پنجشنبه 1 اوریل 1943دوره: آن فرانک: خاطرات یک دختر جوان / درس 24
پنجشنبه 1 اوریل 1943
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THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 1943
I’m not really in the mood for pranks (see the date).
On the contrary, today I can safely quote the saying” Misfortunes never come singly.” First, Mr. Kleiman, our merry sunshine, had another bout of gastrointestinal hemorrhaging yesterday and will have to stay in bed for at least three weeks. I should tell you that his stomach has been bothering him quite a bit, and there’s no cure. Second, Bep has the flu. Third, Mr. Voskuijl has to go to the hospital next week. He probably has an ulcer and will have to undergo surgery. Fourth, the managers of Pomosin Industries came from Frankfurt to discuss the new Opekta deliveries. Father had gone yer the important points with Mr. Kleiman, and there wasn’t enough time to give Mr. Kugler a thor ough briefing.
The gentlemen arrived from Frankfurt, and Father was already shaking at the thought of how the talks would go. “If only I could be there, if only I were downstairs,” he exclaimed.
“Go lie down with your ear to the floor. They’ll be brought to the private office, and you’ll be able to hear everything.’
Father’s face cleared, and yesterday morning at ten-thirty Margot and Pim (two ears are better than one) took up their posts on the floor. By noon the talks weren’t finished, but Father was in no shape to continue his listen ing campaign. He was in agony from having to lie for hours in such an unusual and uncomfortable position. At two-thirty we heard voices in the hall, and I took his place; Margot kept me company. The conversation was so long-winded and boring that I suddenly fell asleep on the cold, hard linoleum. Margot didn’t dare touch me for fear they’d hear us, and of course she couldn’t shout. I slept for a good half hour and then awoke with a start, having forgotten every word of the important discussion. Luckily, Margot had paid more attention. Yours, Anne FRIDAY, APRIL 2, 1943
Oh my, another item has been added to my list of sins. Last night~ was lying in bed, waiting for Father to tuck me in an say my prayers with me, when Mother came into the room, sat on my bed and asked very gently, “Anne, Daddy isn’t ready. How about if I listen to your prayers tonight?”
“No, Momsy,” I replied.
Mother got up, stood beside my bed for a moment and then slowly walked toward the door. Suddenly she turned, her face contorted with pain, and said, “I don’t want to be angry with you. I can’t make you love me!” A few tears slid down her cheeks as she went out the door.
I lay still, thinking how mean it was of me to reject her so cruelly, but I also knew that I was incapable of answering her any other way. I can’t be a hypocrite and pray with her when I don’t feel like it. It just doesn’t work that way. I felt sorry for Mother-very, very sorry-because for the first time in my life I noticed she wasn’t indifferent to my coldness. I saw the sorrow in her face when she talked about not being able to make me love her. It’s hard to tell the truth, and yet the truth is that she’s the one who’s rejected me. She’s the one whose tactless comments and cruel jokes about matters I don’t think are funny have made me insensitive to any sign of love on her part. Just as my heart sinks every time I hear her harsh words, that’s how her heart sank when she realized there was no more love between us.
She cried half the night and didn’t get any sleep. Father has avoided looking at me, and if his eyes do happen to cross mine, I can read his unspoken words: “How can you be so unkind? How dare you make your mother so sad!” Everyone expects me to apologize, but this is not something I can apologize for, because I told the truth, and sooner or later Mothjr was bound to find out anyway. I seem to be indifferent to Mother’s tears and Father’s glances, and I am, because both of them are now feeling what I’ve always felt. I can only feel sorry for Mother, who will have to figure out what her attitude should be all by herself. For my part, I will continue to remain silent and aloof, and I don’t intend to shrink from the truth, because the longer it’s postponed, the harder it will be for them to accept it when they do hear it!
TUESDAY, APRIL 27, 1943
The house is still trembling from the aftereffects of the quarrels. Everyone is mad at everyone else: Mother and I, Mr. van Daan and Father, Mother and Mrs. van D. Terrific atmosphere, don’t you think? Once again Anne’s usual list of shortcomings has been extensively aired.
Our German visitors were back last Saturday. They stayed until six. We all sat upstairs, not daring to move an inch. If there’s no one else working in the building or in the neighborhood, you can hear every single step in the private office. I’ve got ants in my pants again from having to sit still so long.
Mr. Voskuijl has been hospitalized, but Mr. Kleiman’s back at the office. His stomach stopped bleeding sooner than it normally does. He told us that the County Clerk’s Office took an extra beating because the firemen flooded the entire building instead of just putting out the fire. That does my heart good! The Carlton Hotel has been destroyed. Two British planes loaded with firebombs landed right on top of the German Officers’ Club. The entire corner of Vijzelstraat and Singel has gone up in flames. The number of air strikes on German cities is increasing daily. We haven’t had a good night’s rest in ages, and I have bags under my eyes from lack of sleep.
Our food is terrible. Breakfast consists of plain, unbuttered brea and ersatz coffee. For the last two weeks lunch has been e. spinach or cooked lettuce with huge potatoes that have a rotten, sweetish taste. If you’re trying to diet, the Annex is the place to be! Upstairs they complain bitterly, but we don’t think it’s such a tragedy.
All the Dutch men who either fought or were mobilized in 1940 have been called up to work in prisoner-of-war camps. I bet they’re taking this precaution because of the invasion!
SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1943
Yesterday was Dussel’s birthday. At first he acted as if he didn’t want to celebrate it, but when Miep arrived with a large shopping bag overflowing with gifts, he was as excited as a little kid. His darling’ ‘Lotje” has sent him eggs, butter, cookies, lemonade, bread, cognac, spice cake, flowers, oranges, chocolate, books and writing paper. He piled his presents on a table and displayed them for no fewer than three days, the silly old goat! You mustn’t get the idea that he’s starving. We found bread, cheese, jam and eggs in his cupboard. It’s absolutely disgraceful that Dussel, whom we’ve treated with such kindness and whom we took in to save from destruction, should stuff himself behind our backs and not give us anything. After all, we’ve shared all we had with him! But what’s worse, in our opinion, is that he’s so stingy with respect to Mr. Kleiman, Mr. Voskuijl and Bep. He doesn’t give them a thing. In Dussel’s view the oranges that Kleiman so badly needs for his sick stomach will benefit his own stomach even more.
Tonight the guns have been banging away so much that I’ve already had to gather up my belongings four times. Today I packed a suitcase Wl f;the stuff I’d need in case we had to flee, but as M ther correctly noted,
“Where would you go?”
All of Holland is being punishe or the workers’ strikes. Martial law has been declared, and everyone is going to get one less butter coupon. What naughty children.
I washed Mother’s hair this evening, which is no easy task these days. We have to use a very sticky liquid cleanser because there’s no more shampoo. Besides that, Moms had a hard time combing her hair because the family comb has only ten teeth left.
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