Annelies полностью

“Hadas, please. No need for you to tangle yourself up.”

“No? I think there’s every need,” says Dassah.

“Daughter,” Pim says, and Anne shouts back.

“Don’t call me that! I don’t want to be your daughter any longer. Don’t you understand that? I’m not your daughter any longer!”

If she had pulled out a dagger and plunged it into his heart, Pim could not look any more horrified. His face goes white.

“Get out,” Dassah tells her in a lethal tone. “Get out of here. You want to be free? Then go! Be free. But don’t you dare say another word.”

But before Anne can react, she hears a quick knock and the door pops open a crack, just wide enough for Miep to stick her head into the space. “I’m sorry for the interruption,” she says. “But, Anne, there’s a lady here to see you.”

“A lady?” Anne’s eyes are sharp.

“Yes. I think you should see her.”

•   •   •

With her heart still thumping, Anne abandons her father and follows Miep out into the front office. There, standing by the door, is a woman, tall and thin with a swanlike neck. Her hair is a dark bob, peppered with gray, and she is wearing a long beige raincoat, her right hand tucked into the pocket. Her eyes smile, though there is a weariness in them. “Ah. You must be Anne,” she decides, and steps forward. “I’m Setske Beek-de Haan,” she says. “Though I suppose you might know me better by my pen name. Cissy van Marxveldt.”

33 ATONEMENT

Rebuild the ancient ruins and lay the foundations for ages to come; you will be called the “repairer of the breach” and the “restorer of streets to dwell in.”

—Isaiah 58:12

1946

Café Wildschut

Roelof Hartplein

Amsterdam-Zuid

LIBERATED NETHERLANDS

Sunlight spreads across the square, gleaming down the length of the tram power lines suspended over the street. The rose-brick building forms an elegant L.

Is this God’s hand? Could it be that after such a horrendous row with Pim, God has decided to give her a way out? Why? Perhaps she’s simply worn him down. Perhaps the Master of the Universe is simply so sick of hearing her kvetch that he’s decided to step in by sending her this angel in the form of Cissy van Marxveldt. Could it be? Her heart is thumping.

“Mrs. Beek,” Anne starts to say.

“No—please—call me Cissy.”

“Cissy,” Anne says. “I don’t know what to say. Mr. Nussbaum said you were friends. But honestly. Honestly, I sometimes wondered if that was just a dream.”

Cissy breathes a sigh. “I’m so saddened by the loss of our friend Werner,” she tells Anne. “What a heartache that it should end for him so. I know that I missed his funeral. I intended to be there, but when the time came, I simply could not bring myself to . . .” Her words trail off. “He was a very kind man. There was a time before the war that Werner was quite encouraging to me. I often sent him drafts of my work, and he was always very gentle. Very candid in his assessments, mind you.” She smiles. “He didn’t suffer any laziness or half efforts. But he was always very gentle. I think he felt most useful to the world when he was working with writers. Writers like myself at times, who’d already experienced a modicum of success, but most especially with the young and talented variety who were just starting out.” Cissy says this and then looks into Anne’s face. “He thought you were quite the find, Anne.”

This takes Anne aback. Perhaps up until this moment only half of her believed that Mr. Nussbaum’s encouragements were real. Her other half suspected that they were born out of pity or out of his comradeship with Pim. But to have proof that he truly was discussing her with one of Anne’s literary heroines . . . well, it’s absolutely startling.

“He was always full of superlatives when it came to you. So much so that, to be perfectly truthful,” Cissy tells her, “I had my doubts. How could such a young girl possibly possess the necessary maturity to produce the level of work he was describing? I thought he must be exaggerating. Until I read your pages,” she says.

Anne tilts her head. “My pages?”

“Yes. From your diary.” Picking up her purse, Cissy opens it in her lap. Anne watches her withdraw a kraft paper envelope bearing an Amsterdam postmark, then watches her open it and remove the contents. Anne gazes with blank shock at the stack of neatly typed pages Cissy is holding. “This passage especially struck me: ‘In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.’” Cissy looks up and expels a small sigh. “Astonishing. Wonderful, and terrifying, and astonishing.”