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van daan would start to cry； so she decided it was better not to say any more。 but we bombarded mr。 dussel with questions； and the stories he had to tell were so gruesome and dreadful that we cant get them out of our heads。 once weve had time to digest the news； well probably go back to our usual joking and teasing。 it wont do us or those outside any good if we continue to be as gloomy as we are now。 and what would be the point of turning the secret annex into a melancholy annex？
no matter what im doing； i cant help thinking about those who are gone。 i catch myself laughing and remember that its a disgrace to be so cheerful。 but am i supposed to spend the whole day crying？ no； i cant do that。 this gloom will pass。
added to this misery theres another； but of a more personal nature； and it pales in parison to the suffering ive just told you about。 still； i cant help telling you that lately ive begun to feel deserted。 im surrounded by too great a void。 i never used to give it much thought； since my mind was filled with my friends and having a good time。 now i think either about unhappy things or about myself。 its taken a while； but ive finally realized that father； no matter how kind he may be； cant take the place of my former world。 when it es to my feelings； mother and margot ceased to count long ago。
but why do i bother you with this foolishness？ im terribly ungrateful； kitty； i know； but when ive been scolded for the umpteenth time and have all these other woes to think about as well； my head begins to reel！
yours； anne
saturday； november 2g； 1942
dearest kitty；
weve been using too much electricity and have now exceeded our ration。 the result：
excessive economy and the prospect of having the electricity cut off。 no light for fourteen days； thats a pleasant thought； isnt it？ but who knows； maybe it wont be so long！ its too dark to read after four or four…thirty； so we while away the time with all kinds of crazy activities： telling riddles； doing calisthenics in the dark； speaking english or french； reviewing books after a while everything gets boring。 yesterday i discovered a new pastime： using a good pair of binoculars to peek into the lighted rooms of the neighbors。 during the day our curtains cant be opened； not even an inch； but theres no harm when its so dark。
i never knew that neighbors could be so interesting。 ours are； at any rate。 ive e across a few at dinner； one family making home movies and the dentist across the way working on a frightened old lady。
mr。 dussel； the man who was said to get along so well with children and to absolutely adore them； has turned out to be an old…fashioned disciplinarian and preacher of unbearably long sermons on manners。 since i have the singular pleasure （！） of sharing my far too narrow room with his excellency； and since im generally considered to be the worst behaved of the three young people； its all i can do to avoid having the same old scoldings and admonitions repeatedly flung at my head and to pretend not to hear。 this wouldnt be so bad if mr。 dussel werent such a tattletale and hadnt singled out mother to be the recipient of his reports。 if mr。 dussels just read me the riot act； mother lectures me all over again； this time throwing the whole book at me。
and if im really lucky； mrs。 van d。 calls me to account five minutes later and lays down the law as well！
really； its not easy being the badly brought…up center of attention of a family of nitpickers。
in bed at night； as i ponder my many sins and exaggerated shortings； i get so confused by the sheer amount of things i have to consider that i either laugh or cry； depending on my mood。 then i fall asleep with the strange feeling of wanting to be different than i am or being different than i want to be； or perhaps of behaving differently than i am or want to be。
oh dear； now im confusing you too。 forgive me； but i dont like crossing things out； and in these times of scarcity； tossing away a piece of paper is clearly taboo。 so i can only advise you not to reread the above passage and to make no attempt to get to the bottom of it； because youll never find your way out again！
yours； anne
w w w。x iaoshu otx t。c o m
DECEMBER； 1942
灏彙ｈ。t｜xt。澶�
monday； december 7； 1942
dearest kitty；
hanukkah and st。 nicholas day nearly coincided this year； they were only one day apart。 we didnt make much of a fuss with hanukkah； merely exchanging a few small gifts and lighting the candles。 since candles are in short supply； we lit them for only ten minutes； but as long as we sing the song； that doesnt matter。 mr。 van daan made a menorah out of wood； so that was taken care of too。
st。 nicholas day on saturday was much more fun。 during dinner bep and miep were so busy whispering to father that our curiosity was aroused and we suspected they were up to something。 sure enough； at eight oclock we all trooped downstairs through the hall in pitch darkness （it gave me the shivers； and i wished i was safely back upstairs！） to the alcove。 we could switch on the light； since this room doesnt have any windows。 when that was done； father opened the big cabinet。
〃oh； how wonderful！〃 we all cried。
in the corner was a large basket decorated with colorful paper and a mask of black peter。
we quickly took the basket upstairs with us。 inside was a little gift for everyone； including an appropriate verse。 since youre famthar with the kinds of poems peo ple write each other on st。 nicholas day； i wont copy them down for you。
i received a kewpie doll； father got bookends； and so on。 well anyway； it was a nice idea； and since the eight of us had never celebrated st。 nicholas day before； this was a good time to begin。
yours； anne
ps。 we also had presents for everyone downstairs； a few things 。left over from the good old days； plus miep and bep are always grateful for money。
today we heard that mr。 van daan s ashtray； mr。 dussels picture frame and fathers bookends were made by none other than mr。 voskuijl。 how anyone can be so clever with his hands is a mystery to me！
thursday； december 10； 1942
dearest kitty；
mr。 van daan used to be in the meat； sausage and spice business。 he was hired for his knowledge of spices； and yet； to our great delight； its his sausage talents that have e in handy now。
we ordered a large amount of meat （under the counter； of course） that we were planning to preserve in case there were hard times ahead。 mr。 van daan decided to make bratwurst； sausages and mettwurst。 i had fun watching him put the meat through the grinder： once； twice； three times。 then he added the remaining ingredi ents to the ground meat and used a long pipe to force the mixture into the casings。
we ate the bratwurst with sauerkraut for lunch； but the sausages； which were going to be canned； had to dry first； so we hung them over a pole suspended from the cethng。 everyone who came into the room burst into laughter when they saw the dangling sausages。it was such a ical sight。
the kitchen was a shambles。 mr。 van daan； clad in his wifes apron and looking fatter than ever； was working away at the meat。 what with his bloody hands； red face and spotted apron； he looked like a real butcher。 mrs。 d。 was trying to do everything at once： learning dutch out of a book； stirring the soup； watching the meat； sighing and moaning about her broken rib。 thats what happens when old （！） ladies do such stupid exercises to get rid of their fat behinds！ dussel had an eye infection and was sitting next to the stove dabbing his eye with camomile tea。 pim； seated in the one ray of sunshine ing through the window； kept having to move his chair this way and that to stay out of the way。 his rheumatism must have been bothering him because he was slightly hunched over and was keeping an eye on mr。 van daan with an agonized expression on his face。 he reminded me of those aged invalids you see in the poor…house。 peter was romping around the room with mouschi； the cat； while mother； margot and i were peeling boiled potatoes。 when you get right down to it； none of us were doing our work properly； because we were all so busy watching mr。 van daan。
dussel has opened his dental practice。 just for fun； ill describe the session with his very first patient。
mother was ironing； and mrs。 van d。； the first victim； sat down on a chair in the middle of the room。 dussel； unpacking his case with an air of importance； asked for some eau de cologne； which could be used as a disinfectant； and vaseline； which would have to do for wax。 he looked in mrs。 van d。s mouth and found two teeth that made her wince with pain and utter incoherent cries every time he touched them。 after a
lengthy examination （lengthy as far as mrs。 van d。 was concerned； since it actually took no longer than two minutes）； dussel began to scrape out a cavity。 but mrs。 van d。 had no intention of letting him。 she flailed her arms and legs until dussel finally let go of his probe and it 。 。 。 remained stuck in mrs。 van d。s tooth。 that really did it！
mrs。 van d。 lashed out wildly in all directions； cried （as much as you can with an instrument like that in your mouth）； tried to remove it； but only managed to push it in even farther。 mr。 dussel calmly observed the scene； his hands on his hips； while the rest of the audience roared with laughter。 of course； that was very mean of us。
if itd been me； im sure i would have yelled even louder。 after a great deal of squirming； kicking； screaming and shouting； mrs。 van d。 finally managed to yank the thing out； and mr。 dussel went on with his work as if nothing had happened。 he was so quick that mrs。 van d。 didnt have time to pull any more shenanigans。 but then； he had more help than hes ever had before： no fewer than two assis tants； mr。 van d。
and i performed our job well。 the whole scene resembled one of those engravings from the middle ages entitled〃 a quack at work。〃 in the meantime； however； the patient was getting restless； since she had to keep an eye on 〃her〃 soup and 〃her鈥�
food。 one thing is certain： itll be a while before mrs。 van d。 makes another dental appointment！
yours； anne
sunday； december 13； 1942
dearest kitty；
im sitting here nice and cozy in the front office； peering out through a chink in the heavy curtains。 its dusky； but theres just enough light to write by。
its really strange watching people walk past。 they all seem to be in such a hurry that they nearly trip over their own feet。 those on bicycles whiz by so fast i cant even tell whos on the bike。 the people in this neighborhood arent particularly attractive to look at。 the children especially are so dirty you wouldnt want to touch them with a ten…foot pole。 real slum kids with runny noses。 i can hardly understand a word they say。
yesterday afternoon； when margot and i were taking a bath； i said； 〃what if we took a fishing rod and reeled in each of those kids one by one as they walked by； stuck them in the tub； washed and mended their clothes and then。 。 。鈥�
〃and then tomorrow theyd be just as dirty and tattered as they were before；〃 margot replied。
but im babbling。 there are also other things to look at cars； boats and the rain。 i can hear the streetcar and the children and im enjoying myself。
our thoughts are subject to as little change as we are。 theyre like a merry…go…round； turning from the jews to food； from food to politics。 by the way； speaking of jews； i saw two yesterday when i was peeking through ； the curtains。 i felt as though i were gazing at one of the seven wonders of the world。 it gave me such a funny feeling； as if id denounced them to the authorities and was now spying on their misfortune。
across from us is a houseboat。 the captain lives there with his wife and children。 he has a small yapping dog。 we know the little dog only by its bark and by its tail； which we can see whenever it runs around the deck。 oh； what a shame； its just started raining and most of the people are hidden under their umbrellas。 all i can see are raincoats； and now and again the back of a stocking…capped head。 actually； i dont even need to look。 by now i can recognize the women at a glance： gone to fat from eating potatoes； dressed in a red or green coat and worn…out shoes； a shopping bag dangling from their arms； with