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

Yesterday, as you've probably already discovered, was our Fiihrer's fifty-fifth
birthday. Today is the eighteenth birthday of Her Royal Highness Princess
Elizabeth of York. The BBC reported that she hasn't yet been declared of age,
though royal children usually are. We've been wondering which prince they'll marry
this beauty off to, but can't think of a suitable candidate; perhaps her sister,
Princess Margaret Rose, can have Crown Prince Baudouin of Belgium!
Here we've been going from one disaster to the next. No sooner have the outside
doors been reinforced than van Maaren rears his head again. In all likelihood he's
the one who stole the potato flour, and now he's trying to pin the blame on Bep.
Not surprisingly, the Annex is once again in an uproar. Bep is beside herself with
rage. Perhaps Mr. Kugler will finally have this shady character tailed.
The appraiser from Beethovenstraat was here this morning. He offered us 400
guilders for our chest; in our opinion, the other estimates are also too low.
I want to ask the magazine The Prince if they'll take one of my fairy tales, under
a pseudonym, of course. But up to now all my fairy tales have been too long, so I
don't think I have much of a chance.
Until the next time, darling.
Yours, Anne M. Frank
TUESDAY, APRIL 25, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
For the last ten days Dussel hasn't been on speaking terms with Mr. van Daan, and
all because of the new security measures since the break-in. One of these was that
he's no longer allowed to go downstairs in the evenings. Peter and Mr. van Daan
make the last round every night at nine-thirty, and after that no one may go
downstairs. We can't flush the toilet anymore after eight at night or after eight
in the morning. The windows may be opened only in the morning when the lights go
on in Mr. Kugler's office, and they can no longer be propped open with a stick at
night. This last measure is the reason for Dussel's sulking. He claims that Mr.
van Daan bawled him out, but he has only himself to blame. He says he'd rather
live without food than without air, and that they simply must figure out a way to
keep the windows open.
"I'll have to speak to Mr. Kugler about this," he said to me.
I replied that we never discussed matters of this sort with Mr. Kugler, only
within the group.
"Everything's always happening behind my back. I'll have to talk to your father
about that."
He's also not allowed to sit in Mr. Kugler's office anymore on Saturday afternoons
or Sundays, because the manager of Keg's might hear him if he happens to be next
door. Dussel promptly went and sat there anyway. Mr. van Daan was furious, and
Father went downstairs to talk to Dussel, who came up with some flimsy excuse, but
even Father didn't fall for it this time. Now Father's keep- ing his dealings with
Dussel to a minimum because Dussel insulted him. Not one of us knows what he said,
but it must have been pretty awful.
And to think that that miserable man has his birthday next week. How can you