cent of the population being illiterate, and malaria. As there was still some time left, I quickly ran through a family tree. John the Old, William Louis, Ernst Casimir I, Henry Casimir I, right up to the little Margriet Franciska (born in 1943 in Ottawa).
12 o’clock: In the attic, I continued my program with the history of the Church—Phew! Till 1 o’clock.
Just after two, the poor child (hm, hm!) sat working again, this time studying narrow and broadnosed monkeys. Kitty, tell me quickly how many toes a hippopotamus has! Then followed the Bible, Noah and the Ark, Shem, Ham, and Japheth. After that Charles V. Then with Peter: The Colonel, in English, by Thackeray. Practised my French verbs and then compared the Mississippi with the Missouri.
I’ve still got a cold and have given it to Margot as well as to Mummy and Daddy. As long as Peter doesn’t get it! He called me his ‘Eldorado’ and wanted a kiss. Of course, I couldn’t! Funny boy! But still, he’s a darling.
Enough for today, goodbye!
Yours, Anne
Friday, 28 April, 1944
Dear Kitty, I have never forgotten my dream about Peter Schift (see beginning of January). If I think of it, I can still feel his cheek against mine now, and recall that lovely feeling that made everything good.
Sometimes I have had the same feeling here with Peter, but never to such an extent, until yesterday, when we were, as usual, sitting on the divan, our arms around each other’s waists. Then suddenly the ordinary Anne slipped away and a second Anne took her place, a second Anne who is not reckless and jocular, but one who just wants to love and be gentle.
I sat pressed closely against him and felt a wave of emotion come over me, tears sprang into my eyes, the left one trickled onto his dungarees, the right one ran down my nose and also fell onto his dungarees. Did he notice?
He made no move or sign to show that he did. I wonder if he feels the same as I do? He hardly said a word. Does he know that he has two Annes before him? These questions must remain unanswered.
At half past eight I stood up and went to the window, where we always say goodby. I was still trembling, I was still Anne number two. He came towards me, I flung my arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on his left cheek, and was about to kiss the other cheek, when my lips met his and we pressed them together. In a whirl we were clasped in each others arms, again and again, never to leave off. Oh, Peter does so need tenderness. For the first time in his life he has discovered a girl, has seen for the first time that even the most irritating girls have another side to them, that they have hearts and can be different when you are alone with them. For the first time in his life he has given of himself and, having never had a boy or girl friend in his life before, shown his vulnerable self. Now we have found each other.
For that matter, I didn’t know him either, like him having never had a trusted friend, and this is what it has come to...
Once more there is a question which gives me no peace: “Is it right? Is it right that I should have yielded so soon, that I am so ardent, just as ardent and eager as Peter himself? May I, a girl, let myself go to this extent?”
There is but one answer: “I have longed so much and for so long—I am so lonely—and now I have found consolation.”
In the mornings we just behave in an ordinary way, in the afternoons more or less so (except just occasionally) but in the evenings the suppressed longings of the whole day, the happiness and the blissful memories of all the previous occasions come to the surface and we only think of each other.
Every evening, after the last kiss, I would like to dash away, not to look into his eyes any more—away, away, alone in the darkness.
And what do I have to face, when I reach the bottom of the staircase?
Bright lights, questions, and laughter, I have to swallow it all and not show a thing. My heart still feels too much; I can’t get over a shock such as I
