Annelies полностью

“I think you’re being unreasonable, Anne,” Margot decides. “And quite honestly, you’re too young to know what you’re talking about. An entire nation of people can’t simply become criminals. Besides, there are plenty of Dutch who look at us that way, too.”

Anne sees Lucia’s round face under the black cap and relives the furious sting she felt. It makes her mad at Margot. “Is there some reason,” she wants to know, sitting up straight, “is there some reason that you will never agree with me? Is there some reason that you must always argue for the opposite view?”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You even defend the Nazis.”

“I do not defend the Nazis, Anne,” and suddenly Margot’s whisper is indignant, and she has shoved herself up firmly. “Take that back.”

“It certainly sounded like you were defending them.”

“I said take it back.”

Anne feels a hard pinch of regret. Margot sounds suddenly so angry. Margot, whose temper is so famously under control at all times. Yes, it was just one of Anne’s stupid, silly accusations, born out of her own fear, but the ferocity of her sister’s reaction has shaken her. Though she tries to hide this, of course. Blowing a sigh of surrender toward the ceiling, she drops down on the davenport. “All right, all right. I take it back.”

But Margot is not yet satisfied. “Say it,” she demands.

Anne swallows. “I don’t think you are defending the Nazis,” she admits. “Margot Frank does not, under any circumstances, defend Nazis.”

“Words have power, Anne,” Margot instructs her sharply. “You should be more careful how you use them.” And with that she flounces back down under the covers, socking her pillow into shape.

A certain quiet descends as the hushed burble of conversation from the next room settles between them. Anne concentrates on calming the beating of her heart. Once she found the sound of their parents’ conversation at the end of the day comforting, but now it’s not helping at all. She can tell that their words are purposely muted, though it’s still easy enough to make out what they’re talking about. The scale of the razzias is increasing. Massive raids in the Jodenbuurt. Hundreds of Jews hauled away by the SS and black-clad Dutch bullies of the Schalkhaar police. Pim says it’s all a matter of making the right decisions. All a matter of staying together as a family, come what may.

And then Margot coughs sharply. A tickle in her throat, perhaps, but it brings conversation in the living room to a halt. Their door is open a crack. A moment later Pim pokes his head in just long enough to decide that his daughters may still be awake, and quietly closes their bedroom door completely. A gentle darkness wraps up the room. Margot clears her throat, and silence separates them as Anne stares up at the crack in the ceiling plaster. She can no longer see it in the dark, but she knows it’s there. She lets her thoughts flow freely. Away from the war and the horrific events in the streets. She tries to think about herself. That’s not usually something that’s so hard for Anne Frank to do, but she finds herself thinking instead of Mummy. Of Mummy and the fretful debate at the supper table over the treatment of the Jews. Of how terribly bitter and anxious the war has made her mother and how bleakly Mummy seems to view the future now. Not like Pim. Not like Pim, whose hope is unyielding. “Do you think Mummy and Pim love each other?” she hears herself ask. Maybe she didn’t really mean to speak the question aloud, but now she has.

Margot sounds indignant again. And maybe a tiny bit panicked. “What? That’s a ridiculous question.”

“I’m not so sure. I mean, if you were a man, would you love Mummy?”

“No wonder,” Margot huffs. “No wonder people can hardly stand to be around you sometimes, Anne. You can be such a terrible, terrible pain.”

But Anne only shrugs to herself. “I’m not sure I would want to love her if I were a man. Mummy’s always so disappointed with everyone.”

“I’m going to sleep, Anne. You should as well, before you say something too awful to forgive.”

This gets Anne’s attention. It’s been one of her fears, but also one of her curiosities—that it might be possible. That it might be possible to push beyond the boundaries of forgiveness. Mummy says God forgives everything, but Anne must wonder. Is God forgiving the Nazis? Even as she lies in her bedroom staring at the crack in the ceiling plaster, even as Margot is fuming under her covers, is God forgiving their enemy?