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fell by the wayside long ago。
yours； anne
wednesday； august 4；1943
dearest kitty；
now that weve been in hiding for a little over a year； you know a great deal about our lives。 still； i cant possibly tell you everything； since its all so different pared to ordinary times and ordinary people。 nevertheless； to give you a closer look into our lives； from time to time ill describe part of an ordinary day。 ill start with the evening and night。
nine in the evening。 bedtime always begins in the annex with an enormous hustle and bustle。 chairs are shifted； beds pulled out； blankets unfolded nothing stays where it is during the daytime。 i sleep on a small divan； which is only five feet long； so we have to add a few chairs to make it longer。 forter； sheets； pillows； blankets：
everything has to be removed from dussel s bed； where its kept during the day。
in the next room theres a terrible creaking： thats margots folding bed being set up。
more blankets and pillows； anything to make the wooden slats a bit more fortable。
upstairs it sounds like thunder； but its only mrs。 van d。s bed being shoved against the window so that her majesty； arrayed in her pink bed jacket； can sniff the night air through her delicate little nostrils。
nine oclock。 after peters finished； its my turn for the bathroom。 i wash myself from head to toe； and more often than not i find a tiny flea floating in the sink （only during the hot months； weeks or days）。 i brush my teeth； curl my hair； manicure my nails and dab peroxide on my upper lip to bleach the black hairs all this in less than half an hour。
nine…thirty。 i throw on my bathrobe。 with soap in one hand； and potty； hairpins； panties； curlers and a wad of cotton in the other； i hurry out of the bathroom。 the next in line invariably calls me back to remove the gracefully curved but unsightly hairs that ive left in the sink。
ten oclock。 time to put up the blackout screen and say good…night。 for the next fifteen minutes； at least； the house is filled with the creaking of beds and the sigh of broken springs； and then； provided our upstairs neighbors arent having a marital spat in bed； all is quiet。
eleven…thirty。 the bathroom door creaks。 a narrow strip of light falls into the room。
squeaking shoes； a large coat； even larger than the man inside it 。 。 。 dussel is returning from his nightly work in mr。 kuglers office。 i hear him shuffiing back and forth for ten whole minutes； the rustle of paper （from the food hes tucking away in his cupboard） and the bed being made up。 then the figure disappears again； and the only sound is the occasional suspicious noise from the bathroom。
approximately three oclock。 i have to get up to use the tin can under my bed； which； to be on the safe side； has a rubber mat underneath in case of leaks。 i always hold my breath while i go； since it clatters into the can like a brook down a mountainside。
the potty is returned to its place； and the figure in the white nightgown （the one that causes margot to exclaim every evening； 〃oh； that indecent nighty！〃） climbs back into bed。 a certain somebody lies awake for about fifteen minutes； listening to the sounds of the night。 in the first place； to hear whether there are any burglars downstairs； and then to the various beds upstairs； next door and in my room to tell whether the others are asleep or half awake。 this is no fun； especially when it concerns a member of the family named dr。 dussel。 first； theres the sound of a fish gasping for air； and this is repeated nine or ten times。 then； the lips are moistened profusely。
this is alternated with little smacking sounds； followed by a long period of tossing and turning and rearranging the pillows。 after five minutes of perfect quiet； the same sequence repeats itself three more times； after which hes presumably lulled himself back to sleep for a while。
sometimes the guns go off during the night； between one and four。 im never aware of it before it happens； but all of a sudden i find myself standing beside my bed； out of sheer habit。 occasionally im dreaming so deeply （of irregular french verbs or a quarrel upstairs） that i realize only when my dream is over that the shooting has stopped and that ive remained quietly in my room。 but usually i wake up。 then i grab a pillow and a handkerchief； throw on my robe and slippers and dash next door to father； just the way margot described in this birthday poem：
when shots rino out in the dark of night； the door creaks open and into sight e a hanky； a pillow； a figure in white。 。 。
once ive reached the big bed； the worst is over； except when the shooting is extra loud。
six forty…five。 brrring 。 。 。 the alarm clock； which raises its shrill voice at any hour of the day or night； whether you want it to or not。 creak。 。 。 wham。 。 。 mrs。 van d。
turns it off。 screak 。 。 。 mr。 van d。 gets up； puts on the water and races to the bathroom。
seven…fifteen。 the door creaks again。 dussel can go to the bathroom。 alone at last； i remove the blackout screen 。 。 。 and a new day begins in the annex。
yours； anne
thursday； august 5； 1943
dearest kitty；
today lets talk about the lunch break。
its twelve…thirty。 the whole gang breathes a sigh of relief： mr。 van maaren； the man with the shady past； and mr。 de kok have gone home for lunch。
upstairs you can hear the thud of the vacuum cleaner on mrs。 van d。s beautiful and only rug。 margot tucks a few books under her arm and heads for the class for 〃slow learners；〃 which is what dussel seems to be。 pim goes and sits in a corner with his constant panion； dickens； in hopes of finding a bit of peace and quiet。 mother hastens upstairs to help the busy little housewife； and i tidy up both the bathroom and myself at the same time。
twelve forty…five。 one by one they trickle in： first mr。
gies and then either mr。 kleiman or mr。 kugler； followed by bep and sometimes even miep。
one。 clustered around the radio； they all listen raptly to the bbc。 this is the only time the members of the annex family dont interrupt each other； since even mr。 van daan cant argue with the speaker。
one…fifteen。 food distribution。 everyone from downstairs gets a cup of soup； plus dessert； if there happens to be any。 a contented mr。 gies sits on the divan or leans against the desk with his newspaper； cup and usually the cat at his side。 if one of the three is missing； he doesnt hesitate to let his protest be heard。 mr。 kleiman relates the latest news from town； and hes an excellent source。 mr。 kugler hurries up the stairs； gives a short but solid knock on the door and es in either wringing his hands or rubbing them in glee； depending on whether hes quiet and in a bad mood or talkative and in a good mood。
one forty…five。 everyone rises from the table and goes about their business。 margot and mother do the dishes； mr。 and mrs。 van d。 head for the divan； peter for the attic； father for his divan； dussel too； and anne does her homework。
what es next is the quietest hour of the day； when theyre all asleep； there are no disturbances。 to judge by his face； dussel is dreaming of food。 but i dont look at him long； because the time whizzes by and before you know it； itll be 4 p。m。