Annelies

1944

The Achterhuis

Prinsengracht 263

Hidden Annex

OCCUPIED NETHERLANDS

9 April

Anne is reading in the common area. At nine o’clock everyone begins drifting toward bedtime, when there’s a noise from belowstairs. Faces rise but then settle back into place. No one pays much attention, since everyone knows that Peter likes to take his bath in Pim’s office because he’s too shy to do it elsewhere, and he often makes a bit of noise lugging the big metal tub about. But then Peter appears, fully dressed, and knocks with quiet urgency on the door to the common room. Anne does her best to prepare a smile for him, even though his appearance simply doesn’t have the same impact on her as it did. Still, she doesn’t want to snub him or hurt his feelings. But then she’s surprised when the boy isn’t there for her at all but instead asks Pim to help him with a difficult assignment in his English translations. Pim sets down his book, his head tilts with a thought, and then immediately he’s up and out the door without a word, but not before Anne’s suspicions are put on alert. “That sounds very fishy to me,” she informs Margot. “Since when does Peter go out of his way to do his lessons?” And why did he so pointedly avoid eye contact with her? “This is obviously a ploy—they’re hiding something,” she says, but Mummy is on her feet, her face gone bloodless as Pim suddenly returns with a tight expression.

“Otto?”

“Not now, Edith, please,” he instructs tensely, and rounds up the other men with a sharp whisper. “Mr. van Pels, Mr. Pfeffer, if you please,” he says, and the next moment they’re hastening downstairs, feet thumping down the steps to the front building.

“Mummy? Mummy, what’s going on?” she asks, just as Mrs. van Pels skitters into the room dressed in her robe and old carpet slippers, obviously already scared stiff by the sudden commotion of the men’s exit. Her voice low but shrill: “What’s happening? What’s going on?”

“Burglars are breaking in,” Anne answers in a panicked hiss.

“We don’t know that,” Margot insists.

“Girls, come away from the door and stay quiet,” their mother commands, drawing them into a circle at the rear of the room, though they can’t stay quiet.

“What do you think is happening?” Margot whispers.

“I don’t know, but don’t worry,” Mummy says. “I’m sure it’s under control. Wouldn’t you think so, Mrs. van Pels? If things weren’t under control, we’d know by now.”

“I can’t hear a sound,” Mrs. van Pels tells them. “Why can’t we hear a sound?”

“Maybe they met the burglars head-on,” Anne proposes. “Do you think they could have, Mummy?”

“Anne.”

“Maybe they’re fighting them off right now.”

“We’d hear them if they were fighting,” Margot maintains, but with more hope than confidence. “Wouldn’t we, Mummy? Wouldn’t we hear them?”

“Girls, this doesn’t help. Scaring yourselves silly,” their mother declares. “I’m sure that no one is fighting with anyone.” But her tone is not exactly reassuring, and silence strikes them mute when a sharp bang sounds from downstairs, followed by the sound of Mr. van Pels shouting, “Police!”

No one says a word as the minutes pass, till finally they hear footsteps approaching from below. Pim appears first, his face tight with nerves. “Douse the lights,” he instructs hoarsely. “And everyone upstairs as quietly as possible. Burglars have forced out a panel of the warehouse door.”

Anne swallows hard. “Pim,” she gasps.

“They’re gone now, frightened off. But we expect to have the police in the building very soon.”

Up above where the van Pelses sleep beside the kitchen, Margot drapes a sweater over a bed lamp, providing a ghost light that pools on the floorboards. Waiting in the dark, no talking, only hearts drumming. No use of the toilet, too much noise, so Peter’s metal wastepaper basket is substituted for the commode, for those who can’t stand to hold it. The odor sours the air. But still no conversation, only dreadful whispers. Only breathing, one breath in, one breath out, anticipating the arrival of the police. The police!

When footsteps are heard coming up from below, time stops. A terrible racket ensues as someone rattles the bookcase, and Anne shivers brutally. For an instant she believes that they are about to die. “Now we’re finished,” she whispers to the air, to God, to nobody. One aggressive rattle and then another, bang, bang, bang!

But then nothing.

Nothing follows but the sound of footsteps descending, and then nothing but silence. A ripple of relief passes through the room.

But in the aftermath it’s suggested by the fainter hearts among them that if the police ever did advance beyond the bookcase, Anne’s diary would be a bombshell primed to explode. It would betray not only those in hiding but those who have risked all to help them. Anne is appalled when even Pim admits to the logic of this fear, which only encourages Mr. van P. to declare that, for the sake of all, it should be burned.

Burned.

Anne feels something plummet inside her, but at the same time she stands up. She hears a hardness in her voice that surprises even her. “If my diary goes,” she declares, “I go, too.”

Silence.

And then it’s Mummy who speaks. Mummy of all people. “Never mind about that. Right now we should simply thank God,” she instructs. “Thank God we have been saved.”