安妮日记英文版_安妮·弗兰克-第13章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



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�础�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　ar