for now. I do nothing but gaze at Peter, and I’m filled to overflowing!

Yours, Anne M. Frank

Evidence of Margot’s goodness. I received this today, March 20, 1944: Anne, yesterday when I said I wasn’t jeal- ous of you, I wasn’t being entirely honest. The situation is this: I’m not jealous of either you or Peter. I’m just sorry I haven’t found anyone willi whom to share my thoughts and feelings, and I’m not likely to in the near future. But that’s why I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that you will both be able to place your trust in each other. You’re already missing out on so much here, things other people take for granted. On the other hand, I’m certain I’d never have gotten as far with Peter, because I think I’d need to feel very close to a person before I could share my thoughts. I’d want to have the feeling that he understood me through and through, even if I didn’t say much. For this reason it would have to be someone I felt was intellectually superior to me, and that isn’t the case with Peter. But I can imagine your feeling close to him.

So there’s no need for you to reproach yourself because you think you’ te taking something I was entitled to; nothing could be further from the truth. You and Peter have everything to gain by your friendship.

My answer:

Dearest Margot,

Your letter was extremely kind, but I still don’t feel completely happy about the situation, and I don’t think I ever will.

At the moment, Peter and I don’t trust each other as much as you seem to think. It’s just that when you’re standing beside an open window at twthght, you can say more to each other than in bright sunshine. It’s also easier to whisper your feelings than to shout them from the rooftops. I think you’ve begun to feel a kind of sisterly affection for Peter and would like to help him, just as much as I would. Perhaps you’ll be able to do that someday, though that’s not the kind of trust we have in mind. I believe that trust has to corne from both sides; I also think that’s the reason why Father and I have never really grown so close. But let’s not talk about it anymore. If there’s anything you still want to discuss, please write, because it’s easier for me to say what I mean as on paper than face-to-face. You know how le much I admire you, and only hope that some of your goodness and Father’s goodness will rub off on me, because, in that sense, you two are a lot alike.

Yours, Anne


Dearest Kitty,

I received this letter last night from Margot:

Dear Anne,

After your letter of yesterday I have the unpleasant feeling that your conscience bothers you whenever you go to Peter’s to work or talk; there’s really no reason for that. In my heart, I know there’s someone who deserves t my trust (as I do his), and I wouldn’t be able to tolerate Peter in his place. However, as you wrote, I do think of Peter as a kind of brother. . . a younger brother; we’ve been sending out feelers, and a brotherly and sisterly affection mayor may not develop at some later date, but it’s certainly not reached that stage yet. So there’s no need for you to feel sorry for me. Now that you’ve found companionship, enjoy it as much as you can.

In the meantime, things are getting more and more wonderful here. I think, Kitty, that true love may be developing in the Annex. All those jokes about marrying Peter if we stayed here long enough weren’t so silly after all. Not that I’m thinking of marrying him, mind you. I don’t even know what he’ll be like when he grows up. Or if we’ll even love each other enough to get married. I’m sure now that Peter loves me too; I just don’t know in what way. I can’t figure out if he wants only a good friend, or if he’s attracted to me as a girl or as a sister. When he said I always helped him when his parents were arguing, I was tremendously happy; it was one step toward making me believe in his friendship. I asked him yesterday what he’d do if there were a dozen Annes who kept popping in to see him. His answer was: “If they were all like you, it wouldn’t be so bad.” He’s extremely hospitable, and I think he really likes to see me. Mean- while, he’s been working hard at learning French, even studying in bed until ten-fifteen.

Oh, when I think back to Saturday night, to our words, our voices, I feel satisfied with myself for the very first time; what I mean is, I’d still say the same and wouldn’t want to change a thing, the way I usually do. He’s so handsome, whether he’s smthng or just sitting still. He’s so sweet and good and beautiful. I think what surprised him most about me was when he discovered that I’m not at all the superficial, worldly Anne I appear to be, but a dreamer, like he is, with just as many troubles!

Last night after the dinner dishes, I waited for him to ask me to stay upstairs. But nothing happened; I went away. He came downstairs to tell Dussel it was time to listen to the radio and hung around the bathroom for a while, but when Dussel took too long, he went back upstairs. He paced up and down his room and went to bed early.

The entire evening I was so restless I kept going to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I read a bit, daydreamed some more, looked at the clock and waited, waited, waited, all the while listening to his foot- steps. I went to bed early, exhausted.

Tonight I have to take a bath, and tomorrow?

Tomorrow’s so far away!

Yours, Anne M. Frank

My answer:

Dearest Margot,

I think the best thing is simply to wait and see what happens. It can’t be much longer before Peter and I will have to decide whether to go back to the way we were or do some- thing else. I don’t know how it’ll turn out; I can’t see any farther than the end of my nose.

But I’m certain of one thing: if Peter and I do become friends, I’m going to tell him you’re also very fond of him and are prepared to help him if he needs you. You wouldn’t want me to, I’m sure, but I don’t care; I don’t know what Peter thinks of you, but I’ll ask him when the time comes. It’s certainly nothing bad-on the contrary! You’re welcome to join us in the attic, or wherever we are. You won’t be disturbing us, because we have an unspoken agreement to talk only in the evenings when it’s dark.

Keep your spirits up! I’m doing my best, though it’s not always easy. Your time may come sooner than you think.

Yours, Anne

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