TUESDAY, AUGUST 3, 1943Dearest Kitty,Things are going well on the political front. Italy has bahe Fascist Party. The people are fighting the Fascists in many pces -- even the army has joihe fight. How a try like that tio wage war against Engnd?Our beautiful radio was taken away st week. Dussel was very angry at Mr. Kugler for turning it in on the appointed day. Dussel is slipping lower and lower in my estimation, and hes already below zero. hatever he says about politics, histeography or ything else is so ridiculous that I hardly dare repeat it: Hitler will fade from history; the harbor in Rotterdam is bigger than the one in Hamburg; the English are idiots for not taking the opportunity to bomb Italy to smithereec., etc.We just had a third air raid. I decided to grit my teeth and practice being ceous.Mrs. van Daan, the one who always said "Let them fall" and "Better to end with a bang than not to end at all," is the most cowardly one among us. She was shaking like a leaf this m and even burst into tears. She was forted by her husband, with whom she retly decred a truce after a week of squabbling; I nearly gotseal at the sight.Mouschi has now proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that having a cat has disadvantages as well as advahe whole house is crawling with fleas, and its getting worse each day. Mr. Kleiman sprinkled yellow powder in every nook and y, but the fleas havent taken the slightest notice. Its making us all very jittery;were forever imagining a bite on our arms and legs or other parts of our bodies, so we leap up and do a few exercises, si gives us an excuse to take a better look at our arms or necks. But now were paying the price for having had so little physical exercise; were so stiff we hardly turn our heads. The real calisthenics fell by the wayside long ago.Yours, AnneWEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4,1943Dearest Kitty,Now that weve been in hiding for a little over a year, you know a great deal about our lives. Still, I t possibly tell you everything, sis all so different pared to ordinary times and ordinary people. heless, to give you a closer look into our lives, from time to time Ill describe part of an ordinary day. Ill start with the evening and night.Nine in the evening. Bedtime always begins in the Annex with an enormous hustle and bustle. Chairs are shifted, beds pulled out, bs unfolded -- nothing stays where it is during the daytime. I sleep on a small divan, which is only five feet long, so we have to add a few chairs to make it longer. forter, sheets, pillows, bs:everything has to be removed from Dussel s bed, where its kept during the day.In the room theres a terrible creaking: thats Margots folding bed bei up.More bs and pillows, anything to make the wooden sts a bit more fortable.Upstairs it sounds like thunder, but its only Mrs. van D.s bed being shoved against the window so that Her Majesty, arrayed in her pink bed jacket, sniff the night air through her delicate little nostrils.Nine oclock. After Peters finished, its my turn for the bathroom. I wash myself from head to toe, and more often than not I find a tiny flea floating in the sink (only during the hot months, weeks or days). I brush my teeth, curl my hair, manicure my nails and dab peroxide on my upper lip to bleach the bck hairs -- all this ihan half an hour.hirty. I throw on my bathrobe. With soap in one hand, and potty, hairpins, panties, curlers and a wad of cotton iher, I hurry out of the bathroom. The in line invariably calls me baove the gracefully curved but unsightly hairs that Ive left in the sink.Ten oclock. Time to put up the bckout s and say good-night. For the fifteen minutes, at least, the house is filled with the creaking of beds and the sigh of broken springs, and then, provided our upstairs neighbors arent having a marital spat in bed, all is quiet.Eleven-thirty. The bathroom door creaks. A narrow strip of light falls into the room.Squeaking shoes, a rge coat, evehan the man i . . . Dussel is returning from his nightly work in Mr. Kuglers office. I hear him shuffiing bad forth for ten whole mihe rustle of paper (from the food hes tug away in his cupboard) and the bed being made up. Then the figure disappears again, and the only sound is the occasional suspicious noise from the bathroom.Approximately three oclock. I have to get up to use the tin under my bed, which, to be on the safe side, has a rubber mat underh in case of leaks. I always hold my breath while I go, si ctters into the like a brook down a mountaihe potty is returo its pce, and the figure in the white nightgown (the ohat causes Margot to excim every evening, "Oh, that i nighty!") climbs bato bed. A certain somebody lies awake for about fifteen minutes, listening to the sounds of the night. In the first pce, to hear whether there are any burgrs downstairs, and then to the various beds -- upstairs, door and in my room -- to tell whether the others are asleep or half awake. This is no fun, especially when it s a member of the family named Dr. Dussel. First, theres the sound of a fish gasping for air, and this is repeated nine or ten times. Then, the lips are moistened profusely.This is alternated with little smag sounds, followed by a long period of tossing and turning and rearranging the pillows. After five minutes of perfect quiet, the same sequence repeats itself three more times, after which hes presumably lulled himself back to sleep for a while.Sometimes the guns go off during the night, between one and four. Im never aware of it before it happens, but all of a sudden I find myself standing beside my bed, out of sheer habit. Occasionally Im dreaming so deeply (ur French verbs or a quarrel upstairs) that I realize only when my dream is over that the shooting has stopped and that Ive remained quietly in my room. But usually I wake up. Then I grab a pillow and a handkerchief, throw on my robe and slippers and dash door to Father, just the way Margot described in this birthday poem:When shots rino out in the dark of night, The door creaks open and into sight e a hanky, a pillow, a figure in white. . .Once Ive reached the big bed, the worst is over, except when the shooting is extra loud.Six forty-five. Brrring . . . the arm clock, which raises its shrill voice at any hour of the day ht, whether you want it to or not. Creak. . . wham. . . Mrs. van D.turns it off. Screak . . . Mr. van D. gets up, puts oer and races to the bathroom.Seven-fifteen. The door creaks again. Dussel go to the bathroom. Alo st, I remove the bckout s . . . and a new day begins in the Annex.Yours, AHURSDAY, AUGUST 5, 1943Dearest Kitty,Today lets talk about the lunch break.Its twelve-thirty. The whole gang breathes a sigh of relief: Mr. van Maaren, the man with the shady past, and Mr. de Kok have gone home for lunch.Upstairs you hear the thud of the vacuum er on Mrs. van D.s beautiful and only rug. Margot tucks a few books under her arm and heads for the css for "slow learners," which is what Dussel seems to be. Pim goes and sits in a er with his stant panion, Dis, in hopes of finding a bit of pead quiet. Mother hastens upstairs to help the busy little housewife, and I tidy up both the bathroom and myself at the same time.Twelve forty-five. One by ohey trickle in: first Mr.Gies and theher Mr. Kleiman or Mr. Kugler, followed by Bep and sometimes even Miep.One. Clustered around the radio, they all listen raptly to the BBC. This is the only time the members of the Annex family dont interrupt each other, since even Mr. van Daan t argue with the speaker.One-fifteen. Food distribution. Everyone from downstairs gets a cup of soup, plus dessert, if there happens to be any. A tented Mr. Gies sits on the divan or leans against the desk with his neer, cup and usually the cat at his side. If one of the three is missing, he doesate to let his protest be heard. Mr. Kleimaes the test news from town, and hes an excellent source. Mr. Kugler hurries up the stairs, gives a short but solid kno the door and es iher wringing his hands or rubbing them in glee, depending oher hes quiet and in a bad mood or talkative and in a good mood.One forty-five. Everyone rises from the table and goes about their business. Margot and Mother do the dishes, Mr. and Mrs. van D. head for the divaer for the attic, Father for his divan, Dussel too, and Anne does her homework.What es is the quietest hour of the day; when theyre all asleep, there are no disturbao judge by his face, Dussel is dreaming of food. But I dont look at him long, because the time whizzes by and before you know it, itll be 4 P.M. and the pedantic Dr. Dussel will be standing with the clo his hand because Im one mie clearing off the table.Yours, AURDAY, AUGUST 7, 1943Dearest Kitty,A few weeks ago I started writing a story, something I made up from beginning to end, and Ive e so much that the produy pen are piling up.Yours, AnneMONDAY, AUGUST 9, 1943Dearest Kitty,We now tih a typical day in the Annex. Since weve already had lunch, its time to describe dinner.Mr. van Daan. Is served first, and takes a generous portion of whatever he likes.Usually joins in the versation, never fails to give his opinion. Once hes spoken, his word is final. If anyone dares to suggest otherwise, Mr. van D. put up a good fight. Oh, he hiss like a cat. . . but Id rather he didnt. Once youve seen it, you never want to see it again. His opinion is the best, he knows the most about everything. Grahe man has a good head on his shoulders, but its swelled to no small degree.Madame. Actually, the best thing would be to say nothing. Some days, especially when a foul mood is on the way, her face is hard to read. If you analyze the discussions, you realize shes not the subject, but the guilty party! A fact everyone prefers to ignore. Even so, you could call her the instigator. Stirring up trouble, now thats what Mrs. van Daan calls fun. Stirring up trouble between Mrs. Frank and Anne. Margot and Mr. Frank aren t qwte as easy.But lets return to the table. Mrs. van D. may think she doesnt always get enough, but thats not the case. The choicest potatoes, the tastiest morsel, the te bit of whatever there is, thats Madames motto. The others all have their turn, as long as I get the best. (Exactly what she accuses Anne Frank of doing.) Her sed watchword is: keep talking. As long as somebodys listening, it doeso occur to her to wonder whether theyre ied. She must think that whatever Mrs. van Daan says will i everyone.Smile coquettishly, pretend you know everything, offer everyone a piece of advid mother them -- thats sure to make a good impression. But if you take a better look, the good impression fades. One, shes hardw; two, cheerful; three, coquettish -- and sometimes a cute face. Thats Petronel van Daahird diner. Says very little. Young Mr. van Daan is usually quiet and hardly makes his presenown. As far as his appetite is ed, hes a Danaldean vessel that never gets full. Even after the most substantial meal, he look you calmly in the eye and cim he could have eaten twice as muumber four -- Margot. Eats like a bird and doesnt talk at all. She eats only vegetables and fruit. "Spoiled," in the opinion of the van Daans. "Too little exercise and fresh air," in ours.Beside her -- Mama. Has a hearty appetite, does her share of the talking. No one has the impression, as they do with Mrs. van Daan, that this is a housewife. Whats the differeweewo? Well, Mrs. van D. does the cooking and Mother does the dishes and polishes the furniture.Numbers six and seven. I wont say much about Father ahe former is the most modest person at the table. He always looks to see whether the others have been served first. He needs nothing for himself; the best things are for the children.Hes goodness personified. Seated o him is the Annexs little bundle of nerves.Dussel. Help yourself, keep your eyes on the food, eat and dont talk. And if you have to say something, then foodness sake talk about food. That doeso quarrels, just ting. He es enormous portions, and "no" is not part of his vocabury, whether the food is good or bad.Pants that e up to his chest, a red jacket, bck pateher slippers and horn-rimmed gsses -- thats how he looks whe work at the little table, always studying and never progressing. This is interrupted only by his afternoon nap, food and -- his favorite spot -- the bathroom. Three, four or five times a day theres bound to be someone waiting outside the bathroom door, hopping impatiently from one foot to arying to hold it in and barely managing. Does Dussel care?Not a whit. From seven-fifteen to seven-thirty, from twelve-thirty to one, from two to two-fifteen, from four to four-fifteen, from six to six-fifteen, from eleven-thirty to twelve. You set your watch by them; these are the times for his &quur sessions." He never deviates or lets himself be swayed by the voices outside the door, begging him to open up before a disaster occurs.Number nine is not part of our Annex family, although she does share our house and table. H九-九-藏-書-網ep has a healthy appetite. She s her pte and isnt choosy. Heps easy to please and that pleases us. She be characterized as follows: cheerful, good-humored, kind and willing.TUESDAY, AUGUST 10, 1943Dearest Kitty, .A new idea: during meals I talk more to myself than to the others, which has two advantages. First, theyre gd they dont have to listen to my tinuous chatter, and sed, I dont have to get annoyed by their opinions. I dont think my opinions are stupid but other people do, so its better to keep them to myself. I apply the same tactic when I have to eat something I loathe. I put the dish in front of me, pretend its delicious, avoid looking at it as much as possible, and its gone before Ive had time to realize what it is. When I get up in the m, another very disagreeable moment, I leap out of bed, think to myself, "Youll be slipping bader the covers soon," walk to the window, take down the bckout s, sniff at the cratil Ifeel a bit of fresh air, and Im awake. I strip the bed as fast as I so I woempted to get ba. Do you know what Mother calls this sort of thing? The art of living. Isnt that a funny expression?Weve all been a little fused this past week because our dearly beloved Westertoren bells have been carted off to be melted down for the war, so we have no idea of the exact time, either night or day. I still have hopes that theyll e up with a substitute, made of tin or copper or some such thing, to remind the neighborhood of the clock.Everywhere I go, upstairs or down, they all cast admiring g my feet, which are adorned by a pair of exceptionally beautiful (for times like these!) shoes. Miep mao snap them up for 27.50 guilders. Burgundy-colored suede aher with medium-sized high heels. I feel as if I were on stilts, and look even taller than I already am.Yesterday was my unlucky day. I pricked my right thumb with the blunt end of a big needle. As a result, Margot had to peel potatoes for me (take the good with the bad), and writing was awkward. Then I bumped into the cupboard door so hard it nearly knocked me over, and was scolded for making such a racket. They would me run water to bathe my forehead, so now Im walking around with a giant lump over my right eye. To make matters worse, the little toe on my right foot got stu the vacuum er. It bled and hurt, but my other ailments were already causing me so much trouble that I let this one slide, which was stupid of me, because now Im walking around with an ied toe. What with the salve, the gauze and the tape, I t get my heavenly new shoe on my foot.Dussel has put us in danger for the umpteenth time. He actually had Miep bring him a book, an anti-Mussolini tirade, which has been banned. On the way here she was knocked down by an SS motorcycle. She lost her head and shouted "You brutes!" a on her way. I dont dare think what would have happened if shed been taken down to headquarters.Yours, AnneA Daily Chore in Our Little unity: Peeling Potatoes!One persoo get some neers; ahe knives (keeping the best for himself, of course); the third, the potatoes; and the fourth, the water.Mr. Dussel begins. He may not aleel them very well, but he does peel nonstop,gng left and right to see if everyone is doing it the way he does. No, theyre not!"Look, Anne, I am taking peeler in my hand like so and going from the top to bottom!Nein, not so . . . but so!”"I think my way is easier, Mr. Dussel," I say tentatively."But this is best way, Ahis you take from me. Of course, it is no matter, you do the way you want.”We go on peeling. I g Dussel out of the er of my eye. Lost in thought, he shakes his head (over me, no doubt), but says no more.I keep on peeling. Then I look at Father, oher side of me. To Father, peeling potatoes is not a chore, but precision work. When he reads, he has a deep wrinkle in the back of his head. But when hes preparing potatoes, beans etables, he seems to be totally absorbed in his task. He puts on his potato-peeling face, and when its set in that particur way, it would be impossible for him to turn out anythihan a perfectly peeled potato.I keep on w. I gnce up for a sed, but thats all the time I need. Mrs. van D. is trying to attract Dussels attention. She starts by looking in his dire, but Dussel pretends not to notice. She winks, but Dussel goes on peeling. She ughs, but Dussel still doesnt look up. Then Mhs too, but Dussel pays them no mind.Having failed to achieve her goal, Mrs. van D. is obliged to ge tactics. Theres a brief silehen she says, "Putti, why dont you put on an apron? Otherwise, Ill have to spend all day tomorr to get the spots out of your suit!”"Im not getting it dirty.”Another brief silence. "Putti, why dont you sit down? "Im fihis way. I like standing up!”Silence."Putti, look out, du spritzt s!".* [*Now youre spshing!] "I know, Mommy, but Im being careful.”Mrs. van D. casts about for aopic. "Tell me, Putti, why arent the Britishcarrying out any bombing raids today?”"Because the weathers bad, Kerli!”"But yesterday it was suice weather and they werent flying theher.”"Lets drop the subject.”"Why? t a person talk about that or offer an opinion? "Well, why in the world not?”"Oh, be quiet, Mammi!"* [*Mommy] "Mr. Frank always answers his wife.”Mr. van D. is trying to trol himself. This remark always rubs him the wrong way, but Mrs. van D.s not oo quit: "Oh, theres never going to be an invasion!”Mr. van D. turns white, and wheices it, Mrs. van D. turns red, but shes not about to be deterred: "The British arent doing a thing!”The bomb bursts. "And now shut up, Doter noch mal!* [*F out loud!"] Mother barely stifle a ugh, and I stare straight ahead.Ses like these are repeated almost daily, uheyve just had a terrible fight. In that case, her Mr. nor Mrs. van D. says a word.Its time for me to get some more potatoes. I go up to the attic, where Peter is busy pig fleas from the cat.He looks up, the otices it, and whoosh. . . hes gone. Out the window and into the rain gutter.Peter swears; I ugh and slip out of the room.Freedom in the Annex Five-thirty. Beps arrival signals the beginning of htly freedom. Things getgoing right away. I go upstairs with Bep, who usually has her dessert before the rest of us. The moment she sits down, Mrs. van D. begins stating her wishes. Her list usually starts with "Oh, by the way, Bep, something else Id like. . ." Bep winks at me. Mrs. van D. doesnt miss a ake her wishes known to whoever es upstairs. It must be one of the reasons none of them like to go up there.Five forty-five. Bep leaves. I go down two floors to have a look around: first to the kit, then to the private offid then to the coal bin to ope door for Mouschi.After a long tour of iion, I wind up in Mr. Kuglers office. Mr. van Daan is bing all the drawers and files for todays mail. Peter picks up Boche and the warehouse key; Pim lugs the typewriters upstairs; Margot looks around for a quiet pce to do her office work; Mrs. van D. puts a kettle of water oove; Mother es dowairs with a pan of potatoes; we all know our jobs.Sooer es back from the warehouse. The first question they ask him is whether hes remembered the bread. No, he hasnt. He crouches before the door to the front offiake himself as small as possible and crawls on his hands and ko the steel et, takes out the bread and starts to leave. At any rate, thats what he intends to do, but before he knows whats happened, Mouschi has jumped over him and goo sit uhe desk.Peter looks all around him. Aha, theres the cat! He crawls bato the offid grabs the cat by the tail. Mouschi hisses, Peter sighs. What has he aplished?Mouschis now sitting by the window lig herself, very pleased at having escaped Peters clutches. Peter has no choice but to lure her with a piece of bread. Mouschi takes the bait, follows him out, and the door closes.I watch the entire se through a cra the door.Mr. van Daan is angry and sms the door. Margot and I exge looks and think the same thing: he must have worked himself inte again because of some blunder on Mr. Kuglers part, and hes fotten all about the Keg pa door.Aep is heard in the hallway. Dussel es in, goes toward the window with an air of propriety, sniffs. . . coughs, sneezes and clears his throat. Hes out of luck -- it epper. He tinues on to the front office. The curtains are open, which means he t get at his writing paper. He disappears with a sargot and I exge annce. "One less page for his sweetheart tomorrow," Ihear her say. I nod in agreement.An elephants tread is heard oairway. Its Dussel, seeking fort in his favorite spot.We tinue w. Knock, knock, knock. . . Three taps means diime!MONDAY, AUGUST 23, 1943Wenn Die Uhr Halb Neune Schat . . .* [* When the clock strikes half past eight.] Margot and Mother are nervous. "Shh . . . Father. Be quiet, Otto. Shh . . . Pim! Its eight-thirty.e here, you t ruer anymore. Walk softly!" A sample of whats said to Father ihroom. At the stroke of half past eight, he has to be in the living room. No running water, no flushing toilet, no walking around, no noise whatsoever. As long as the office staff hasnt arrived, sounds travel more easily to the warehouse.The door opens upstairs at eight-twenty, and this is followed by three geaps on the floor. . . Annes hot cereal. I cmber up the stairs to get my doggie dish.Back downstairs, everything has to be done quickly, quickly: I y hair, put away the potty, shove the bed ba pce. Quiet! The clock is striki-thirty! Mrs.van D. ges shoes and shuffles through the room in her slippers; Mr. van D. too -- a veritable Charlie Chaplin. All is quiet.The ideal family se has now reached its high point. I want to read or study and Margot does too. Father and Mother ditto. Father is sitting (with Dis and the diary, of course) on the edge of the sagging, squeaky bed, which doesnt even have a det mattress. Two bolsters be piled on top of each other. "I dohese," he thinks. "I mahout them!”Once he starts reading, he doesnt look up. He ughs now and then and tries to get Mother to read a story."I dont have the time right now!”He looks disappointed, but then tio read.A little while ter, when he es across anood passage, he tries again: "Youhave to read this, Mother!”Mother sits on the folding bed, either reading, sewing, knitting or studying, whichever is on her list. An idea suddenly occurs to her, and she quickly says, so as not tet, "Anne, remember to . . . Margot, jot this down. . . “After a while its quiet again. Margot sms her book shut; Father knits his forehead, his eyebrows f a funny curve and his wrinkle of tration reappearing I at the back of his head, and he buries himself in his book 1 again; Mother starts chatting with Margot; and I get curious and listen too. Pim is drawn into the versation . . .Nine oclock. Breakfast!