安妮日记英文版_安妮·弗兰克-第21章

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a　few　evenings　ago　（it　was　seven…thirty　and　still　light）；　peter　went　up　to　the　loft　to　get　some　old　newspapers。　he　had　to　hold　on　tightly　to　the　trapdoor　to　climb　down　the　ladder。　he　put　down　his　hand　without　looking；　and　nearly　fell　off　the　ladder　from　shock　and　pain。　without　realizing　it；　hed　put　his　hand　on　a　large　rat；　which　had　bitten　him　in　the　arm。　by　the　time　he　reached　us；　white　as　a　sheet　and　with　his　knees

knocking；　the　blood　had　soaked　through　his　pajamas。　no　wonder　he　was　so　shaken；　since　petting　a　rat　isnt　much　fun；　especially　when　it　takes　a　chunk　out　of　your　arm。

yours；　anne　

friday；　march　12；　1943

dearest　kitty；

may　i　introduce：　mama　frank；　the　childrens　advocate！　extra　butter　for　the　youngsters；　the　problems　facing　todays　youth　　you　name　it；　and　mother　defends　the　younger　generation。　after　a　skirmish　or　two；　she　always　gets　her　way。

one　of　the　jars　of　pickled　tongue　is　spoiled。　a　feast　for　mouschi　and　boche。

you　havent　met　boche　yet；　despite　the　fact　that　she　was　here　before　we　went　into　hiding。　shes　the　warehouse　and　office　cat；　who　keeps　the　rats　at　bay　in　the　storeroom。

her　odd；　political　name　can　easily　be　explained。　for　a　while　the　firm　gies　&　co。　had　two　cats：　one　for　the　warehouse　and　one　for　the　attic。　their　paths　crossed　from　time　to　time；　which　invariably　resulted　in　a　fight。　the　warehouse　cat　was　always　the　aggressor；　while　the　attic　cat　was　ultimately　the　victor；　just　as　in　politics。　so　the　warehouse　cat　was　named　the　german；　or　〃boche；〃　and　the　attic　cat　the　englishman；　or　〃tommy。〃　sometime　after　that　they　got　rid　of　tommy；　but　boche　is　always　there　to　amuse　us　when　we　go　downstairs。

vveve　eaten　so　many　brown　beans　and　navy　beans　that　i　cant　stand　to　look　at　them。　just　thinking　about　them　makes　me　sick。

our　evening　serving　of　bread　has　been　canceled。

daddy　just　said　that　hes　not　in　a　very　cheerful　mood。　his　eyes　look　so　sad　again；　the　poor　man！

i　cant　tear　myself　away　from　the　book　a　knock　at　the　door　by　ina　bakker　boudier。

this　family　saga　is　extremely　well　written；　but　the　parts　dealing　with　war；　writers　and　the　emancipation　of　women　arent　very　good。　to　be　honest；　these　subjects　dont　interest　me　much。

terrible　bombing　raids　on　germany。　mr。　van　daan　is　grouchy。　the　reason：　the

cigarette　shortage。

the　debate　about　whether　or　not　to　start　eating　the　canned　food　ended　in　our　favor。

i　cant　wear　any　of　my　shoes；　except　my　ski　boots；　which　are　not　very　practical　around　the　house。　a　pair　of　straw　thongs　that　were　purchased　for　6。50　guilders　were　worn　down　to　the　soles　within　a　week。　maybe　miep　will　be　able　to　scrounge　up　something　on　the　black　market。

its　time　to　cut　fathers　hair。　pim　swears　that　i　do　such　a　good　job　hell　never　go　to　another　barber　after　the　war。　if　only　i　didnt　nick　his　ear　so　often！

yours；　anne　

thursday；　march　18；　1943

my　dearest　kitty；

turkeys　entered　the　war。　great　excitement。　anxiously　awaiting　radio　reports。

friday；　march　19；　1943

dearest　kitty；

in　less　than　an　hour；　joy　was　followed　by　disappoint　ment。　turkey　hasnt　entered　the　war　yet。　it　was　only　a　cabinet　minister　talking　about　turkey　giving　up　its　neu　trality　sometime　soon。　the　newspaper　vendor　in　dam　square　was　shouting　〃turkey　on　englands　side！〃　and　the　papers　were　being　snatched　out　of　his　hands。　this　was　how　wed　heard　the　encouraging　rumor。

thousand…guilder　notes　are　being　declared　invalid。　thatll　be　a　blow　to　the　black　marketeers　and　others　like　them；　but　even　more　to　pe　ie　in　hiding　and　anyone　else　with　money　that　cant　be　accounted　for。　to　turn　in　a　thousand…guilder　bill；　you　have　to　be　able　to　state　how　you　came　by　it　and　provide　proof。　they　can　still　be　used　to　pay　taxes；　but　only　until　next　week。　the　five…hundred　notes　will　lapse　at　the　same　time。　gies　&　co。　still　had　some　unaccounted…for　thousand…guilder　bills；　which　they　used　to　pay　their　estimated　taxes　for　the　ing　years；　so　everything　seems　to　be　aboveboard。

dussel　has　received　an　old…fashioned；　foot…operated　dentists　drill。　that　means　ill　probably　be　getting　a　thorough　checkup　soon。

dussel　is　terribly　lax　when　it　es　to　obeying　the　rules　of　the　house。　not　only　does　he　write　letters　to　his　charlotte；　hes　also　carrying　on　a　chatty　correspondence　with　various　other　people。　margot；　the　annexs　dutch　teacher；　has　been　correcting　these　letters　for　him。　father　has　forbidden　him　to　keep　up　the　practice　and　margot　has　stopped　correcting　the　letters；　but　i　think　it　wont　be　long　before　he　starts　up　again。

the　fuhrer　has　been　talking　to　wounded　soldiers。　we　listened　on　the　radio；　and　it　was　pathetic。　the　questions　and　answers　went　something　like　this：

〃my　name　is　heinrich　scheppel。鈥�

〃where　were　you　wounded？鈥�

〃near　stalingrad。鈥�

〃what　kind　of　wound　is　it？鈥�

〃two　frostbitten　feet　and　a　fracture　of　the　left　arm。鈥�

this　is　an　exact　report　of　the　hideous　puppet　show　aired　on　the　radio。　the　wounded　seemed　proud　of　their　wounds　　the　more　the　better。　one　was　so　beside　himself　at　the　thought　of　shaking　hands　（i　presume　he　still　had　one）　with　the　fuhrer　that　he　could　barely　say　a　word。

i　happened　to　drop　dussels　soap　on　the　floor　and　step　on　it。　now　theres　a　whole　piece　missing。　ive　already　asked　father　to　pensate　him　for　the　damages；　especially　since　dussel　only　gets　one　bar　of　inferior　wartime　soap　a　month。

yours；　anne　

thursday；　march　25；　1943

dearest　kitty；

mother；　father；　margot　and　i　were　sitting　quite　pleasantly　together　last　night　when　peter　suddenly　came　in　and　whispered　in　fathers　ear。　i　caught　the　words　〃a　barrel　falling　over　in　the　warehouse〃　and　〃someone　fiddling　with　the　door。鈥�

margot　heard　it　too；　but　was　trying　to　calm　me　down；　since　id　turned　white　as　chalk　and　was　extremely　nervous。　the　three　of　us　waited　while　father　and　peter　went

downstairs。　a　minute　or　two　later　mrs。　van　daan　came　up　from　where　shed　been　listening　to　the　radio　and　told　us　that　pim　had　asked　her　to　turn　it　off　and　tiptoe　upstairs。　but　you　know　what　happens　when　youre　trying　to　be　quiet　　the　old　stairs　creaked　twice　as　loud。　five　minutes　later　peter　and　pim；　the　color　drained　from　their　faces；　appeared　again　to　relate　their　experiences。

they　had　positioned　themselves　under　the　staircase　and　waited。　nothing　happened。

then　all　of　a　sudden　they　heard　a　couple　of　bangs；　as　if　two　doors　had　been　slammed　shut　inside　the　house。　pim　bounded　up　the　stairs；　while　peter　went　to　warn　dussel；　who　finally　pre　sented　himself　upstairs；　though　not　without　kicking　up　a　fuss　and　making　a　lot　of　noise。　then　we　all　tiptoed　in　our　stockinged　feet　to　the　van　daans　on　the　next　floor。　mr。　van　d。　had　a　bad　cold　and　had　already　gone　to　bed；　so　we　gathered　around　his　bedside　and　discussed　our　suspicions　in　a　whisper。　every　time　mr。

van　d。　coughed　loudly；　mrs。　van　d。　and　i　nearly　had　a　nervous　fit。　he　kept　coughing　until　someone　came　up　with　the　bright　idea　of　giving　him　codeine。　his　cough　subsided　immediately。

once　again　we　waited　and　waited；　but　heard　nothing。　finally　we　came　to　the　conclusion　that　the　burglars　had　taken　to　their　heels　when　they　heard　footsteps　in　an　otherwise　quiet　building。　the　problem　now　was　that　the　chairs　in　the　private　office　were　neatly　grouped　around　the　radio；　which　was　tuned　to　england。　if　the　burglars　had　forced　the　door　and　the　air…raid　wardens　were　to　notice　it　and　call　the　police；　there　could　be　very　serious　repercus　sions。　so　mr。　van　daan　got　up；　pulled　on　his　coat　and　pants；　put　on　his　hat　and　cautiously　followed　father　down　the　stairs；　with　peter　（armed　with　a　heavy　hammer；　to　be　on　the　safe　side）　right　behind　him。　the　ladies　（including　margot　and　me）　waited　in　suspense　until　the　men　returned　five　minutes　later　and　reported　that　there　was　no　sign　of　any　activity　in　the　building。　we　agreed　not　to　run　any　water　or　flush　the　toilet；　but　since　everyones　stomach　was　churning　from　all　the　tension；　you　can　imagine　the　stench　after　wed　each　had　a　turn　in　the　bathroom。

incidents　like　these　are　always　acpanied　by　other　disasters；　and　this　was　no　exception。　number　one：　the　westertoren　bells　stopped　chiming；　and　id　always　found　them　so　forting。　number　two：　mr。　voskuijlleft　early　last　night；　and　we　werent　sure　if　hed　given　bep　the　key　and　shed　forgotten　to　lock