安妮日记英文版_安妮·弗兰克- 第47节

whenever　i　go　upstairs；　its　always　so　i　can　see　〃him。〃　now　that　i　have　something　to　look　forward　to；　my　life　here　has　improved　greatly。

at　least　the　object　of　my　friendship　is　always　here；　and　i　dont　have　to　be　afraid　of　rivals　（except　for　margot）。　dont　think　im　in　love；　because　im　not；　but　i　do　have　the　feeling　that　something　beautiful　is　going　to　develop　between　peter　and　me；　a　kind　of　friendship　and　a　feeling　of　trust。　i　go　see　him　whenever　i　get　the　chance；　and　its　not　the　way　it　used　to　be；　when　he　didnt　know　what　to　make　of　me。　on　the　contrary；　hes　still　talking　away　as　im　heading　out　the　door。　mother　doesnt　like　me　going　upstairs。　she　always　says　im　bothering　peter　and　that　i　should　leave　him　alone。

honestly；　cant　she　credit　me　with　some　intuition？　she　always　looks　at　me　so　oddly　when　i　go　to　peters　room。　when　i　e　down　again；　she　asks　me　where　ive　been。

its　terrible；　but　im　beginning　to　hate　her！

yours；　anne　

m。　frank

saturday；　february　19；　1944

dearest　kitty；

its　saturday　again；　and　that　should　tell　you　enough。　this　morning　all　was　quiet。　i　spent　nearly　an　hour　upstairs　making　meatballs；　but　i　only　spoke　to　〃him〃　in　passing。

when　everyone　went　upstairs　at　two…thirty　to　either　read　or　take　a　nap；　i　went　downstairs；　with　blanket　and　all；　to　sit　at　the　desk　and　read　or　write。　before　long　i　couldnt　take　it　anymore。　i　put　my　head　in　my　arms　and　sobbed　my　heart　out。　the　tears　streamed　down　my　cheeks；　and　i　felt　desperately　unhappy。　oh；　if　only　he〃　had　e　to　fort　me。

it　was　past　four　by　the　time　i　went　upstairs　again。　at　five　oclock　i　set　off　to　get　some　potatoes；　hoping　once　again　that　wed　meet；　but　while　i　was　still　in　the　bathroom　fixing　my　hair；　he　went　to　see　boche。

i　wanted　to　help　mrs。　van　d。　and　went　upstairs　with　my　book　and　everything；　but　suddenly　i　felt　the　tears　ing　again。　i　raced　downstairs　to　the　bathroom；　grabbing　the　hand　mirror　on　the　way。　i　sat　there　on　the　toilet；　fully　dressed；　long　after　i　was　through；　my　tears　leaving　dark　spots　on　the　red　of　my　apron；　and　i　felt　utterly　dejected。

heres　what　was　going　through　my　mind：　〃oh；　ill　never　reach　peter　this　way。　who　knows；　maybe　he　doesnt　even　like　me　and　he　doesnt　need　anyone　to　confide　in。

maybe　he　only　thinks　of　me　in　a　casual　sort　of　way。　ill　have　to　go　back　to　being　alone；　without　anyone　to　confide　in　and　without　peter；　without　hope；　fort　or　anything　to　look　forward　to。　oh；　if　only　i　could　rest　my　head　on　his　shoulder　and　not　feel　so　hopelessly　alone　and　deserted！　who　knows；　maybe　he　doesnt　care　for　me　at　all　and　looks　at　the　others　in　the　same　tender　way。　maybe　i　only　imagined　it　was　especially　for　me。　oh；　peter；　if　only　you　could　hear　me　or　see　me。　if　the　truth　is　disappointing；　i　wont　be　able　to　bear　it。鈥�

a　little　later　i　felt　hopeful　and　full　of　expectation　again；　though　my　tears　were　still　flowing　　on　the　inside。

yours；　anne　

m。　frank

sunday；　february　20；　1944

what　happens　in　other　peoples　houses　during　the　rest　of　the　week　happens　here　in　the　annex　on　sundays。　while　other　people　put　on　their　best　clothes　and　go　strolling　in　the　sun；　we　scrub；　sweep　and　do　the　laundry。

eight　oclock。　though　the　rest　of　us　prefer　to　sleep　in；

dussel　gets　up　at　eight。　he　goes　to　the　bathroom；　then　downstairs；　then　up　again　and　then　to　the　bathroom；　where　he　devotes　a　whole　hour　to　washing　himself。

nine…thirty。　the　stoves　are　lit；　the　blackout　screen　is　taken　down；　and　mr。　van　daan　heads　for　the　bathroom。　one　of　my　sunday　morning　ordeals　is　having　to　lie　in　bed　and　look　at　dussels　back　when　hes　praying。　i　know　it　sounds　strange；　but　a　praying　dussel　is　a　terrible　sight　to　behold。　its　not　that　he　cries　or　gets　sentimental；　not　at　all；　but　he　does　spend　a　quarter　of　an　hour　　an　entire　fifteen　minutes　　rocking　from　his　toes　to　his　heels。　back　and　forth；　back　and　forth。　it　goes　on　forever；　and　if　i　dont　shut　my　eyes　tight；　my　head　starts　to　spin。

ten…fifteen。　the　van　daans　whistle；　the　bathrooms　free。　in　the　frank　family　quarters；　the　first　sleepy　faces　are　beginning　to　emerge　from　their　pillows。　then　everything　happens　fast；　fast；　fast。　margot　and　i　take　turns　doing　the　laundry。　since　its　quite　cold　downstairs；　we　put　on　pants　and　head　scarves。　meanwhile；　father　is　busy　in　the　bathroom。　either　margot　or　i　have　a　turn　in　the　bathroom　at　eleven；　and　then　were　all　clean。

eleven…thirty。　breakfast。　i　wont　dwell　on　this；　since　theres　enough　talk　about　food　without　my　bringing　the　subject　up　as　well。

twelve…fifteen。　we　each　go　our　separate　ways。　father；　clad　in　overalls；　gets　down　on　his　hands　and　knees　and　brushes　the　rug　so　vigorously　that　the　room　is　enveloped　in　a　cloud　of　dust。　mr。　dussel　makes　the　beds　（all　wrong；　of　course）；　always　whistling　the　same　beethoven　violin　concerto　as　he　goes　about　his　work。　mother　can　be　heard　shuffling　around　the　attic　as　she　hangs　up　the　washing。　mr。　van　daan　puts　on　his　hat　and　disappears　into　the　lower　regions；　usually　followed　by　peter　and　mouschi。　mrs。

van　d。　dons　a　long　apron；　a　black　wool　jacket　and　overshoes；　winds　a　red　wool　scarf　around　her　head；　scoops　up　a　bundle　of　dirty　laundry　and；　with　a　well…rehearsed　washerwomans　nod；　heads　downstairs。　margot　and　i　do　the　dishes　and　straighten　up　the　room。

wednesday；　february　23；1944

my　dearest　kitty；

the　weathers　been　wonderful　since　yesterday；　and　ive　perked　up　quite　a　bit。　my　writing；　the　best　thing　i　have；　is　ing　along　well。　i　go　to　the　attic　almost　every　morning　to　get　the　stale　air　out　of　my　lungs。　this　morning　when　i　went　there；　peter　was　busy　cleaning　up。　he　finished　quickly　and　came　over　to　where　i　was　sitting　on

my　favorite　spot　on　the　floor。　the　two　of　us　looked　out　at　the　blue　sky；　the　bare　chestnut　tree　glistening　with　dew；　the　seagulls　and　other　birds　glinting　with　silver　as　they　swooped　through　the　air；　and　we　were　so　moved　and　entranced　that　we　couldnt　speak。　he　stood　with　his　head　against　a　thick　beam；　while　i　sat。　we　breathed　in　the　air；　looked　outside　and　both　felt　that　the　spell　shouldnt　be　broken　with　words。　we　remained　like　this　for　a　long　while；　and　by　the　time　he　had　to　go　to　the　loft　to　chop　wood；　i　knew　he　was　a　good；　decent　boy。　he　climbed　the　ladder　to　the　loft；　and　i　followed；　during　the　fifteen　minutes　he　was　chopping　wood；　we　didnt　say　a　word　either。　i　watched　him　from　where　i　was　standing；　and　could　see　he　was　obviously　doing　his　best　to　chop　the　right　way　and　show　off　his　strength。　but　i　also　looked　out　the　open　window；　letting　my　eyes　roam　over　a　large　part　of　amsterdam；　over　the　rooftops　and　on　to　the　horizon；　a　strip　of　blue　so　pale　it　was　almost　invisible。

〃as　long　as　this　exists；〃　i　thought；　〃this　sunshine　and　this　cloudless　sky；　and　as　long　as　i　can　enjoy　it；　how　can　i　be　sad？鈥�

the　best　remedy　for　those　who　are　frightened；　lonely　or　unhappy　is　to　go　outside；　somewhere　they　can　be　alone；　alone　with　the　sky；　nature　and　god。　for　then　and　only　then　can　you　feel　that　everything　is　as　it　should　be　and　that　god　wants　people　to　be　happy　amid　natures　beauty　and　simplicity。

as　long　as　this　exists；　and　that　should　be　forever；　i　know　that　there　will　be　solace　for　every　sorrow；　whatever　the　circumstances。　i　firmly　believe　that　nature　can　bring　fort　to　all　who　suffer。

oh；