سه شنبه شانزدهم می 1944کتاب: آن فرانک: خاطرات یک دختر جوان / فصل 76
سه شنبه شانزدهم می 1944
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متن انگلیسی فصل
TUESDAY, MAY 16, 1944
My dearest Kitty, just for a change (since we haven’t had one of these in so long) I’ll recount a little discussion between Mr. and Mrs. van D. last night: Mrs. van D.: “The Germans have had plenty of time to fortify the Atlantic Wall, and they’ll certainly do everything within their power to hold back the British. It’s amazing how strong the Germans are!”
Mr. van D.: “Oh, yes, amazing.
Mrs. van D.: “It is!”
Mr. van D.: “They are so strong they’re bound to win the war in the end, is that what you mean?”
Mrs. van D.: “They might. I’m not convinced that they won’t.”
Mr. van D.: “I won’t even answer that.”
Mrs. van D.: “You always wind up answering. You let yourself get carried away, every single time.”
Mr. van D.: “No, I don’t. I always keep my answers to the bare minimum.” Mrs. van D.: “But you always do have an answer and you always have to be right! Your predictions hardly ever come true, you know!”
Mr. van D.: “So far they have.”
Mrs. van D.: “No they haven’t. You said the invasion was going to start last year, the Finns were supposed to have been out of the war by now, the Italian campaign ought to have been over by last winter, and the Russians should already have captured Lemberg. Oh no, I don’t set much store by your predictions.”
Mr. van D. (leaping to his feet): “Why don’t you shut your trap for a change? I’ll show you who’s right; someday you’ll get tired of needling me. I can’t stand your bellyaching a minute longer. just wait, one day I’ll make you eat your words!” (End of Act One.) Actually, I couldn’t help giggling. Mother couldn’t either, and even Peter was biting his lips to keep from laughing. Oh, those stupid grown-ups. They need to learn a few things first before they start making so many remarks about the younger generation!
Since Friday we’ve been keeping the windows open again at night. Yours, Anne M. Frank
What Our Annex Family Is Interested In
(A Systematic Survey of Courses and Readina Matter)
Mr. van Daan. No courses; looks up many things in Knaur’s Encyclopedia and Lexicon; likes to read detective stories, medical books and love stories, exciting or trivial.
Mrs. van Daan. A correspondence course in English; likes to read biographical novels and occasionally other kinds of novels.
Mr. Frank. Is learning English (Dickens!) and a bit of Latin; never reads novels, but likes serious, rather dry descriptions of people and places. Mrs. Frank. A correspondence course in English; reads everything except detective stories.
Mr. Dussel. Is learning English, Spanish and Dutch with no noticeable results; reads everything; goes along with the opinion of the majority.
Peter van Daan. Is learning English, French (correspondence course), shorthand in Dutch, English and German, commercial correspondence in English, woodworking, economics and sometimes math; seldom reads, sometimes geography. Margot Frank. Correspondence courses in English, French and Latin, shorthand in English, German and Dutch, trigonometry, solid geometry, mechanics, phys- ics, chemistry, algebra, geometry, English literature, French literature, German literature, Dutch literature, bookkeeping, geography, modern history, biology, economics; reads everything, preferably on religion and medicine.
Anne Frank. Shorthand in French, English, German and Dutch, geometry, algebra, history, geography, art history, mythology, biology, Bible history, Dutch literature; likes to read biographies, dull or exciting, and history books (sometimes novels and light reading).
FRIDAY, MAY 19, 1944
I felt rotten yesterday. Vomiting (and that from Anne!), headache, stomachache and anything else you can imagine. I’m feeling better today. I’m famished, but I think I’ll skip the brown beans we’re having for dinner.
Everything’s going fine between Peter and me. The poor boy has an even greater need for tenderness than I do. He still blushes every evening when he gets his good-night kiss, and then begs for another one. Am I merely a better substitute for Boche? I don’t mind. He’s so happy just knowing somebody loves him.
After my laborious conquest, I’ve distanced myself a little from the situation, but you mustn’t think my love has cooled. Peter’s a sweetheart, but I’ve slammed the door to my inner self; if he ever wants to force the lock again, he’ll have to use a harder crowbar!
Yours, Anne M. Frank
SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1944
Last night when I came down from the attic, I noticed, the moment I entered the room, that the lovely vase of carnations had fallen over. Mother was down on her hands and knees mopping up the water and Margot was fishing my papers off the floor. “What happened?” I asked with anxious foreboding, and before they could reply, I assessed the damage from across the room. My entire genealogy file, my notebooks, my books, everything was afloat. I nearly cried, and I was so upset I started speaking German. I can’t remember a word, but according to Margot I babbled something about “unlioersehbarer Schaden, schrecklich, entsetzlich, nie zu ersetzen”* [* Incalculable loss, terrible, awful, irreplaceable.] and much more. Fadier burst out laughing and Modier and Margot joined in, but I felt like crying because all my work and elaborate notes were lost.
I took a closer look and, luckily, die “incalculable loss” wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Up in die attic I carefully peeled apart die sheets of paper diat were stuck togedier and dien hung diem on die clodiesline to dry. It was such a funny sight, even I had to laugh. Maria de’ Medici alongside Charles V, William of Orange and Marie Antoinette.
“It’s Rassenschande,”* Mr. van Daan joked. [An affront to racial purity.] After entrusting my papers to Peter’s care, I went back downstairs. “Which books are ruined?” I asked Margot, who was going dirough them. “Algebra,” Margot said.
But as luck would have it, my algebra book wasn’t entirely ruined. I wish it had fallen right in the vase. I’ve never loathed any book as much as that one. Inside the front cover are the names of at least twenty girls who had it before I did. It’s old, yellowed, full of scribbles, crossed-out words and revisions. The next time I’m in a wicked mood, I’m going to tear the darned thing to pieces!
Yours, Anne M. Frank
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