Monday, 24 January, 1944
Dear Kitty, Something has happened to me, or rather, I can hardly describe it as an event, except that I think it is pretty crazy. Whenever someone would speak of sexual problems at home or at school, it was something either mysterious or revolting. Words which had any bearing on the subject were whispered, and often if someone didn’t understand he was laughed at. It struck me as very odd and I thought, “Why are people so secretive and tiresome when they talk about these things?” But as I didn’t think I could change things, I kept my mouth shut as much as possible, or sometimes asked girl friends for information. When I had learnt quite a lot and had also spoken about it with my parents, Mummy said one day, “Anne, let me give you some good advice; never speak about this subject to boys and don’t reply if they begin about it.” I remember exactly what my answer was: I said, “No, of course not! The very idea!” And there it remained.
When we first came here, Daddy often told me about things that I would really have preferred to hear from Mummy, and I found out the rest from books and things I picked up from conversations. Peter van Daan was never as tiresome over this as the boys at school—once or twice at first perhaps— but he was not trying to get me talking.
Mrs. van Daan told us that she had never talked about these things to Peter, and for all she knew neither had her husband. Apparently she didn’t even know how much he knew.
Yesterday, when Margot, Peter, and I were peeling potatoes, somehow the conversation turned to Boche. “We still don’t know what sex Boche is, do we?” I asked.
“Yes, certainly,” Peter answered. “He’s a tom.”
I began to laugh. “A tomcat that’s expecting, that’s marvellous!”
Peter and Margot laughed too over this silly mistake. You see, two months ago. Peter had stated that Boche would soon be having a family, her tummy was growing visibly. However, the fatness appeared to come from
the many stolen bones, because the children didn’t seem to grow fast, let alone make their appearance!
Peter just had to defend himself. “No,” he said. “You can go with me yourself to look at him. Once when I was playing around with him, I noticed quite clearly that he’s a tom.”
I couldn’t control my curiosity, and went with him to the warehouse.
Boche, however, was not receiving visitors, and was nowhere to be seen.
We waited for a while, began to get cold, and went upstairs again. Later in the afternoon I heard Peter go downstairs for the second time. I mustered up all my courage to walk through the silent house alone, and reached the warehouse.
Boche stood on the packing table playing with Peter, who had just put him on the scales to weigh him.
“Hello, do you want to see him?” He didn’t make any lengthy preparations, but picked up the animal, turned him over on to his back, deftly held his head and paws together, and the lesson began. “These are the male organs, these are just a few stray hairs, and that is his bottom.” The cat did another half turn and was standing on his white socks once more.
If any other boy had shown me 'the male organs,' I would never have looked at him again. But Peter went on talking quite normally on what is otherwise such a painful subject, without meaning anything unpleasant, and finally put me sufficiently at my ease for me to be normal too. We played with Boche, amused ourselves, chattered together, and then sauntered through the large warehouse towards the door.
“Usually, when I want to know something, I find it in some book or the other, don’t you?” I asked.
“Why on earth? I just ask upstairs. My father knows more than me and has had more experience in such things.”
We were already on the stairs, so I kept my mouth shut after that.
“It actually happened, yes it did. Really I would never have been able to discuss these things in such a normal way with a girl. I know too definitely that Mummy didn’t mean it that way when she warned me not to discuss the subject with boys. I wasn’t quite my usual self for the rest of the day
