Tales From the Secret Annex Part 11

School started a week later. Again the rain came down in buckets, but I insisted on going by bike. Mother packed a cover-all in my schoolbag so that, in heaven's name, I shouldn't get drenched, and off I went.

Margot rides her bike at a furious clip, and in a couple of minutes I was so out of breath that I begged her to slow down a little. Another few minutes and the heavy rain changed into a regular cloudburst. Mindful of Mother's cover-all, I stopped and, with much difficulty, put on that unflattering garment. I remounted my bike, but soon the pace proved too fast for me again, and once more I asked Margot to take it easy. Very much out of sorts, she said that in the future she'd prefer to ride by herself; no doubt she was afraid of being late. But we reached the school with time to spare and, after parking the bikes, we stood chatting for a while in the shelter of the arcade that leads to the Amstel River.

We entered school on the dot of eight-thirty. Just inside the entrance there was a big sign announcing that about twenty students had to change cla.s.srooms. I was included, and I was told to move to Cla.s.s 16 II. This meant that I would belong to a group in which I knew a few boys and girls, but Lies was to remain in 12:1.

When I was given the desk at the very bottom of the cla.s.s, behind girls much bigger than myself, I felt lonely and forsaken. In the second hour I raised my hand and asked to be moved to another spot, as I could see very little unless I fairly hung into the aisle.

My request was granted immediately, and I picked up my things and moved. The third hour was gym, and the teacher seemed so nice that I asked her to try to have Lies transferred to my room. How the dear lady did it I will never know, but the next hour, in walked Lies and was given the desk beside mine.

Now I was reconciled to the school-the school where I was to have so much fun and learn such a lot. Full of courage, I paid close attention to what the geography man was telling us.

A Lecture in Biology

August 11, 1943

Rubbing her hands, she walks into the room; rubbing her hands, she sits down; rubbing her hands, rubbing her hands, rubbing her hands.

Miss Riegel of Biology -- small, gray, with gray-blue eyes, a big nose and a mouse face. In her wake, someone carries a map and the skeleton.

She takes her place behind the stove, still rubbing her hands, and begins the lesson. First she questions the students on their homework, then she lectures. Oh, she knows a lot, does Miss Riegel, and she is a clever lecturer, starting with fish and ending with reindeer. Her favorite topic, according to Margot, is propagation, which surely must be so because she is an old maid.

Suddenly she is interrupted; a small wad of paper flies through the air and lands on my desk.

"What have you there?" she asks in an accent that shows she hails from The Hague.* [* The setting of Anne's tales is, of course, Amsterdam. To the inhabitants of that city, the manner of speech of the people from The Hague sounds affected. Trans.]

"I don't know, Miss Riegel."

"Come here, and bring that piece of paper with you."

I rise timidly and take the note to the front.

"Who is that from?"

"I don't know, Miss Riegel; I haven't read it."

"Ah, so we'll first attend to that."

She unfolds the note and shows me its content-the sjn- gle word "traitor." I turn red. She looks at me.

"Now do you know who sent it?"

"No, Miss Riegel."

"You are lying."

I feel myself getting flaming red and stare at the teacher with what I know are flas.h.i.+ng eyes, but I don't say a word.

"Tell me who wrote that note!" says Miss Riegel, addressing the cla.s.s. "Whoever did it, raise your hand!"

Way back in the room a hand is raised. Just as I thought -- it was Rob.

"Rob, come here!"

Rob now faces the teacher.

"Why did you write that note?"

Silence.

"Do you know, Anne, what it means?"

"Yes, Miss Riegel."

"Explain!"

"Can't I do it some other time? It is a long story."

"No. Explain!"

I tell her about the French test and the zeros Lies and I got for cheating, and the way we betrayed the cla.s.s.

"A pretty story! And Rob, did you think it necessary to give Anne your opinion during a lecture? And Anne I simply don't believe that you didn't know where that note came from. Sit down, both of you!"

I was furious. At home I told the whole miserable story in detail. Some weeks later, I thought I had a justified complaint about the grade Miss Riegel had given me on my report card, and I asked Father to talk to her about it.

He came back without an improved mark, but with the information that, by mistake, he had called the teacher

Miss Riggle throughout the interview. He further reported that she thought Anne Frank a very sweet girl, and had no recollection of the dear child ever having lied to her!

A Geometry Lesson

August 12, 1943

He's impressive as he stands before the cla.s.s-a big, strong old man, his bald dome ringed with a wreath of gray. He always wears a gray suit and an old-fas.h.i.+oned high collar, its tips bent outward. He speaks with a pe- culiar accent; he pften mutters and as often smiles. He is quite patient with those who do their best, but loses his temper in dealing with the lazy ones.

Of the ten children questioned, nine give unsatisfactory answers. He takes endless trouble in explaining, clarifying the problems; he reasons with the pupils so that they, themselves, may find the answers. He is fond of posing riddles and, after cla.s.s, likes to talk of the days when he was president of one of the biggest soccer clubs in the country.

But Mijnheer Heesing and I were often at loggerheads, and always because -- yes, because of my talking habit. In three lessons I got six reprimands. This was too much for the instructor, who, by way of remedy, prescribed an essay of two pages. It was handed in at the next lesson, and Mijnheer Heesing, who could take a joke, laughed as he read it and seemed particularly amused by this paragraph:

"I must, indeed, try hard to control the talking habit, but I'm afraid that little can be done, as my case is hered- itary. My mother, too, is fond of chatting, and has handed this weakness down to me. Until now, she hasn't succeeded in getting it under control."

I had been told to write my essay under the t.i.tle, "A Chatterbox. "

But at the next lesson, I again was tempted to whisper a few remarks to my neighbor, and-Mijnheer Heesing took his little notebook and jotted down, "Miss Anne Frank: An essay ent.i.tled, 'An Incorrigible Chatterbox.' "

This piece of prose, too, was duly delivered. In Mijnheer Heesing's next lecture, however, I repeated my misdeed, and the instructor wrote in his little book, "Miss Anne Frank: An essay of two pages, ent.i.tled, ' "Quack, quack," said Mrs. Quackenbush.' "