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

about if I listen to your prayers tonight?"
"No, Momsy," I replied.
Mother got up, stood beside my bed for a moment and then slowly walked toward the
door. Suddenly she turned, her face contorted with pain, and said, "I don't want
to be angry with you. I can't make you love me!" A few tears slid down her cheeks
as she went out the door.
I lay still, thinking how mean it was of me to reject her so cruelly, but I also
knew that I was incapable of answering her any other way. I can't be a hypocrite
and pray with her when I don't feel like it. It just doesn't work that way. I
felt sorry for Mother -- very, very sorry -- because for the first time in my life
I noticed she wasn't indifferent to my coldness. I saw the sorrow in her face when
she talked about not being able to make me love her. It's hard to tell the truth,
and yet the truth is that she's the one who's rejected me. She's the one whose
tactless comments and cruel jokes about matters I don't think are funny have made
me insensitive to any sign of love on her part. Just as my heart sinks every time
I hear her harsh words, that's how her heart sank when she realized there was no
more love between us.
She cried half the night and didn't get any sleep. Father has avoided looking at
me, and if his eyes do happen to cross mine, I can read his unspoken words: "How
can you be so unkind? How dare you make your mother so sad!"
Everyone expects me to apologize, but this is not something I can apologize for,
because I told the truth, and sooner or later Mothjr was bound to find out anyway.
I seem to be indifferent to Mother's tears and Father's glances, and I am, because
both of them are now feeling what I've always felt. I can only feel sorry for
Mother, who will have to figure out what her attitude should be all by herself.
For my part, I will continue to remain silent and aloof, and I don't intend to
shrink from the truth, because the longer it's postponed, the harder it will be
for them to accept it when they do hear it!
Yours, Anne
TUESDAY, APRIL 27, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
The house is still trembling from the aftereffects of the quarrels. Everyone is
mad at everyone else: Mother and I, Mr. van Daan and Father, Mother and Mrs. van
D. Terrific atmosphere, don't you think? Once again Anne's usual list of
shortcomings has been extensively aired.
Our German visitors were back last Saturday. They stayed until six. We all sat
upstairs, not daring to move an inch. If there's no one else working in the
building or in the neighborhood, you can hear every single step in the private
office. I've got ants in my pants again from having to sit still so long.
Mr. Voskuijl has been hospitalized, but Mr. Kleiman's back at the office. His
stomach stopped bleeding sooner than it normally does. He told us that the County
Clerk's Office took an extra beating because the firemen flooded the entire
building instead of just putting out the fire. That does my heart good!
The Carlton Hotel has been destroyed. Two British planes loaded with firebombs
landed right on top of the