Anne Frank's Tales From the Secret Annex Read online

  The elf chatted about cheerful things until Eva finally overcame her bashfulness enough to ask a question. But the elf quickly silenced her by putting a finger to Eva’s lips.

  ‘I’ll point out everything in turn and explain it to you. After each explanation you can ask me questions about the things you don’t understand, but the rest of the time you’ll have to keep quiet and not interrupt. If you do, I’ll take you home at once, and then you’ll be just as ignorant as all the other ignorant people!

  ‘Well, that’s that. Let’s begin. First, there’s the rose – the queen of the flowers; she’s so beautiful and her fragrance is so intoxicating that it goes to everyone’s head, most of all her own. The rose is beautiful, sweet-smelling and elegant, but if things aren’t going her way, she shows her thorns. She’s like a spoiled child – beautiful, elegant and seemingly nice as can be, but if you touch her or talk to someone else so that she’s no longer the centre of attention, out come her claws. She’ll be catty and offended, and will do her best to hide it. Her manners have been acquired, which means they’re only skin-deep.’

  ‘But, Elf, if that’s true, why does everyone think of the rose as the queen of the flowers?’

  ‘Most people are blinded by the outer glow. If they’d been allowed to vote, very few people would have picked the rose. The rose is majestic and beautiful, and just as in the real world, no one asks the flowers whether a bloom which is outwardly less pretty might actually be inwardly more beautiful and more fit to rule.’

  ‘Do you mean to say, Elf, that the rose isn’t beautiful?’

  ‘Not at all, Eva. The rose is beautiful on the outside. And if she weren’t constantly in the limelight, she might even be nice and kind. But since she happens to be first and foremost among the flowers, she will always think she’s prettier than she actually is, and as long as that’s true, the rose will go on being stuck-up, and I don’t like stuck-up creatures!’

  ‘Is Leentje stuck-up? After all, she’s beautiful and rich, which is why she’s our class’s ringleader.’

  ‘Think about it for a moment, Eva. You’ll have to admit that if your classmate Marietje were to stand up to her, Leentje would soon have all the other girls on her side. She’d point out that Marietje is ugly and poor. The rest of you would do whatever Leentje tells you to, because you all know she’ll be cross with you if you don’t, and that you’ll never be in her good books again. And in your eyes, being out of your ringleader’s good books is almost as bad as having the headmaster be cross with you. You wouldn’t be allowed to go to her house any more, and the rest of the class would ignore you. Later on, girls like Leentje will find themselves alone, because when the other girls are older, they’ll turn against her. But, Eva, if they were to do that now, Leentje would have an opportunity to change before she ends up being alone for the rest of her life.’

  ‘Should I try to get the other girls to stop listening to her?’

  ‘Yes. She’ll be angry and indignant at first. But once she realizes why you’re doing it and understands her own behaviour better, she’ll be grateful and will have more genuine friends than she’s ever had before.’

  ‘Now I see what you mean. But tell me, Elf, am I also vain, like the rose?’

  ‘Listen to me, Eva. Any adult or child who seriously asks themselves that question can’t be vain, because vain people don’t realize they’re vain. You’re the best person to answer that question, so I advise you to look into your own heart.

  ‘But let’s continue. You see this? Isn’t it nice?’ As she spoke, the elf knelt beside a bluebell, which was gently swaying back and forth in the grass to the rhythm of the wind.

  ‘This bluebell is simple and kind. It brings joy to the world. It chimes for flowers, just as church bells chime for people. It helps lots of flowers and is a comfort to them. The bluebell is never lonely; there’s music in its heart. It’s a much happier creature than the rose. The bluebell isn’t interested in the praise of others. The rose lives and thrives on admiration. When that’s missing, the rose has nothing to make her happy. Her outward appearance is for other people, but her heart is empty and therefore cheerless. The bluebell, on the other hand, may not be as beautiful, but she has “real” friends who value her melodies; those friends live in the flower’s heart.’

  ‘But the bluebell is also a pretty flower, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but not as eye-catching as the rose. Unfortunately, most people only notice the most obvious things.’

  ‘But I often feel lonely too and want to have people around me. Is that wrong?’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it, Eva. Later, when you’re older, you’ll hear the song in your heart. I’m sure you will!’

  ‘Please continue your story, dear little Elf. It’s beautiful, and so are you.’

  ‘All right, I’ll go on. Next, I want you to look up!’ With her tiny index finger, the elf pointed up at a large, stately, old chestnut tree. ‘It’s an impressive tree, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, and so big. How old do you think he is, Elf?’

  ‘At least a hundred and fifty years old. But he’s still standing tall, and he doesn’t feel old. Everyone admires him for his strength, and he proves it by taking no notice of their admiration. He won’t tolerate having anyone higher, and he’s egotistical and indifferent to others – as long as he has what he wants, nothing else matters. He looks so generous, our chestnut does, as if he’s a comfort to one and all, but it’s easy to be mistaken. The chestnut would rather not have anyone come to him with their troubles. He leads a good life, but begrudges others the same. The trees and flowers know it, so they take their troubles to the cosy, homely pine and ignore the chestnut.

  ‘Still, the chestnut tree has a very small song in a very big heart. This can be seen by his affection for the birds. There’s always a place for them on one of his branches, and he always has a little something for them, even if it’s not much.’

  ‘Is it all right if I compare the chestnut tree to a certain type of person?’

  ‘There’s no need for you to ask, Eva. All living creatures can be compared to one another. The chestnut tree is no exception. Anyway, he’s not all bad, he’s just not particularly good to people. But he harms no one. He leads his own life, and is happy. Do you have any other questions, Eva?’

  ‘No, I understand everything you said and I’m very grateful for your explanations, Elf. I have to go home now, but will you please come again someday and tell me more?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. Sleep tight, Eva.’

  And the elf was gone. Eva woke up, just as the moon was making way for the sun and the neighbour’s cuckoo clock was cheeping seven.

  Part 2

  THE DREAM MADE a deep impression on Eva. Nearly every day she noticed some disagreeable things about herself, then remembered the elf’s advice.

  She also tried hard not to let Leentje have her way all the time. But girls like Leentje know at once when someone has it in for them or is trying to topple them from their throne. So, whenever Eva suggested that another person take the lead in one of their games, Leentje defended herself with all her might. Her ‘faithful followers’ (the girls who had decided to stick with Leentje through thick and thin, or so they promised) were encouraged to rebel against ‘that bossy Eva’. But Eva noticed to her delight that this time Leentje was less sure of herself than she had been with Marietje.

  Marietje was small, thin and timid. Eva was amazed that she even dared to stand up to Leentje. As she got to know her better, Eva saw that Marietje would actually be a lot nicer and a lot more fun to have as a friend than Leentje.

  Eva didn’t breathe a word of the elf’s visit to her mother. She wasn’t sure why, since up till now she’d shared everything with her mother, but for the first time she felt the need to keep it to herself. She couldn’t explain it, but she had the feeling that her mum wouldn’t understand. The elf was so beautiful and Mum hadn’t been there in the park or seen the elf. Eva wouldn’t be able to
describe what the elf looked like.

  *

  It didn’t take long for the dream to have such an effect on Eva that her mother noticed how different she was. Eva talked about other, more important things, and didn’t get so upset about trivial things. But she hadn’t told her mother the reason for her remarkable change, and her mother didn’t dare push her to confide.

  So Eva lived her life, thinking of the elf’s good advice and accumulating more all the time. She never saw the elf again. Leentje was no longer the ringleader. Each of the girls took turns. At first Leentje had been very angry, but when she noticed that it didn’t help, she adopted a friendlier attitude. In the end everyone treated her normally, because she no longer lapsed into her old habits.

  At that point, Eva decided to tell her mother the whole story. Somewhat to her surprise, her mum didn’t laugh, but said, ‘The elf accorded you a great privilege, my dear. I doubt whether she thinks very many girls and boys are ready to listen to her. Be equally cautious with your trust, and tell no one else what happened. You must always do what the elf told you to do, and never, ever forget her advice.’

  As Eva grew older, she did a lot of good things for those around her. At the age of sixteen (four years after meeting the elf), she was generally acknowledged to be a friendly, gentle and helpful girl. Every time she did something good, she felt happy and warm inside, and she gradually came to understand what the elf had meant by ‘the song in her heart’.

  One day, when she was an adult, the image of the elf flashed through her mind and she suddenly realized who and what the elf had been. All at once she felt sure it had been her own conscience, showing her in her dream what was right. But she was deeply grateful that she’d had the elf as her example in her childhood.

  Wednesday, 6 October 1943

  Paula’s Flight

  In the old days, when I was a little girl, Pim used to tell me stories about ‘Der bösen Paula’.* He had a whole collection of Paula stories, and I adored them all. Now, whenever I go to him for comfort in the middle of the night, he’s started telling me Paula stories again, so I’ve written down the latest one.

  Chapter 1

  FOR A LONG TIME, Paula had been trying to work out a way to see the inside of an aeroplane. Her father had recently got a job at an airport near Berlin, and Paula and her mother had moved there to be with him.

  One fine day, when things were fairly quiet at the airport, she summoned every ounce of courage she had and climbed into the first plane she happened to see. She inspected every nook and cranny, taking her own sweet time, before finally pausing in fascination outside the cockpit. She was just about to reach for the doorknob when, to her indescribable horror, she heard voices outside. She quickly crawled under one of the benches and waited tremblingly to see what was going to happen next.

  The voices came closer and closer, and a moment later she saw two men step into the plane. They walked back and forth, nearly bumping into the bench under which she was crouched. Then the two men sat down on one of the benches behind her and started speaking in such a strange dialect that Paula couldn’t understand a word. After about fifteen minutes, they stood up and one of them left the plane. The other one shut himself in the cockpit, only to come out again dressed as a pilot. Then the second man came back, followed by six other men, and they all climbed aboard. Paula, still shaking, listened as the engine was switched on and the propellers began to turn.

  Chapter 2

  DESPITE HER DARING, Paula was often cowardly and afraid, though sometimes she could be unexpectedly brave, so that no one was able to predict which of these two opposites was going to come to the fore. This time she was extraordinarily brave, because, after they had flown for a while, she suddenly crawled out from under the bench and, to the infinite astonishment of the crew, introduced herself and told them how she got there. The crew discussed what they should do with Paula and decided that they had no choice but to keep her with them. They told her that they were on their way to Russia to bomb the enemy lines.

  Sighing, she lay down on a bench and went to sleep. Bang-bang, boom-boom… Paula sat up immediately and stared wide-eyed at the crew. No one had time to deal with her, though, because the Russians were shooting fast and furiously at the enemy aircraft. Suddenly…Paula screamed, the benches shook and the windows rattled as a couple of shells slammed into the plane and sent it into a nosedive, so that they were forced to make an emergency landing.

  As soon as the plane hit the ground, some Russians raced over and put handcuffs on the entire crew. You can imagine the looks on their faces when they suddenly saw a little thirteen-year-old girl standing before them. Neither the Russians nor the Germans understood a word of each other’s language, so a young Russian took Paula’s hand and walked with her behind the crew all the way to the prison camp. The camp’s commander burst into laughter when he saw Paula standing calmly before him. But since he didn’t want to take the little girl prisoner, he decided to make inquiries behind the lines the following day and see if he could find a simple family who would care for her until after the war.

  Chapter 3

  ONE RAINY DAY, after she had spent about a week in the commander’s office, Paula was bundled, just as she was, into a big car that was taking wounded soldiers to the hospital. The car bumped and bounced over the cobblestones for a full five hours, while outside a curtain of rain blocked her view. An occasional cottage dotted the desolate landscape, but they all seemed to be deserted. At the beginning of their trip, they could still hear the steady roar of the distant cannons, but the sound gradually got weaker and weaker until it finally died away completely.

  Suddenly there was more traffic on the road. They passed several cars, then stopped in front of a white house with red crosses painted all over it. The wounded were taken out of the car and carried inside, where friendly nurses were waiting to receive them.

  After all the men had been unloaded, the driver drove on without a word. A whole hour went by before he stopped again. Through the trees Paula saw a fairly large farmhouse. The driver gestured in the direction of the house, and Paula understood that she was supposed to get out.

  She stood on the road, waiting for the driver, but before she knew what had happened, the car had driven off, leaving her alone on the empty road. ‘What strange people the Russians are,’ Paula thought. ‘Here I am, left to my fate in a foreign country. If the tables were turned, no German would act this way!’ (Don’t forget that Paula was German.) She suddenly remembered, however, that the driver had pointed to the house. So she crossed the road, opened the gate and found herself in a sort of fenced-in pasture. In front of the house she spied a woman doing the washing and a little girl hanging sheets on the line.

  Holding out her hand, she walked over to the woman and murmured, ‘Paula Muller.’ The woman looked up, shook Paula’s hand, after first wiping her own on her soaking-wet apron, and said, ‘Ustichyaraya kolovnya’. Paula assumed that this was the woman’s name, though it simply meant ‘Welcome’.

  Chapter 4

  MRS KANTAVOSKA (as the woman was actually called) lived on the farm with her husband and three children. In addition, they had a farm-hand and two hired girls. Three days before, she had received word that a thirteen-year-old girl would probably be arriving within the next few days. If they took her in, they wouldn’t be obliged to have anyone else billeted in their house. Mrs Kantavoska had readily agreed, and she now assumed that this was the girl.

  The Kantavoskas had difficulty explaining things to Paula. However much she tried, Paula simply couldn’t understand what they expected her to do. During the first two weeks, she could barely choke down the food, but since hunger makes even the oddest things taste good, she eventually got used to it, and after a while she rolled up her sleeves and, by imitating the others, was able to do the washing and mending.

  So Paula’s life went on, and after six months she could understand quite a bit of Russian. By the time another six months had gone by, she could understa
nd almost everything and occasionally joined in the conversation, though it wasn’t easy. The Kantavoskas didn’t see Paula’s bad side, since she was much too clever to pull any of her shenanigans here, and there was no point in making her life in Russia miserable as well. She did her work, and since she wasn’t as clumsy as she had pretended to be at home, she gradually became part of the family.

  Chapter 5

  AFTER TWO YEARS with the Kantavoskas, Paula was asked if she wanted to learn how to read and write in Russian. She eagerly accepted the offer, and from then on she and a girl from the neighbourhood went to reading and writing lessons three times a week. She made rapid progress, and after about twelve weeks she was able to read Russian. Both Paula and the other girl were also given permission to learn how to dance. Before long, you could find her every evening in a dance hall, dancing polkas and mazurkas for a few pennies a night. She gave half her earnings to Mother Kantavoska and slipped the other half into her own pocket, since she had long been meaning to find a way to leave the country.

  Meanwhile, the war had come to an end, though in all that time she had not heard a word from her parents.

  Chapter 6

  SHE WAS NOW nearly sixteen, poorly educated and aware of the fact that, by Western standards, she was quite ignorant. So she threw herself into her dancing, and before long she had saved enough money to buy a train ticket from Minsk (for that was the area she was in) to Warsaw. ‘If I can just get to Warsaw,’ she thought, ‘the Red Cross is bound to send me the rest of the way.’