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

Five-thirty. Bep's arrival signals the beginning of our nightly freedom. Things
get going right away. I go upstairs with Bep, who usually has her dessert before
the rest of us. The moment she sits down, Mrs. van D. begins stating her wishes.
Her list usually starts with "Oh, by the way, Bep, something else I'd like. . ."
Bep winks at me. Mrs. van D. doesn't miss a chance to make her wishes known to
whoever comes upstairs. It must be one of the reasons none of them like to go up
there.
Five forty-five. Bep leaves. I go down two floors to have a look around: first to
the kitchen, then to the private office and then to the coal bin to open the cat
door for Mouschi.
After a long tour of inspection, I wind up in Mr. Kugler's office. Mr. van Daan is
combing all the drawers and files for today's mail. Peter picks up Boche and the
warehouse key; Pim lugs the typewriters upstairs; Margot looks around for a quiet
place to do her office work; Mrs. van D. puts a kettle of water on the stove;
Mother comes down the stairs with a pan of potatoes; we all know our jobs.
Soon Peter comes back from the warehouse. The first question they ask him is
whether he's remembered the bread. No, he hasn't. He crouches before the door to
the front office to make himself as small as possible and crawls on his hands and
knees to the steel cabinet, takes out the bread and starts to leave. At any rate,
that's what he intends to do, but before he knows what's happened, Mouschi has
jumped over him and gone to sit under the desk.
Peter looks all around him. Aha, there's the cat! He crawls back into the office
and grabs the cat by the tail. Mouschi hisses, Peter sighs. What has he
accomplished? Mouschi's now sitting by the window licking herself, very pleased at
having escaped Peter's clutches. Peter has no choice but to lure her with a piece
of bread. Mouschi takes the bait, follows him out, and the door closes.
I watch the entire scene through a crack in the door.
Mr. van Daan is angry and slams the door. Margot and I exchange looks and think
the same thing: he must have worked himself into a rage again because of some
blunder on Mr. Kugler's part, and he's forgotten all about the Keg Company next
door.
Another step is heard in the hallway. Dussel comes in, goes toward the window with
an air of propriety, sniffs. . . coughs, sneezes and clears his throat. He's out
of luck -- it was pepper. He continues on to the front office. The curtains are
open, which means he can't get at his writing paper. He disappears with a scowl.
Margot and I exchange another glance. "One less page for his sweetheart tomorrow,"
I hear her say. I nod in agreement.
An elephant's tread is heard on the stairway. It's Dussel, seeking comfort in his
favorite spot.
We continue working. Knock, knock, knock. . . Three taps means dinnertime!
MONDAY, AUGUST 23, 1943
Wenn Die Uhr Halb Neune Schlaat . . .* [* When the clock strikes half past eight.]
Margot and Mother are nervous. "Shh . . . Father. Be quiet, Otto. Shh . . . Pim!
It's eight-thirty.