Annexed by Sharon Dogar Read Free Book Online Page A

anyone, which is decent. We are weighed. We are weighed every week. I've lost eight pounds in a week. I'm shocked. How can that happen when I'm not even doing anything?
    "See?" says Mutti. "No wonder the poor boy can do nothing but sleep. He needs more food."
    "We do very well here, Auguste," says Mrs. Frank.
    "Of course we do, I wasn't..." mutters Mutti. She's still muttering as she goes past me. "Those scales can't be right, there's no way I weigh that much. It's almost as much as Edith!"
    I smile.
    "I've put on nineteen pounds in three months!" says Anne, proudly. What a liar! But when I look at her it's true! She has put on something. Her shape is changing.

OCTOBER 29, 1942— THE VAN PELSES' HOME IS CLEARED
    Father comes into my room.
    "All right! All right!" I say quickly. "I'm getting up, I'm on my way!"
    And then I look at him. He's not angry. He blinks. He holds out his hand to balance himself as he sits on the edge of the bed. He looks old. And tired. And frightening.
    "What?" I whisper. "What is it?"
    "Our apartment," he says. "They've taken everything."
    "What?"
    "The whole apartment has been emptied, Peter. There's nothing left. All our things..."
    "Oh!" I say. "Oh, Papi!"
    "Gone," he says, and he shakes his head. "Everything. A whole lifetime."
    We sit there. I can't say anything. I see our apartment, our home; the rooms dance in front of my eyes.
    "Ah well!" he says after a while. "At least we're still here, eh?"
    I put my hand on his arm. "Sorry, Papi," I say—and I am sorry. Sorry that all the things we bought together, all the
things we've made, over all the years, are gone—just like that. We have nothing to dream of going back to.
    "Was it you who stole everything?" he asks. I shake my head. He smiles, or at least tries to. "I don't think I can bear to tell your mutti," he whispers.
    All day I remember things, things I didn't even know we had, like the little ship in a bottle. I see exactly where it was—on the shelf in the hallway, and with the memory comes a jolt inside me at knowing it's gone.
    And I don't know where.
    Our apartment is empty now—with nothing left to remind anyone that we were ever there.
    Father tells me not to tell Mother. That's ridiculous. How is it right for even Anne to know but not Mother? Anne does know.
    "Sorry!" she says. "But honestly, what do
things
matter? You have your family, and we can trust in God."
    I stare at her. I don't say anything. I can't, I'm too angry. For once she shuts up and goes away. I tell Mutti. I don't know if it's right or wrong. I don't care anymore. I just know I have to do it.
    She's standing by the sink washing up after supper.
    "Mutti?" I whisper in her ear, and she turns and smiles at me.
    "Peter!" she says, and it's hard, hard to say the words when she's smiling and looking at me like that—so happy to have me near her. But I do it. I say the words quickly.
    "Mutti, they've emptied the apartment."
    At first she just closes her eyes. Closes her eyes and stands there. She turns away from me and puts her palms down on the old granite surface and takes a deep breath. I watch, helpless, as she grits her teeth, lifts her hands, and wraps her fingers around the brass tap, squeezing.
    "I won't cry, I won't cry," she whispers.
    Papi comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her.
    "Kerli," she whispers, "our home, our..."
    "Gusti," he says.
    And he holds her.
    "Please," she whispers to him, "please don't tell me we're lucky ... don't ... I just can't..."
    Papi rests his head against her shoulder.
    "No..." he says. "I won't."
    "Everything?" she asks, and he nods his head against her body. She sags.
    "Papi," I whisper, "do you want to lie down in my room?"
    He nods, and they walk the few steps to my room.
    I close the door. They're lying there together, holding each other. This is all we have now. These four rooms that aren't even ours, but borrowed from the Franks. These rooms—and each other.

NOVEMBER 8, 1942— PETER