《安妮日记》第87章

i　cant　understand　people　who　dont　like　to　work；　but　that　isnt　peters　problem　either。
he　just　doesnt　have　a　goal；　plus　he　thinks　hes　too　stupid　and　inferior　to　ever　achieve　anything。　poor　boy；　hes　never　known　how　it　feels　to　make　someone　else　happy；　and　im　afraid　i　cant　teach　him。　he　isnt　religious；　scoffs　at　jesus　christ　and　takes　the　lords　name　in　vain；　and　though　im　not　orthodox　either；　it　hurts　me　every　time　to　see　him　so　lonely；　so　scornful；　so　wretched。
people　who　are　religious　should　be　glad；　since　not　everyone　is　blessed　with　the　ability　to　believe　in　a　higher　order。　you　dont　even　have　to　live　in　fear　of　eternal　punishment；
the　concepts　of　purgatory；　heaven　and　hell　are　difficult　for　many　people　to　accept；　yet　religion　itself；　any　religion；　keeps　a　person　on　the　right　path。　not　the　fear　of　god；　but　upholding　your　own　sense　of　honor　and　obeying　your　own　conscience。　how　noble　and　good　everyone　could　be　if；　at　the　end　of　each　day；　they　were　to　review　their　own　behavior　and　weigh　up　the　rights　and　wrongs。　they　would　automatically　try　to　do　better　at　the　start　of　each　new　day　and；　after　a　while；　would　certainly　acplish　a　great　deal。　everyone　is　wele　to　this　prescription；　it　costs　nothing　and　is　definitely　useful。　those　who　dont　know　will　have　to　find　out　by　experience　that　〃a　quiet　conscience　gives　you　strength！〃
yours；　anne　
m。　frank
saturday；　july　8；　1944
dearest　kitty；
mr。　broks　was　in　beverwijk　and　managed　to　get　hold　of　strawberries　at　the　produce　auction。　they　arrived　here　dusty　and　full　of　sand；　but　in　large　quantities。　no　less　than　twenty…four　crates　for　the　office　and　us。　that　very　same　evening　we　canned　the　first　six　jars　and　made　eight　jars　of　jam。　the　next　morning　miep　started　making　jam　for　the　office。
at　twelve…thirty　the　outside　door　was　locked；　crates　were　lugged　into　the　kitchen；　with　peter；　father　and　mr。　van　daan　stumbling　up　the　stairs。　anne　got　hot　water　from　the　water　heater；　margot〃〃；went　for　a　bucket；　all　hands　on　deck！　with　a　funny　feeling　in　my　stomach；　i　entered　the　overcrowded　office　kitchen。　miep；　bep；　mr。　kleiman；　jan；　father；　peter：　the　annex　contingent　and　the　supply　corps　all　mixed　up　together；　and　that　in　the　middle　of　the　day！　curtains　and　windows　open；　loud　voices；　banging　doors　……　i　was　trembling　with　excitement。　i　kept　thinking；　〃are　we　really　in　hiding？〃　this　must　be　how　it　feels　when　you　can　finally　go　out　into　the　world　again。　the　pan　was　full；　so　i　dashed　upstairs；　where　the　rest　of　the　family　was　hulling　strawberries　around　the　kitchen　table。　at　least　thats　what　they　were　supposed　to　be　doing；　but　more　was　going　into　their　mouths　than　into　the　buckets。　they　were　bound　to　need　another　bucket　soon。　peter　went　back　downstairs；　but　then　the　doorbell　rang　twice。　leaving　the　bucket　where　it　was；　peter　raced　upstairs　and　shut　the　bookcase　behind　him。　we　sat　kicking　our　heels　impatiently；　the　strawberries　were　waiting　to　be　rinsed；　but　we　stuck　to　the　house　rule：　〃no　running　water　when　strangers　are　downstairs　……　they　might　hear　the　drains。”
jan　came　up　at　one　to　tell　us　it　had　been　the　mail…　man。　peter　hurried　downstairs　again。　ding…dong。　。　。　the　doorbell；　about…face。　i　listened　to　hear　if　anyone　was　ing；　standing　first　at　the　bookcase；　then　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。　finally　peter　and　i　leaned　over　the　banister；　straining　our　ears　like　a　couple　of　burglars　to　hear　the　sounds　from　downstairs。　no　unfamthar　voices。　peter　tip…　toed　halfway　down　the　stairs　and　called　out；　〃bep！”
once　more：　〃bep！〃　his　voice　was　drowned　out　by　the　racket　in　the　kitchen。　so　he　ran　down　to　the　kitchen　while　i　nervously　kept　watch　from　above。　〃go　upstairs　at　once；　peter；　the　accountants　here；　youve　got　to　leave！〃　it　was　mr。　kuglers　voice。　sighing；　peter　came　upstairs　and　closed　the　bookcase。
mr。　kugler　finally　came　up　at　one…thirty。　〃my　gosh；　the　whole　worlds　turned　to　strawberries。　i　had　strawber…　ries　for　breakfast；　jans　having　diem　for　lunch；　kleimans　eating　them　as　a　snack；　mieps　bothng　them；　beps　hulling　them；　and　i　can　smell　them　everywhere　i　go。　i　e　upstairs　to　get　away　from　all　that　red　and　what　do　i　see？　people　washing　strawberries！”
the　rest　of　the　strawberries　were　canned。　that　evening：　two　jars　came　unsealed。
father　quickly　turned　them　into　jam。　the　next　morning：　two　more　lids　popped　up；　and　that　afternoon：　four　lids。　mr。　van　daan　hadnt　gotten　the　jars　hot　enough　when　he　was　sterthzing　them；　so　father　ended　up　making　jam　every　evening。　we　ate　hot　cereal　with　strawberries；　buttermilk　with　strawberries；　bread　with　strawberries；　strawberries　for　dessert；　straw…　berries　with　sugar；　strawberries　with　sand。　for　two　days　there　was　nothing　but　strawberries；　strawberries；　strawberries；　and　then　our　supply　was　either　exhausted　or　in　jars；　safely　under　lock　and　key。
〃hey；　anne；〃　margot　called　out　one　day；　〃mrs。　van　hoeven　has　let　us　have　some　peas；　twenty　pounds！”
〃thats　nice　of　her；〃　i　replied。　and　it　certainly　was；　but　its　so　much　work。　。　。　ugh！
〃on　saturday；　youve　aji　got　to　shell　peas；〃　mother　announced　at　the　table。
and　sure　enough；　this　morning　after　breakfast　our　biggest　enamel　pan　appeared　on　the　table；　filled　to　the　brim　with　peas。　if　you　think　shelling　peas　is　boring　work；　you　ought　to　try　removing　the　inner　linings。　i　dont　think　many　people　realize　that　once　youve　pulled　out　the　linings；　the　pods　are　soft；　delicious　and　rich　in　vitamins。　but　an　even　greater　advantage　is　that　you　get　nearly　three　times　as　much　as　when　you　eat　just　the　peas。
stripping　pods　is　a　precise　and　meticulous　job　that　might　be　suited　to　pedantic　dentists　or　finicky　spice　experts；　but　its　a　horror　for　an　impatient　teenager　like　me。　we　started　work　at　nine…thirty；　i　sat　down　at　ten…thirty；　got　up　again　at　eleven；　sat　down　again　at　eleven…thirty。　my　ears　were　humming　with　the　following　refrain：　snap　the　end；　strip　the　pod；　pull　the　string；　pod　in　the　pan；　snap　the　end；　strip　the　pod；　pull　the　string；　pod　in　the　pan；　etc。；　etc。　my　eyes　were　swimming：　green；　green；　worm；　string；　rotten　pod；　green；　green。　to　fight　the　boredom　and　have　something　to　do；　i　chattered　all　morn…　ing；　saying　whatever　came　into　my　head　and　making　everyone　laugh。　the　monotony　was　killing　me。　every　str