Thursday, 6 January, 1944
Dear Kitty, My longing to talk to someone became so intense that somehow or other I took it into my head to choose Peter.
Sometimes if I’ve been upstairs into Peters room during the day, it always struck me as very snug, but because Peter is so shy and would never turn anyone out who became a nuisance, I never dared stay long, because I was afraid he might think me a bore. I tried to think of an excuse to stay in his room and get him talking, without it being too noticeable, and my chance came yesterday. Peter has a mania for crossword puzzles at the moment and hardly does anything else. I helped him with them and we soon sat opposite each other at his little table, he on the chair and me on the divan.
It gave me a queer feeling each time I looked into his deep blue eyes, and he sat there with that mysterious laugh playing round his lips. I was able to read his inward thoughts. I could see on his face that look of helplessness and uncertainty how to behave, and, at the same time, a trace of his sense of manhood. I noticed his shy manner and it made me feel very gentle; I couldn’t refrain from meeting those dark eyes again and again, and with my whole heart I almost beseeched him: oh, tell me, what is going on inside you, oh, can’t you look beyond this ridiculous chatter?
But the evening passed and nothing happened, except that I told him about blushing—naturally not what I have written, but just so that he would become more sure of himself as he grew older.
When I lay in bed and thought over the whole situation, I found it far from encouraging, and the idea that I should beg for Peter’s patronage was simply repellent. One can do a lot to satisfy ones longings, which certainly sticks out in my case, for I have made up my mind to go and sit with Peter more often and to get him talking somehow or other.
Whatever you do, don’t think I’m in love with Peter— not a bit of it! If the van Daans had had a daughter instead of a son, I should have tried to make friends with her too.
