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

Come here, you can't run the water anymore. Walk softly!" A sample of what's said
to Father in the bathroom. At the stroke of half past eight, he has to be in the
living room. No running water, no flushing toilet, no walking around, no noise
whatsoever. As long as the office staff hasn't arrived, sounds travel more easily
to the warehouse.
The door opens upstairs at eight-twenty, and this is followed by three gentle taps
on the floor. . . Anne's hot cereal. I clamber up the stairs to get my doggie
dish.
Back downstairs, everything has to be done quickly, quickly: I comb my hair, put
away the potty, shove the bed back in place. Quiet! The clock is striking eightthirty!
Mrs. van D. changes shoes and shuffles through the room in her slippers;
Mr. van D. too -- a veritable Charlie Chaplin. All is quiet.
The ideal family scene has now reached its high point. I want to read or study and
Margot does too. Father and Mother ditto. Father is sitting (with Dickens and the
dictionary, of course) on the edge of the sagging, squeaky bed, which doesn't even
have a decent mattress. Two bolsters can be piled on top of each other. "I don't
need these," he thinks. "I can manage without them!"
Once he starts reading, he doesn't look up. He laughs now and then and tries to
get Mother to read a story.
"I don't have the time right now!"
He looks disappointed, but then continues to read.
A little while later, when he comes across another good passage, he tries again:
"You have to read this, Mother!"
Mother sits on the folding bed, either reading, sewing, knitting or studying,
whichever is next on her list. An idea suddenly occurs to her, and she quickly
says, so as not to forget, "Anne, remember to . . . Margot, jot this down. . . "
After a while it's quiet again. Margot slams her book shut; Father knits his
forehead, his eyebrows forming a funny curve and his wrinkle of concentration
reappearing I at the back of his head, and he buries himself in his book 1 again;
Mother starts chatting with Margot; and I get curious and listen too. Pim is drawn
into the conversation . . . Nine o'clock. Breakfast!
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Every time I write to you, something special has happened, usually unpleasant
rather than pleasant. This time, however, something wonderful is going on.
On Wednesday, September 8, we were listening to the seven o'clock news when we
heard an announcement: "Here is some of the best news of the war so far: Italy has
capitulated." Italy has unconditionally surrendered! The Dutch broadcast from
England began at eight-fifteen with the news: "Listeners, an hour and fifteen
minutes ago, just as I finished writing my daily report, we received the wonderful
news of Italy's capitulation. I tell you, I never tossed my notes into the
wastepaper basket with more delight than I did today!"
"God Save the King," the American national anthem and the Russian'
'Internationale" were played. As always, the Dutch program was uplifting without