Annelies полностью

Anne blinks. Honestly, she is surprised at how exhilarated she feels. Suddenly she is stumbling over her own questions. Where are they going? Is there a place in the country? A farmhouse with chickens and fresh eggs? A secret hideaway where cows low in the pastures above the river, where windmills creak and the mof has left not a single boot print? Or maybe a barge where they can drive to safety down the canals and rivers. But Pim will not say. His face has turned deadly ashen. His expression so somber that Anne begins to feel her excitement tremble toward fear.

“Does Margot know?”

“Yes. But outside the family you must keep this secret,” her father tells her. “Not a word to a soul. Not even your closest friend. You must promise me, Anneke.”

“I promise, Pim. I promise. But will it happen soon?”

“Soon enough. You let your papa fret over the details.”

Suddenly she seizes Pim in an embrace. It makes her feel secretly proud to have such information in her possession. And she loves Pim all the more for trusting her with it. Pim, the man who has everything under control.

“For now stay cheerful,” he instructs her, stroking the back of her head, “and try not to worry. Treasure these carefree days for as long as you may.”

•   •   •

That night at bedtime, Anne sits at the narrow vanity table to perform her nightly routine. Before the curlers are fastened into place, she dons her combing shawl. A fringed cape of pale beige satin decorated with roses over her shoulders. But instead of picking up her hairbrush, she stares at her face in the mirror. Is this the soon-to-be face of an onderduiker? She’s trying to be brave. All through supper she smiled and courteously passed dishes. And maybe she can be brave. So they are going into hiding? So what? Other Jews have it much worse. Herded into a ghetto in the Jodenbuurt and cut off from the rest of the town by barbed wire. Transported into Germany like slaves or arrested and shipped to some terrible camp. She should be grateful and courageous. And anyway, isn’t there an element of adventure to consider? It will be an exploit of sorts. She can write about it, put it all down in her diary. Quietly, picking up the brush, she begins the ritual of nightly brushing, but when Margot appears in her nightgown, she slips the brush from Anne’s hand. “Let me do this for you,” she says.

Anne does not resist. “Pim told me,” she whispers.

“Yes,” is all Margot says. Stroke after stroke after stroke, Anne gazes at herself in the oval mirror. It’s so soothing. She feels that Margot can brush away her fears, her anxieties, all the problems of the world hammering at their door. Her sister’s hand stroking the length of her hair with the soft bristles. Suddenly she loves Margot. Not just abstractly but fiercely, with a full and merciful heart. “I adore you, you know, Margot,” she whispers.

“Of course you do,” Margot replies. “I’m adorable.”

“No. I mean . . . I mean I love you. Whatever happens to us, I want you to know that.”

Margot continues with her brushstrokes but then bends over and kisses her little sister on the head. “I love you, too, silly.”

Anne closes her eyes. When they were little, Pim used to tell them the story of the Two Paulas. A pair of invisible twins who lived secretly in their home. Good Paula was always courteous, thoughtful, and obedient, and she never complained. But Bad Paula was full of mischief, often selfish, and easily angered. When Anne opens her eyes, she is caught by her own gaze. Sometimes she dreams that she is the flimsy mirror image and that the face reflected in the glass is the real Anne. The real Anne, who only she knows to be the true Anne. Not the difficult Anne. Not the fearful Anne. Not the know-it-all Anne. Not the Bad Paula, but the good Anne. The brave Anne. The Anne Favored by God.