THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION ... - Fidele

"That sounds fishy," I said to Margot. "It's obviously a pretext. You can tell by
the way the men are talking that there's been a break-in!" I was right. The
warehouse was being broken into at that very moment. Father, Mr. van Daan and
Peter were downstairs in a flash. Margot, Mother, Mrs. van D. and I waited. Four
frightened women need to talk, so that's what we did until we heard a bang
downstairs. After that all was quiet. The clock struck quarter to ten. The color
had drained from our faces, but we remained calm, even though we were afraid.
Where were the men? What was that bang? Were they fighting with the burglars? We
were too scared to think; all we could do was wait.
Ten o'clock, footsteps on the stairs. Father, pale and nervous, came inside,
followed by Mr. van Daan. "Lights out, tiptoe upstairs, we're expecting the
police!" There wasn't time to be scared. The lights were switched off, I grabbed a
jacket, and we sat down upstairs.
"What happened? Tell us quickly!"
There was no one to tell us; the men had gone back downstairs. The four of them
didn't come back up until ten past ten. Two of them kept watch at Peter's open
window. The door to the landing was locked, the book- case shut. We draped a
sweater over our night-light, and then they told us what had happened:
Peter was on the landing when he heard two loud bangs. He went downstairs and saw
that a large panel was missing from the left half of the warehouse door. He dashed
upstairs, alerted the "Home Guard," and the four of them went downstairs. When
they entered the warehouse, the burglars were going about their business. Without
thinking, Mr. van Daan yelled "Police!" Hur- ried footsteps outside; the burglars
had fled. The board was put back in the door so the police wouldn't notice the
gap, but then a swift kick from outside sent it flying to the floor. The men were
amazed at the burglars' audacity. Both Peter and Mr. van Daan felt a murderous
rage come over them. Mr. van Daan slammed an ax against the floor, and all was
quiet again. Once more the panel was re- placed, and once more the attempt was
foiled. Outside, a man and a woman shone a glaring flashlight through the opening,
lighting up the entire warehouse. "What the . . ." mumbled one of the men, but now
their roles had been reversed. Instead of policemen, they were now burglars. All
four of them raced upstairs. Dussel and Mr. van Daan snatched up Dussel's books,
Peter opened the doors and windows in the kitchen and private office, hurled the
phone to the ground, and the four of them finally ended up behind the bookcase.
END OF PART ONE
In all probability the man and woman with the flashlight had alerted the police.
It was Sunday night, Easter Sunday. The next day, Easter Monday, the office was
going to be closed, which meant we wouldn't be able to move around until Tuesday
morning. Think of it, having to sit in such terror for a day and two nights! We
thought of nothing, but simply sat there in pitch darkness -- in her fear, Mrs.
van D. had switched off the lamp. We whispered, and every time we heard a creak,
someone said, "Shh, shh."
It was ten-thirty, then eleven. Not a sound. Father and Mr. van Daan took turns
coming upstairs to us. Then, at eleven-fifteen, a noise below. Up above you could
hear the whole family breathing. For the rest, no one moved a muscle. Footsteps in
the house, the private office, the kitchen, then. . . on the staircase. All sounds
of breathing stopped, eight hearts pounded. Foot- steps on the stairs, then a
rattling at the bookcase. This moment is indescribable.
"Now we're done for," I said, and I had visions of all fifteen of us being dragged
away by the Gestapo that very night.