Then she says, ‘Putti,* why don’t you put on an apron? Otherwise, I’ll have to spend all day tomorrow trying to get the spots out of your suit.’
‘I’m not getting it dirty.’
Another brief silence. ‘Putti, why don’t you sit down?’
‘I’m fine this way. I like standing up!’
Silence.
‘Putti, look out, du spritzt schon!’†
‘I know, Mummy, but I’m being careful.’
Mrs van D. casts about for another topic. ‘Tell me, Putti, why aren’t the British carrying out any bombing raids today?’
‘Because the weather’s bad, Kerli!’‡
‘But yesterday it was such nice weather and they weren’t flying then either.’
‘Let’s drop the subject.’
‘Why? Can’t a person talk about that or offer an opinion?’
‘No!’
‘Well, why in the world not?’
‘Oh, be quiet, Mammichen!’*
‘Mr Frank always answers his wife.’ Mr van D. is trying to control himself. This remark always rubs him up the wrong way, but Mrs van D.’s not one to quit.
‘Oh, there’s never going to be an invasion!’ Mr van D. goes white, and when she notices it, Mrs van D. turns red, but she’s not about to be deterred. ‘The British aren’t doing a thing!’ The bomb bursts.
‘And now shut up, Donnerwetter noch mal!’† Mother can barely stifle a laugh, and I stare straight ahead.
Scenes like these are repeated almost daily, unless they’ve just had a terrible row. In that case, neither Mr nor Mrs van D. says a word.
It’s time for me to get some more potatoes. I go up to the attic, where Peter is busy picking fleas from the cat. He looks up, the cat notices it, and whoosh…he’s gone. Out of the window and into the rain gutter.
Peter swears; I laugh and slip out of the room.
Friday, 6 August 1943
* Putti is Mrs van Daan’s pet name for her husband.
† ‘Now you’re splashing!’
‡ Kerli is Mr van Daan’s pet name for his wife.
* ‘Mummy!’
† ‘For crying out loud!’
FIVE-THIRTY: Bep’s arrival signals the beginning of our nightly freedom. Things get going right away. I go upstairs with Bep, who usually has her pudding before the rest of us. The moment she sits down, Mrs van D. begins stating her wishes. Her list usually starts with ‘Oh, by the way, Bep, something else I’d like…’ Bep winks at me. Mrs van D. doesn’t miss a chance to make her wishes known to whoever comes upstairs. It must be one of the reasons none of them likes to go up there.
Five forty-five: Bep leaves. I go down two floors to have a look around: first to the kitchen, then to the private office and then to the coal store to open the cat door for Mouschi.
After a long tour of inspection, I land up in Mr Kugler’s office.
Mr van Daan is combing all the drawers and files for today’s mail; Peter picks up Boche* and the warehouse
key; Pim lugs the typewriters upstairs; Margot looks around for a quiet place to do her office work; Mrs van D. puts a kettle of water on the gas ring; Mother comes down the stairs with a pan of potatoes; we all know our jobs.
Soon Peter comes back from the warehouse. The first question they ask him is whether he’s remembered the bread. No, he hasn’t. He crouches before the door to the front office to make himself as small as possible and crawls on his hands and knees to the steel cabinet, takes out the bread and starts to leave. At any rate, that’s what he intends to do, but before he knows what’s happened, Mouschi has jumped over him and gone to sit under the desk.
Peter looks all around him. Aha, there’s the cat! He crawls back into the office and grabs the cat by the tail.
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