thursday, may 11, 1944

dearest kitty,

a new sketch to make you laugh:

peter's hair had to be cut, and as usual his mother was to be the hairdresser. at seven twenty-five peter vanished into his room, and reappeared at the stroke of seven-thirty, stripped down to his blue swimming trunks and a pair of tennis shoes.

"are you coming?" he asked his mother.

"yes, i'll be up in a minute, but i can't find the scissors!"

peter helped her look, rummaging around in her cosmetics drawer. "don't make such a mess, peter," she grumbled.

i didn't catch peter's reply, but it must have been insolent, because she cuffed him on the arm. he cuffed her back, she punched him with all her might, and peter pulled his arm away with a look of mock horror on his face. "come on, old girl!"

mrs. van d. stayed put. peter grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her all around the room. she laughed, cried, scolded and kicked, but nothing helped. peter led his prisoner as far as the attic stairs, where he was obliged to let go of her. mrs. van d. came back to the room and collapsed into a chair with a loud sigh.

"die enifu"hruna der mutter,". i joked. [* the abduction of mother, a possible reference to mozart's opera the abduction from the seraglio.]

"yes, but he hurt me."

i went to have a look and cooled her hot, red wrists with water. peter, still by the stairs and growing impa- tient again, strode into the room with his belt in his hand, like a lion tamer. mrs. van d. didn't move, but stayed by her writing desk, looking for a handkerchief. "you've got to apologize first."

"all right, i hereby offer my apologies, but only because if i don't, we'll be here till midnight."

mrs. van d. had to laugh in spite of herself. she got up and went toward the door, where she felt obliged to give us an explanation. (by us i mean father, mother and me; we were busy doing the dishes.) "he wasn't like this at home," she said. "i'd have belted him so hard he'd have gone flying down the stairs [!]. he's never been so insolent. this isn't the first time he's deserved a good hiding. that's what you get with a modern upbringing, modern children. i'd never have grabbed my mother like that. did you treat your mother that way, mr. frank?" she was very upset, pacing back and forth, saying whatever came into her head, and she still hadn't gone upstairs. finally, at long last, she made her exit.

less than five minutes later she stormed back down the stairs, with her cheeks all puffed out, and flung her apron on a chair. when i asked if she was through, she replied that she was going downstairs. she tore down the stairs like a tornado, probably straight into the arms of her putti.

she didn't come up again until eight, this time with her husband. peter was dragged from the attic, given a merciless scolding and showered with abuse: ill-mannered brat, no-good bum, bad example, anne this, margot that, i couldn't hear the rest.

everything seems to have calmed down again today!

yours, anne m. frank

p.s. tuesday and wednesday evening our beloved queen addressed the country. she's taking a vacation so she'll be in good health for her return to the netherlands.

she used words like "soon, when i'm back in holland," "a swift liberation," "heroism" and "heavy burdens."

this was followed by a speech by prime minister gerbrandy. he has such a squeaky little child's voice that mother instinctively said, "oooh." a clergyman, who must have borrowed his voice from mr. edel, concluded by asking god to take care of the jews, all those in concentration camps and prisons and everyone working in germany.