SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
Last night when I came down from the attic, I noticed, the moment I entered the room, that the lovely vase of carnations had fallen over. Mother was down on her hands and knees mopping up the water and Margot was fishing my papers off the floor. "What happened?" I asked with anxious foreboding, and before they could reply, I assessed the damage from across the room. My entire genealogy file, my notebooks, my books, everything was afloat. I nearly cried, and I was so upset I started speaking German. I can't remember a word, but according to Margot I babbled something about "unlioersehbarer Schaden, schrecklich, entsetzlich, nie zu ersetzen"* [* Incalculable loss, terrible, awful, irreplaceable.] and much more. Fadier burst out laughing and Modier and Margot joined in, but I felt like crying because all my work and elaborate notes were lost.
I took a closer look and, luckily, die "incalculable loss" wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Up in die attic I carefully peeled apart die sheets of paper diat were stuck togedier and dien hung diem on die clodiesline to dry. It was such a funny sight, even I had to laugh. Maria de' Medici alongside Charles V, William of Orange and Marie Antoinette.
"It's Rassenschande,"* Mr. van Daan joked. [An affront to racial purity.]
After entrusting my papers to Peter's care, I went back downstairs.
"Which books are ruined?" I asked Margot, who was going dirough them.
"Algebra," Margot said.
But as luck would have it, my algebra book wasn't entirely ruined. I wish it had fallen right in the vase. I've never loathed any book as much as that one. Inside the front cover are the names of at least twenty girls who had it before I did. It's old, yellowed, full of scribbles, crossed-out words and revisions. The next time I'm in a wicked mood, I'm going to tear the darned thing to pieces!
Yours, Anne M. Fran
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