SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1943
Dearest Kitty,
Mr. Kleiman is back, thank goodness! He looks a bit pale, a he cheerfully set off to sell some clothes for Mr. van Daan. The disagreeable fact is that Mr. van Daan has run out of money. He lost his last hundred guilders in the warehouse, which is still creating trouble for us: the men are w how a hundred guilders could wind up in the warehouse on a Monday m. Suspi abounds. Meanwhile, the hundred guilders have been stolen. Whos the thief?
But I was talking about the money she. Mrs. van D. has scads of dresses, coats and shoes, none of which she feels she do without. Mr. van D.s suit is difficult to sell, aers bike ut on the block, but is back again, sinobody wa.
But the story doeshere. You see, Mrs. van D. is going to have to part with her fur coat. In her opinion, the firm should pay for our upkeep, but thats ridiculous.
They just had a flaming row about it and have ehe "oh, my sweet Putti" and "darling Kerli" stage of reciliation.
My mind boggles at the profanity this honorable house has had to endure in the past month. Father walks around with his lips pressed together, and whenever he hears his name, he looks up in alarm, as ifhes afraid hell be called upon to resolve another delicate problem. Mothers sht up her cheeks are blotched with red, Margot plains of headaches, Dussel t sleep, Mrs. van D. frets and fumes all day long, and Ive gone pletely round the bend. To tell you the truth, I sometimes fet who were at odds with and who were not. The only way to take my mind off it is to study, and Ive been doing a lot of that lately.
Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29,1943
My dearest Kitty,
Mr. Kleiman is out again; his stomach wont give him a moments peace. He doesnt even know whether its stopped bleeding. He came to tell us he wasnt feeling well
and was going home, and for the first time he seemed really down.
Mr. and Mrs. van D. have had ming battles. The reason is simple: theyre broke. They wao sell an overcoat and a suit of Mr. van D. s, but were uo find any buyers. His prices were way too high.
Some time ago Mr. Kleiman was talking about a furrier he knows. This gave Mr. van D. the idea of selling his wifes fur coat. Its made of rabbit skin, and shes had it for seventeen years. Mrs. van D. got 325 guilders for it, an enormous amount. She wao keep the money herself to buy new clothes after the war, and it took some doing before Mr. van D. could make her uand that it was desperately o cover household expenses.
You t imagihe screaming, shouting, stamping of feet and swearing that went on.
It was terrifying. My family stood holding its breath at the bottom of the stairs, in case it might be necessary t them apart. All the bickering, tears and nervous tension have bee such a stress and strain that I fall into my bed at night g and thanking my lucky stars that I have half an hour to myself.
Im doing fine, except Ive got no appetite. I keep hearing: "Goodness, you look awful!" I must admit theyre doing their best to keep me in dition: theyre plyih dextrose, cod-liver oil, brewers yeast and calcium. My nerves oftehe better of me, especially on Sundays; thats when I really feel miserable. The atmosphere is stifling, sluggish, leaden. Outside, you dont hear a single bird, and a deathly, oppressive silence hangs over the house and gs to me as if it were going t me into the deepest regions of the underworld. At