Anne Frank's Tales from the Secret Annex (13 page)

When he was finished, he took a closer look around, for there was indeed a lot to see. It was the land of plenty: breads, buns, cakes and biscuits galore, all for the taking, and it was very busy – Blurry saw lots of white legs, not at all like the ones he’d seen on the street.

He didn’t have much time for daydreaming. The girls, who had been watching him from a distance, now shoved a big broom into his hands and showed him how to use it. Humph, sweeping floors was going to be a doddle. Blurry’s mother used to sweep sometimes; he’d seen her do it often enough.

He gamely got to work, but it wasn’t as easy as it looked. The broom was heavy and the dust tickled his
nose so badly that it made him sneeze. Besides, it was hot and he wasn’t used to doing this kind of work in the heat, so that he felt like he was suffocating, but every time he stopped to rest for a moment someone would order him back to work and box his ears to boot.

‘If only I hadn’t rushed in here,’ he thought to himself, ‘I would have been spared all this ghastly work.’ But it was no use now. He had no choice but to sweep, so he swept.

After he had been sweeping for a long time – long enough for the dirt to be piled into a big heap – one of the girls took him by the hand and led him to a corner, where there was a pile of hard, yellowish, curly things. She laid him down on top of these, and Blurry understood that he could now go to sleep.

Comfortable, as if it were the finest of beds, Blurry stretched himself out and slept, and he went on sleeping until the next morning.

At seven o’clock he had to get up. Again he was allowed to eat as many pastries as he wanted, and again he was put to work. Poor Blurry, he wasn’t even rested from the long and exhausting hours he’d put in the day before. He wasn’t used to working and the heat bothered him no end. His head, arms and legs ached, and he felt as though his entire body was swollen.

And now, for the first time, he began to long for home, for his mother, for his little mistress, for his comfy bed and his easy life…but how was he to get there? He’d never be able to escape. The two girls watched his every move, and besides, the one and only door led to the room
they were in. Even if he could get that far, they would be sure to stop him. No, Blurry would just have to wait!

His thoughts were all in a jumble, and he felt sick and weak. The room began to spin, so he sat down. Nobody scolded him. When the dizzy spell was over, he got back to work.

One can get used to anything. And so it was with Blurry. After a week of sweeping from early in the morning to late at night, he felt as if he’d been doing it for ever.

Little bears forget quickly, which is just as well. Still, Blurry had not forgotten his mother or his home. It’s just that they seemed so unreal and so far away!

Then one night the two girls who were holding the little bear hostage saw the following notice in the newspaper:

‘Do you think it might be our bear?’ they asked each other. ‘He doesn’t work very hard anyway. You can’t expect such a small animal to do very much, so if we get a reward for returning him we’ll probably be better off.’ They quickly walked to the back, where the bakery was, and shouted, ‘Blurry!’

Blurry looked up from his work. Was somebody calling his name? He let go of the broom and perked up his ears even more.

The girls came closer and shouted again, ‘Blurry?’ Blurry raced over to where they were.

‘He’s called Blurry, all right. That’s as plain as day,’ one of the girls said to the other. ‘Let’s take him back tonight.’ And so it was agreed. That very same evening, Blurry was delivered to the house of his little mistress, and the two girls collected their reward.

From his mistress, Blurry got a spanking for being so naughty and then a kiss for being back home again. From his mother, he got nothing but the following questions:

‘Why did you run away, Blurry?’

‘Because I wanted to discover the world,’ he said.

‘And did you?’

‘Oh, I saw lots and lots of things. I’m now a much more experienced bear!’

‘Yes, I know that. But I asked if you’d discovered the world?’

‘Er…no…not exactly. I couldn’t find it!’

Sunday, 23 April 1944

T
HE FAIRY
I’
M
talking about was no ordinary fairy, like the ones you usually see in fairyland. Oh, no, my fairy was quite an exceptional fairy – exceptional in looks and exceptional in behaviour. Just what was it, you’re no doubt asking yourself, that made this fairy so exceptional?

Well, not because she did a little good here and had a little fun there, but because she had taken it upon herself to bring joy to people and the world.

The name of this exceptional fairy was Ellen. Her parents died when she was very young, but they left her quite a bit of money. So, when Ellen was a little girl, she could do as she wished and buy whatever she wanted. Other children or elves or fairies might have been spoiled by this, but since Ellen had always been so exceptional, she wasn’t in the least bit spoiled. As she grew older, she still had quite a lot of money, but all she ever did with it was buy beautiful clothes and eat delicious food.

One morning Ellen woke up, and as she lay in her soft little bed, she thought about what to do with her money.

‘I can’t spend it all on myself and I can’t take it with me to the grave. So why don’t I use it to make other people happy?’ That was a good plan, and Ellen was anxious to get started right away. So she got up, put on her clothes, grabbed a wicker basket, filled it with money from one of her many bundles and left the house.

‘Where shall I begin?’ she wondered. ‘Wait, I know. The woodcutter’s widow will be pleased to have a visit from me. Her husband just died, and the poor woman must be having a difficult time.’

Singing, Ellen made her way through the grass and knocked at the door of the woodcutter’s little cottage. ‘Come in,’ called a voice from inside. She gently opened the door and stuck her head round it. On the far side of the dark room, a little old lady was sitting in a rickety armchair, knitting.

She was very surprised when Ellen came in and laid a handful of money on the table. Like everyone else, the old woman knew that you must never refuse the gifts of fairies and elves, so she graciously said, ‘That’s very kind of you, my child. Not very many people would give something for nothing, but luckily the inhabitants of fairyland are different.’

Ellen looked at her in amazement. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked.

‘Well, I mean that very few people give something away without expecting something in return.’

‘Oh, no? But why would I want anything from you? I’m truly glad that my basket is a little lighter now.’

‘Then all is well. Thank you very much.’

Ellen said good-bye and continued on her way. After walking for ten minutes, she found herself at the next cottage. She knocked, even though she didn’t know the people who lived there. As soon as she had opened the door, Ellen could see that they weren’t in need of money. The people in this house weren’t lacking in material goods, but in happiness.

The woman received her kindly enough, though she wasn’t very cheerful. Her eyes didn’t sparkle, and she looked sad.

Ellen decided to stay a little longer. ‘Perhaps I can help this woman in some other way,’ she thought, and sure enough, the moment the nice little fairy had seated herself on a cushion, the woman began, with no prompting, to pour out her woes. She talked about her worthless husband, her naughty children and her many disappointments. Ellen listened, asked an occasional question and became very involved in the woman’s suffering. When the woman finally reached the end of her tale, the two of them sat in silence for a few moments.

Then Ellen began to speak. ‘You poor dear,’ she said. ‘I’ve never suffered like you have, nor do I have any experience with this kind of thing, much less know how to help you, yet I’d like to offer you some advice – something that I myself find useful when I’m feeling as lonely and as sad as you are. One morning, when it’s quiet and beautiful, take a walk through the wood, you know the one I mean, the one going to the heath. After you’ve walked through the heather for a while, sit down somewhere and do nothing. Just look at the sky and the
trees. You’ll feel a calm come over you, and suddenly none of your problems will seem so bad that they can’t be fixed.’

‘Oh, no, fairy. I doubt if that remedy of yours is going to help me any more than all the potions I’ve tried.’

‘Just give it a chance,’ Ellen urged her. ‘When you’re alone with nature, your troubles will seem to melt away, I’m sure they will. You’ll become thoughtful and glad and feel as if God hasn’t forsaken you after all.’

‘If it will make you happy, I’ll try,’ the woman replied.

‘Good. Well, I’d better be going. I’ll stop by at the same time next week.’

And so Ellen went into nearly every house, cheering up the people inside, and at the end of the long day her basket was empty and her heart was full, because she felt as if her money and talents had been truly well spent, much better than on expensive clothes.

After that day Ellen often set forth with her basket on her arm, dressed in her flowery yellow dress with a big bow in her hair. And she went into people’s homes and made all of them happy.

The woman who had enough money and more than enough sorrow had also become much more cheerful, as Ellen knew she would. Her remedy always worked!

As a result of all her visits, Ellen had many friends. Not just fairies and elves, but ordinary men, women and children, who told her about their lives. So Ellen got lots of experience, and before long she had a suitable answer for every problem.

But as for her money… Well, her calculations were a
bit awry, because after a year the lion’s share was gone. She now had just enough to live on.

If you think that made Ellen sad or kept her from giving to others, you’re wrong. Ellen continued to give – not money, but good advice and loving words.

Yes, indeed, Ellen had learned that even when you’re the only one left of a large family, you can still make your life beautiful, and that no matter how poor you are, you can still help others enjoy their inner riches.

Ellen died when she was a very old fairy, and never before in the entire world had so many tears been shed. Yet Ellen’s spirit was still alive, for she often came back when people were asleep and made sure they had pleasant dreams, so that in their sleep they could still benefit from the advice of the extraordinary Ellen.

Friday, 12 May 1944

I
T WAS QUARTER
past four, and I was walking down a fairly quiet street and had just decided to go into the nearest bakery when two teenage girls, walking arm in arm and talking nineteen to the dozen, came out of a side street and started strolling along ahead of me.

From time to time everyone finds it interesting and refreshing to listen to the chatter of two teenage girls, not just because they laugh and giggle at the slightest thing, but also because their laughter is so infectious that everyone around them can’t help laughing too.

And so it went with me. As I walked behind the two girls, I listened to their conversation, which in this case revolved around the ten cents they had to spend on sweets. They debated excitedly about what they could buy for that amount of money, their mouths already watering at each tantalizing suggestion. When they reached the bakery, the two girls continued to discuss their choices outside the display window, and because I was behind them looking at the goodies too, I knew
what they’d decided on even before they entered the shop.

It wasn’t busy, so the two girls were soon being served. They had chosen two good-sized tarts, which – miracle of miracles – they managed to take out of the shop uneaten. Then it was my turn, and half a minute later I saw the pair of them just up the street, talking loudly once again.

On the next corner was another bakery. A little girl was standing in front of the window, staring hungrily at the pastries. The two lucky owners of the tarts stopped beside the poor child to look at this display as well and quickly struck up a conversation with her. By the time I reached the corner, they had already been talking for a while, so I heard only the last part of the conversation.

‘Oh my, are you that hungry?’ one of the girls asked the child. ‘Would you like to have my tart?’ The child nodded.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Riek,’ the other girl exclaimed. ‘Eat it right away, like I did. If you give it to her, you won’t even get a taste!’

Riek didn’t answer, but looked hesitantly back and forth between the tart and the little girl. Then she suddenly handed the child the tart, saying kindly, ‘Please take it. I have tonight’s dinner to look forward to!’ And before the little girl by the window could even say thank you, the two teenagers had disappeared from view.

I also continued on my way, and as I went past the little girl, who was savouring her tart, she said to me, ‘Would you like a bite, miss? Somebody just gave it to me.’

I thanked her and walked on with a smile. Who do you think enjoyed it most: Riek, her girlfriend or the little girl?

I think Riek did!

Undated

J
O STANDS BESIDE
the open window in her bedroom and takes a deep breath of fresh air. She’s hot, and the air feels good on her tear-stained face.

She raises her eyes higher and higher until they finally come to rest on the moon and the stars.

‘Oh,’ she moans. ‘I can’t go on, I can’t even summon the energy to feel sad. Paul has left me, I’m all alone, perhaps for good, but I just can’t go on, I can’t do anything, I only know how desperate I feel.’ And while Jo keeps on gazing at nature, which is revealing itself in all its splendour tonight, she grows calm. While the wind whips through the trees outside the house, while the sky darkens and the stars take cover behind the big, thick clouds, looking like so many wads of blotting paper in the cloudy light and forming every imaginable shape, Jo suddenly feels that she’s not at all desperate, that she is indeed capable of doing something, that no one can take away her inner happiness, which is hers and hers alone. ‘No one,’ she whispers, without being aware of it. ‘Not even Paul.’

After standing at the window for an hour, Jo has recovered. She’s still sad, but no longer desperate. Everyone who takes a long and deep enough look into nature – and therefore into themselves – will be cured, just as Jo was, of all despair.

Undated