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

obliged to change tactics. There's a brief silence. Then she says, "Putti, why
don't you put on an apron? Otherwise, I'll have to spend all day tomorrow trying
to get the spots out of your suit!"
"I'm not getting it dirty."
Another brief silence. "Putti, why don't you sit down?'
"I'm fine this way. I like standing up!"
Silence.
"Putti, look out, du spritzt schon!".* [*Now you're splashing!]
"I know, Mommy, but I'm being careful."
Mrs. van D. casts about for another topic. "Tell me, Putti, why aren't the British
carrying out any bombing raids today?"
"Because the weather's bad, Kerli!"
"But yesterday it was such nice weather and they weren't flying then either."
"Let's drop the subject."
"Why? Can't a person talk about that or offer an opinion?'
"Well, why in the world not?"
"Oh, be quiet, Mammichen!"* [*Mommy]
"Mr. Frank always answers his wife."
Mr. van D. is trying to control himself. This remark always rubs him the wrong
way, but Mrs. van D.'s not one to quit: "Oh, there's never going to be an
invasion!"
Mr. van D. turns white, and when she notices it, Mrs. van D. turns red, but she's
not about to be deterred: "The British aren't doing a thing!"
The bomb bursts. "And now shut up, Donnerwetter noch mal!* [*For crying out
loud!"]
Mother can barely stifle a laugh, and I stare straight ahead.
Scenes like these are repeated almost daily, unless they've just had a terrible
fight. In that case, neither Mr. nor Mrs. van D. says a word.
It's time for me to get some more potatoes. I go up to the attic, where Peter is
busy picking fleas from the cat.
He looks up, the cat notices it, and whoosh. . . he's gone. Out the window and
into the rain gutter.
Peter swears; I laugh and slip out of the room.
Freedom in the Annex