Anne Frank's Tales From the Secret Annex Read online

  No sooner said than done. One morning, when she was supposedly going to her lesson, she tied her accumulated possessions into a bundle and slipped away. As she had expected, the walk from the Kantavoskas’ farm to Minsk was far from easy. She got a ride in a wagon for a few hours, but that still left several hours on foot.

  She arrived in Minsk at dusk, totally exhausted. She went directly to the station and asked about trains to Warsaw, but to her dismay, she was told that the first train wasn’t due to leave until noon the next day. She pleaded with them to let her speak to the stationmaster, and when he appeared, she begged him for permission to sleep in the station that night. This was allowed, and she was so tired that she fell asleep at once. She awoke at dawn, stiff from head to toe, wondering where she was, but it all came back to her much too quickly when her stomach began to growl. That was something Paula had not anticipated. There was a nice girl at the station buffet, and after hearing Paula’s open-hearted tale, she kindly gave her, at no charge, a real Russian bread roll. She spent the morning chatting with the waitress and boarded the train to Warsaw at noon, greatly cheered and in the highest of hopes.

  Chapter 7

  WHEN SHE ARRIVED in Warsaw, she asked the stationmaster for directions, then walked straight to the house of the Red Cross nurses. She stayed there longer than she’d expected, since none of the nurses knew what to do with her. They didn’t have any addresses or lists of missing persons, and as Paula didn’t have a penny to her name, they couldn’t put her on a train. Nor could they let her starve to death. However, after a while the nurses decided, thank goodness, to pay for her trip to Berlin out of their own pockets, since Paula had told them that once she was in Berlin she’d be able to find her way to her parents’ house.

  The nurses bade her an affectionate farewell and once again Paula boarded the train. At the next station a nice young man entered her compartment and soon struck up a conversation with the gutsy-looking girl. For the rest of the trip, Paula was to be found in the company of the handsome young soldier, and when they arrived in Berlin, the two of them arranged to meet again soon.

  Paula set off at a brisk pace and before long she had reached her parents’ house, which turned out to be empty and deserted. It had never occurred to her that her parents might have moved. What was she to do? Once more she found the Red Cross and told them her story in her halting German, and once more she was taken in and cared for, though her stay was limited to a maximum of fourteen days.

  All she found out about her parents was that her mother had left Berlin to look for work elsewhere and that her father had been drafted in the last year of the war and was now lying wounded in a hospital somewhere.

  She went straight out to look for some kind of housework, and when she found a position, she hurried over to see Erich, the handsome young man. With his help, she was hired for three nights a week in a cabaret. And so her Russian dancing came in useful again.

  Chapter 8

  PAULA HAD BEEN working for some time when the cabaret announced one evening that in two weeks’ time it was going to hold a big dance show, exclusively for the convalescent soldiers who had recently been discharged from various hospitals. On this special night, Paula was to have a big part in the performance. There were lots of rehearsals, and when she got home late at night, she was so tired that she could barely drag herself out of bed at seven o’clock the next morning. Her one and only source of comfort in this period was Erich. Their friendship had grown so much that Paula no longer knew how she could ever manage without him. When the big night finally arrived, Paula had stage fright for the first time in her life. Dancing for a roomful of men was decidedly unnerving. Still, all she could do was try, and with the thought of the extra money she’d earn, she was able to keep going.

  The evening went well, and afterwards Paula joined Erich in the foyer. All of a sudden she froze, because not far from her, talking to another soldier, was her father. With a cry of joy, she rushed over and threw herself in his arms. Her father, who had aged quite a lot, looked amazed, since he hadn’t recognized his daughter, either on or off stage. She actually had to introduce herself!

  Chapter 9

  A WEEK LATER Paula could be seen entering the railway station in Frankfurt arm-in-arm with her father. They were welcomed by her deeply moved mother, who after all that time had almost given up hoping for her daughter’s return.

  After she’d told her mother the whole story, her father jokingly asked her if she’d like to hop on a plane so that she could fly back to Russia!

  Bear in mind that this story takes place during the 1914–1918 war, when the Germans won the Russian campaign.

  Wednesday, 22 December 1943

  * ‘The Bad Paula’.

  Katrien

  KATRIEN WAS SITTING on a boulder that lay in the sun in front of the farm. She was thinking, thinking very hard. Katrien was one of those quiet girls who become […]* in later years, because they’re always thinking.

  What the little girl in the pinafore was thinking about only she could say, because she never told her thoughts to anyone. She was much too quiet and withdrawn for that.

  She didn’t have a single girlfriend and probably wouldn’t find it easy to make one. Her mother thought she was a strange child, and unfortunately Katrien could sense her disapproval. Her father, the farmer, was far too busy to concern himself with his only daughter. So Katrien was always by herself. She didn’t mind being on her own; she thought it was normal and was happy to let it go at that.

  On this hot summer day, however, she looked out over the cornfields and sighed deeply. What fun it would be to be able to play with the girls over there. Look at them running and laughing and having a good time!

  The girls started coming closer and closer… Do you suppose they were coming over to where she was sitting? Oh, how awful, they were laughing at her. She could clearly hear them calling her name, the nickname she hated so much, the one she heard them whispering behind her back: Katrien the Lazy Bean. Oh, she felt so miserable. If only she could run into the house, but then they’d laugh at her even more.

  Poor little girl. This can’t be the first time you’ve felt so lonely, or envied girls who are even poorer than you.

  ‘Katrien, Katrien, come in, it’s time to eat.’ She sighed one last time and got up slowly to obey her mother’s call.

  ‘Oh, she’s got her happy face on again! Our little girl is just as cheerful as can be!’ her mother exclaimed as Katrien shuffled into the room even slower and sadder than usual.

  ‘Can’t you even answer?’ the woman snapped. She wasn’t aware of how unfriendly her voice sounded, but her daughter wasn’t at all like the cheerful, lively girl she longed to have.

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ Her reply was nearly inaudible.

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been gone all morning and haven’t done a single bit of work. Where have you been?’

  ‘Outside.’

  There seemed to be a giant lump in Katrien’s throat, but her mother, misinterpreting the child’s bashfulness and now justifiably curious about what her daughter had been up to all morning, asked her again: ‘I want to know where you’ve been, and I expect a clear answer this time. Is that understood? You’re such a lazy little thing and I hate laziness!’

  Upon hearing the word that reminded her of her detested nickname, Katrien lost control of herself and burst into tears.

  ‘Now what’s the matter? You’re such a scaredy-cat. Can’t you tell me where you’ve been, or is that such a big secret?’

  The poor child was crying so hard she couldn’t answer.

  Suddenly she stood up, knocking over her chair, and, sobbing, raced out of the room and up to the attic, where she slumped down on a pile of gunny sacks in the corner and quietly cried her eyes out.

  Her mother shrugged and cleared the table. She wasn’t surprised at her daughter’s behaviour. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen her in one of these ‘crazy’ moods. It was best to leave the chi
ld alone. After all, you couldn’t get a word out of her when she was like this, and she was liable to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. What kind of behaviour was that for a twelve-year-old farmer’s daughter?

  Upstairs in the attic, Katrien had calmed down and was thinking again. In a moment she’d go back down and tell her mother that she’d simply been sitting on the boulder, and offer to finish all her jobs this afternoon. Then her mother would see that she didn’t mind working hard, and if she asked her why she’d been sitting on her behind all morning, she’d tell her that she needed to have a good think. This evening, when she went to the village to deliver the eggs, she’d buy her mother a new thimble, a nice shiny silver thimble. She had just enough money. Then Mother would see that she wasn’t a Lazy Bean after all.

  Her train of thought came to a brief halt. Oh dear, how was she ever going to get rid of that dreadful nickname? Wait, she had an idea. With the money that was bound to be left over after she bought the thimble, she could buy a big bag of sweets – the red, sticky kind the other farm children were so fond of – and tomorrow she would give them to the teacher, who could pass them out to all the girls. Then they’d be sure to like her and ask her to play with them, and then they’d see that she was good at games too, and never again would she be called anything but Katrien.

  Still feeling a bit hesitant, she stood up and tiptoed down the stairs. In the hallway, she ran into her mother, who said, ‘Got over your little tantrum, have you?’ so that she no longer felt up to telling her where she’d been. Instead, she hurried past so she could get the windows washed before it was dark.

  Just before sunset Katrien left at a fast pace with a basket of eggs on her arm. After half an hour, she reached her first customer, already waiting in the doorway with a porcelain bowl in her hand.

  ‘I’ll take a dozen eggs, dear,’ the woman said kindly. Katrien counted them out, said good-bye and went on her way; three-quarters of an hour later the basket was empty and Katrien was entering a little shop that sold all kinds of goods. With a pretty thimble and a bag of sweets tucked in her basket, she began the return journey. She was halfway home when she saw two of the girls who had laughed at her this morning coming towards her. Bravely overcoming the desire to hide, she continued down the road, though her heart was pounding wildly.

  ‘Hey, there’s Lazy Bean. That crazy Lazy Bean.’

  Katrien’s heart sank. In desperation, knowing she had to do something, she took the bag of sweets out of her basket and held it out to the girls. One of them snatched the bag and ran away. The other one raced after her, stopping only to stick out her tongue before disappearing around a bend in the road.

  Helpless, heartbroken and lonely, Katrien sank into the grass at the side of the road and wept – wept until she had no more tears. Darkness had already set in by the time she picked up the overturned basket and headed home. From somewhere in the grass came the gleam of a silver thimble…

  Friday, 11 February 1944

  * A word is missing in the original manuscript.

  The Flower Girl

  AT SEVEN-THIRTY every morning the door of a cottage on the village outskirts swings open and out comes a rather small girl with a basket full of flowers on each arm. Once she’s shut the door behind her, she adjusts the two baskets and sets off.

  Every person in the village who sees her go by and receives one of her friendly nods can’t help feeling sorry for her, and every day they think the same thing: ‘It’s too long and difficult a walk for a twelve-year-old child.’ But the little girl doesn’t know what the villagers are thinking, so as quickly and as cheerfully as she can she walks on…and on.

  It’s really a very long way to the city: at least two and a half hours’ steady walking. And two heavy baskets don’t make it any easier. By the time she’s finally walking along the city’s pavements, she’s exhausted. The prospect of being able to sit down soon and rest is all that keeps her going. But she’s a plucky little thing, and she doesn’t slow her pace until she reaches her spot in the market. Then she sits down and waits…and waits…

  Sometimes she has to wait all day, since not many people want to buy what the poor little flower girl is selling. More than once Krista has had to go back home with her baskets half full.

  But today is different. It’s Wednesday, and unusually busy at the market. The women next to her are loudly hawking their wares, and all around her she hears shrill and angry voices. The passers-by can barely hear Krista, for the hustle and bustle of the market nearly drowns out her high little voice. But all day long she keeps calling out, ‘Beautiful flowers, ten cents a bunch! Buy my beautiful flowers!’ And when the people who’ve finished their shopping take a look into those full baskets, they end up giving Krista ten cents just to have one of her beautifully arranged bouquets.

  Every day at twelve o’clock, Krista gets up from her chair and walks over to the other side of the market, where the owner of the coffee stand gives her a free cup of steaming hot coffee with plenty of sugar. Krista saves her prettiest bunch of flowers for him.

  Then she returns to her chair and starts hawking her wares again. At last, when it’s three-thirty, she gets up, collects her baskets and heads back to her village. She walks more slowly now than in the morning. Krista is tired, terribly tired.

  This time the trip takes three hours, so that it’s six-thirty before she finally reaches the door of her cramped old cottage. Inside, everything is just as she left it in the morning: cold, lonely and bleak. Her sister, who shares the cottage with her, works in the village from early in the morning to late at night.

  Krista can’t allow herself a moment’s rest. As soon as she gets home, she starts peeling potatoes and boiling vegetables. Only when her sister arrives home at seven-thirty does she finally get to sit down and eat her meagre meal.

  At eight o’clock the door of the cottage swings open again and out comes the little girl with the two big baskets on her arms. This time her steps take her to the meadows and fields surrounding the cottage. She doesn’t walk far, but leans over in the grass and begins to pick the flowers – all sorts of flowers, big ones, small ones, colours of every kind – into her baskets they go, and though the sun has nearly gone down, the little girl is still sitting in the grass, picking flower after flower.

  At last she’s finished, her baskets are full. In the meantime the sun has set. Krista lies down in the grass, with her hands cupped behind her head and her eyes open, and looks at what’s left of the pale-blue sky.

  This is the finest fifteen minutes of her day. You mustn’t think that the little flower girl, who’s worked so hard, is unhappy. She’s never unhappy, and as long as she has these few moments every day, she never will be.

  There in the meadow, among the flowers and the grass, beneath the wide-open sky, Krista is content. Gone is her exhaustion, gone are the market and the people; she thinks and dreams only of the present. If only she can have this every day, a whole fifteen minutes of doing nothing, alone with God and nature.

  Sunday, 20 February 1944

  The Guardian Angel

  ONCE UPON A TIME there were two people, an old woman and her granddaughter, who lived for many years at the edge of a great big forest. The little girl’s parents had died when she was very young, and her grandmother had always looked after her. Their cottage was lonely and isolated, but they didn’t think so, and the two of them were always happy and content together.

  One morning the old woman couldn’t get out of bed. She was in great pain. Her granddaughter was fourteen years old at the time, and she took care of her grandma as well as she knew how. Five days went by, then the grandmother died, leaving the girl all alone in the cottage. She knew almost no one, nor did she want to ask a stranger to bury her grandmother, so she dug a deep grave under an old tree in the forest, and there she laid her grandma to rest.

  When the poor child came home again, she felt sad and utterly alone. She lay down on her bed and wept. She stayed in bed for the rest of the day
, only getting up in the evening to have a bite to eat.

  And so it went day after day. The poor child no longer felt like doing anything but mourning the loss of her dear sweet grandma. Then something happened that changed her life completely from one day to the next.

  It was night and the girl was asleep. Suddenly her grandmother was standing before her – dressed all in white, with her white hair down round her shoulders, and a tiny lamp in her hand. The girl looked up from her bed and waited for her grandmother to speak.

  ‘My dear little girl,’ the grandmother began. ‘I’ve been watching you every day for the last four weeks. All you’ve done is cry and sleep. That’s not right. So I’ve come to tell you that you need to keep busy, to get back to your weaving and to clean our cottage, and also to put on pretty clothes again!

  ‘You mustn’t think that I’ll stop looking after you now that I’m dead. I’m in Heaven, watching you from up above. I’ve become your guardian angel, and I’ll always be at your side, just like I used to be. Go back to your work, my darling, and don’t ever forget that Grandma is with you!’

  The grandmother faded away and the girl went on sleeping. However, when she woke up the next morning, she remembered her grandmother’s words and suddenly felt happy because she was no longer alone. She busied herself again, going to the market to sell her weaving, and she always followed her grandma’s advice.

  Later, many years later, she was again no longer alone in the world, because she married a fine miller. She thanked her grandma for not having left her. And though she now had a husband to keep her company, she knew that her guardian angel would be with her until the day she died.