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 oclock 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 Italys 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 being too optimistic.
The British have landed in Naples. Northern Italy is occupied by the Germans. The truce was signed on Friday, September 3, the day the British landed in Italy. The Germans are ranting and raving in all the newspapers at the treachery of Badoglio and the Italian king.
Still, theres bad news as well. Its about Mr. Kleiman. As you know, we all like him very much. Hes unfailingly cheerful and amazingly brave, despite the fact that hes always sick and in pain and cant eat much or do a lot of walking. "When Mr. Kleiman enters a room, the sun begins to shine," Mother said recently, and shes absolutely right.
Now it seems he has to go to the hospital for a very difficult operation on his stomach, and will have to stay there for at least four weeks. You should have seen him when he told us good-bye. He acted so normally, as though he were just off to do an errand.
Yours, Anne
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Relationships here in the Annex are getting worse all the time. We dont dare open our mouths at mealtime (except to slip in a bite of food), because no matter what we say, someone is bound to resent it or take it the wrong way. Mr. Voskuijl occasionally comes to visit us. Unfortunately, hes not doing very well. He isnt making it any easier for his family, because his attitude seems to be: what do I care, Im going to die anyway! When I think how touchy everyone is here, I can just imagine what it must be like at the Voskuijls.
Ive been taking valerian every day to fight the anxiety and depression, but it doesnt stop me from being even more miserable the next day. A good hearty laugh would help better than ten valerian drops, but weve almost forgotten how to laugh.
Sometimes Im afraid my face is going to sag with all this sorrow and that my mouth is going to permanently droop at the corners. The others arent doing any better.
Everyone here is dreading the great terror known as winter.
Another fact that doesnt exactly brighten up our days is that Mr. van Maaren, the man who works in the warehouse, is getting suspicious about the Annex. A person with any brains must have noticed by now that Miep sometimes says shes going to the lab, Bep to the file room and Mr. Kleiman to the Opekta supplies, while Mr.
Kugler claims the Annex doesnt belong to this building at all, but to the one next door.
We wouldnt care what Mr. van Maaren thought of the situation except that hes known to be unreliable and to possess a high degree of curiosity. Hes not one who can be put off with a flimsy excuse.
One day Mr. Kugler wanted to be extra cautious, so at twenty past twelve he put on his coat and went to the drugstore around the corner. Less than five minutes later he was back, and he sneaked up the stairs like a thief to visit us. At one-fifteen he started to leave, but Bep met him on the landing and warned him that van Maaren was
in the office. Mr. Kugler did an about-face and stayed with us until one-thirty. Then he took off his shoes and went in his stockinged feet (despite his cold) to the front attic and down the other stairway, taking one step at a time to avoid the creaks. It took him fifteen minutes to negotiate the stairs, but he wound up safely in the office after having entered from the outside.
In the meantime, Bep had gotten rid of van Maaren and come to get Mr. Kugler from the Annex. But hed already left and at that moment was still tiptoeing down the stairs. What must the passersby have thought when they saw the manager putting on his shoes outside? Hey, you there, in the socks!
Yours, Anne
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Its Mrs. van Daans birthday. Other than one ration stamp each for cheese, meat and bread, all she received from us was a jar of jam. Her husband, Dussel and the office staff gave her nothing but flowers and also food. Such are the times we live in!
Bep had a nervous fit last week because she had so many errands to do. Ten times a day people were sending her out for something, each time insisting she go right away or go again or that shed done it all wrong. And when you think that she has her regular office work to do, that Mr. Kleiman is sick, that Miep is home with a cold and that Bep herself has a sprained ankle, boyfriend troubles and a grouchy father, its no wonder shes at the end of her tether. We comforted her and told her that if shed put her foot down once or twice and say she didnt have the time, the shopping lists would shrink of their own accord.
Saturday there was a big drama, the likes of which have never been seen here before.
It started with a discussion of van Maaren and ended in a general argument and tears.
Dussel complained to Mother that he was being treated like a leper, that no one was friendly to him and that, after all, he hadnt done anything to deserve it. This was followed by a lot of sweet talk, which luckily Mother didnt fall for this time. She told him we were disappointed in him and that, on more than one occasion, hed been a source of great annoyance. Dussel promised her the moon, but, as usual, we havent seen so much as a beam.
Theres trouble brewing with the van Daans, I can tell! Fathers furious because theyre cheating us: theyve been holding back meat and other things. Oh, what kind of
bombshell is about to burst now? If only I werent so involved in all these skirmishes!
If only I could leave here! Theyre driving us crazy!
Yours, Anne