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

in a low whisper, and kids who weren't in the know were often laughed at. That
struck me as odd, and I often wondered why people were so mysterious or obnoxious
when they talked about this subject. But because I couldn't change things, I said
as little as possible or asked my girlfriends for information.
After I'd learned quite a lot, Mother once said to me, "Anne, let me give you some
good advice. Never discuss this with boys, and if they bring it up, don't answer
them."
I still remember my exact reply. "No, of course not," I exclaimed. "Imagine!" And
nothing more was said.
When we first went into hiding, Father often told me about things I'd rather have
heard from Mother, and I learned the rest from books or things I picked up in
conversations.
Peter van Daan wasn't ever as obnoxious about this subject as the boys at school.
Or maybe just once or twice, in the beginning, though he wasn't trying to get me
to talk. Mrs. van Daan once told us she'd never discussed these matters with
Peter, and as far as she knew, neither had her husband. Apparently she didn't even
know how much Peter knew or where he got his information.
Yesterday, when Margot, Peter and I were peeling potatoes, the conversation
somehow turned to Boche. "We're still not sure whether Boche is a boy or a girl,
are we?" I asked.
Yes we are, he answered. "Boche is a tomcat."
I began to laugh. "Some tomcat if he's pregnant."
Peter and Margot joined in the laughter. You see, a month or two ago Peter
informed us that Boche was sure to have kittens before long, because her stomach
was rapidly swelling. However, Boche's fat tummy turned out to be due to a bunch
of stolen bones. No kittens were growing inside, much less about to be born.
Peter felt called upon to defend himself against my accusation. "Come with me. You
can see for yourself. I was horsing around with the cat one day, and I could
definitely see it was a 'he.' "
Unable to restrain my curiosity, I went with him to the warehouse. Boche, however,
wasn't receiving visitors at that hour, and was nowhere in sight. We waited for a
while, but when it got cold, we went back upstairs.
Later that afternoon I heard Peter go downstairs for the second time. I mustered
the courage to walk through the silent house by myself and reached the warehouse.
Boche was on the packing table, playing with Peter, who was getting ready to put
him on the scale and weigh him.
"Hi, do you want to have a look?" Without any preliminaries, he picked up the cat,
turned him over on his back, deftly held his head and paws and began the lesson.
"This is the male sexual organ, these are a few stray hairs, and that's his
backside."
The cat flipped himself over and stood up on his little white feet.
If any other boy had pointed out the "male sexual organ" to me, I would never have
given him a second glance. But Peter went on talking in a normal voice about what
is otherwise a very awkward subject. Nor did he have any ulterior motives. By the