wednesday, july 8, 1942

dearest kitty,

it seems like years since sunday morning. so much has happened it's as if the whole world had suddenly turned upside down. but as you can see, kitty, i'm still alive, and that's the main thing, father says. i'm alive all right, but don't ask where or how. you probably don't understand a word i'm saying today, so i'll begin by telling you what happened sunday afternoon.

at three o'clock (hello had left but was supposed to come back later), the doorbell rang. i didn't hear it, since i was out on the balcony, lazily reading in the sun. a little while later margot appeared in the kitchen doorway looking very agitated. "father has received a call-up notice from the ss," she whispered. "mother has gone to see mr. van daan" (mr. van daan is father's business partner and a good friend.)

i was stunned. a call-up: everyone knows what that means. visions of concentration camps and lonely cells raced through my head. how could we let father go to such a fate? "of course he's not going," declared margot as we waited for mother in the living room. "mother's gone to mr. van daan to ask whether we can move to our hiding place tomorrow. the van daans are going with us. there will be seven of us altogether." silence. we couldn't speak. the thought of father off visiting someone in the jewish hospital and completely unaware of what was happening, the long wait for mother, the heat, the suspense -- all this reduced us to silence.

suddenly the doorbell rang again. "that's hello," i said.

"don't open the door!" exclaimed margot to stop me. but it wasn't necessary, since we heard mother and mr. van daan downstairs talking to hello, and then the two of them came inside and shut the door behind them. every time the bell rang, either margot or i had to tiptoe downstairs to see if it was father, and we didn't let anyone else in. margot and i were sent from the room, as mr. van daan wanted to talk to mother alone.

when she and i were sitting in our bedroom, margot told me that the call-up was not for father, but for her. at this second shock, i began to cry. margot is sixteen -- apparently they want to send girls her age away on their own. but thank goodness she won't be going; mother had said so herself, which must be what father had meant when he talked to me about our going into hiding. hiding. . . where would we hide? in the city? in the country? in a house? in a shack? when, where, how. . . ? these were questions i wasn't allowed to ask, but they still kept running through my mind.

margot and i started packing our most important belongings into a schoolbag. the first thing i stuck in was this diary, and then curlers, handkerchiefs, schoolbooks, a comb and some old letters. preoccupied by the thought of going into hiding, i stuck the craziest things in the bag, but i'm not sorry. memories mean more to me than dresses.

father finally came hqme around five o'clock, and we called mr. kleiman to ask if he could come by that evening. mr. van daan left and went to get miep. miep arrived and promised to return later that night, taking with her a bag full of shoes, dresses, jackets, underwear and stockings. after that it was quiet in our apartment; none of us felt like eating. it was still hot, and everything was very strange.

we had rented our big upstairs room to a mr. goldschmidt, a divorced man in his thirties, who apparently had nothing to do that evening, since despite all our polite hints he hung around until ten o'clock.

miep and jan gies came at eleven. miep, who's worked for father's company since 1933, has become a close friend, and so has her husband jan. once again, shoes, stockings, books and underwear disappeared into miep's bag and jan's deep pockets. at eleven-thirty they too disappeared.

i was exhausted, and even though i knew it'd be my last night in my own bed, i fell asleep right away and didn't wake up until mother called me at five-thirty the next morning. fortunately, it wasn't as hot as sunday; a warm rain fell throughout the day.

the four of us were wrapped in so many layers of clothes it looked as if we were going off to spend the night in a refrigerator, and all that just so we could take more clothes with us. no jew in our situation would dare leave the house with a suitcase full of clothes. i was wearing two undershirts, three pairs of underpants, a dress, and over that a skirt, a jacket, a raincoat, two pairs of stockings, heavy shoes, a cap, a scarf and lots more. i was suffocating even before we left the house, but no one bothered to ask me how i felt.

margot stuffed her schoolbag with schoolbooks, went to get her bicycle and, with miep leading the way, rode off into the great unknown. at any rate, that's how i thought of it, since i still didn't know where our hiding place was.

at seven-thirty we too closed the door behind us; moortje, my cat, was the only living creature i said good-bye to. according to a note we left for mr. goldschmidt, she was to be taken to the neighbors, who would give her a good home.

the stripped beds, the breakfast things on the table, the pound of meat for the cat in the kitchen -- all of these created the impression that we'd left in a hurry. but we weren't interested in impressions. we just wanted to get out of there, to get away and reach our destination in safety. nothing else mattered.

more tomorrow.

yours, anne