Anne begins to give a detailed account of the group’s daily routine, starting on August 4, 1943, with an account of their evening and night-time routines, who sleeps where, who washes when and how Anne leaves hairs in the bathroom sink. She also describes the strange noises which the house and its “inmates” make during the night. There is also a graphic description of Anne using the potty in the middle of the night, waking up from a dream to the sound of an air raid and scampering into her father’s bed in fear. This last episode is illustrated by a verse from the poem which Margot wrote for Anne’s birthday. Anne continues her account the following day with a description of lunchtime. Her review of the evening meal becomes an analysis of the characters of the people sitting around the table, their eating habits, their ways of talking, and their general traits. On the whole, these are not very complimentary.
In the passage for August 18, 1943, Anne manages to give a vivid and entertaining account of a rather mundane task, potato peeling. She has a keen eye, and she carefully observes the little nuances of speech and the physical gestures which characterize the various members of the group. There is also a touching description of what Anne calls “a little bit of real family life” (August 23, 1943).
The members of the group are up before half-past eight, when the workers begin their duties in the warehouse, and even though the office staff has not yet arrived, so that it is necessary for the group to be particularly quiet, Anne and Margot and their parents sit, read, or work in their room until it is time for breakfast, at nine o’clock.
The news about Italy’s capitulation raises everyone’s spirits (September 10, 1943), but this is offset by the illness of one of their “protectors,” Mr. Koophuis. Another cause for concern is the fact that one of the workers in the warehouse appears to suspect something, and thus the already strained nerves of the members of the group lead them to virtually refrain from speaking to one another because “whatever is said you either annoy someone or it is misunderstood.” Anne takes sedatives to calm her nerves (and so presumably do the others), but she notes that “it doesn’t prevent me from being even more miserable the next day. A good hearty laugh would help more than ten Valerian pills, but we’ve almost forgotten how to laugh” (September 16, 1943). This remark, “but we’ve almost forgotten how to laugh,” is but one of the many of Anne’s comments that suggests that here is a person of a sensitivity, an intelligence, and a maturity far beyond her chronological years.
Mrs. Van Daan’s birthday is celebrated, and the members of the group, as well as the “protectors,” give her presents of things to eat, as well as some food coupons. Anne remarks: “Such are the times we live in!” (September 29, 1943). The strained relations between the members of the group continue, and Anne’s words, “Oh, what kind of explosion is hanging over us now? If only I wasn’t mixed up so much with all these rows! If I could only get away! They’ll drive us crazy before long!” (September 29, 1943), are desperate cries from her heart.
One day, Mrs. Van Daan is obliged to sell her fur coat to raise money for food, and this leads to additional quarrels. Anne remarks, ironically: “. . . and now the reconciliation period of ‘Oh, darling Putti’ and ‘precious Kerli’ has set in.” Then she adds: “I am dazed by all the abusive exchanges that have taken place in this virtuous house during the past month. . . . Quite honestly, I sometimes forget who we are quarreling with and with whom we’ve made it up. The only way to take one’s mind off it all is to study, and I do a lot of that” (October 17, 1943).
Sundays—when there is no one working in the office, and when there is no relief from the tedium of the group—are particularly depressing days for Anne. She describes them with a telling phrase: “The atmosphere is so oppressive, and sleepy and as heavy as lead” (October 29, 1943). We can feel her painful desperation at being “jailed” for over a year when she writes: “I wander from one room to another, downstairs and up again, feeling like a songbird whose wings have been clipped and who is hurling himself in utter darkness against the bars of his cage” (October 29, 1943).
With an admirable sense of self-awareness, Anne writes, “If you were to read my pile of letters one after another, you would certainly be struck by the many different moods in which they are written. It annoys me that I am so dependent on the atmosphere here, but I’m certainly not the only one—we all find it the same” (November 8, 1943). She also gives us a very vivid account of her fears and nightmares, remarking that although she talks about the concept of “after the war,” “. . . it is only a castle in the air, something that will never really happen.” In this, she is being prophetic without even realizing it. Anne’s diary entries now begin to show an increasing sense of sadness, desperation, and, occasionally, the loss of hope, although there is an entertaining interlude entitled “Ode to my Fountain Pen: In Memoriam,” in which Anne recounts how she received her fountain pen as a gift from her grandmother when she was nine and how it was accidentally burned in the stove that day (November 11, 1943).
