didn’t like seeing the animals locked up in those horrible cages.
I know Susie took me there because she thought I would like it, but I had to pretend I was having a good time.
There was the saddest polar bear in this tiny, tiny pool. It wasn’t much wider than he was long. He just kept swimming back and forth, back and forth. He kept it up the whole time I was there, and each time we walked by I tried not to look but I just couldn’t help it. There he would be, swimming back and forth, back and forth.
I almost started to cry but I didn’t. I thought I was doing a good job of pretending, but as soon as we got
back to the apartment, Susie said, “I suppose we won’t be going back there real soon.”
FRIDAY, AUGUST 12, 1938
New York is louder than Vienna. Fire engines and police sirens scream, cars and taxis honk, and the elevated trains rattle noisily all through the day.
Ladies wear lots of makeup and too much jewelry, even if they aren’t rich. And not everyone in New York is rich, like Max said they were. I saw one man who earned his money holding umbrellas for people as they came up from the subway.
People in New York chew gum, use toothpicks, spit, and throw their trash in the streets.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 13, 1938
Aunt Clara is unlike Mother in almost every way. Her face is so expressive — you can always tell what she’s thinking. And even though Aunt Clara is
very rich, she isn’t a show-off about it.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 16, 1938
It’s been a month now. I still have not received a let-ter from Daddy. Every day at five-thirty when Uncle Martin brings the mail up, I run out to see. He al-ways shakes his head sadly, knowing how disappointed I am.
I know Daddy would write if he could. Why can’t he? Uncle Martin said that maybe the mail isn’t getting out of Vienna. He has called someone he knows at the American Consulate. He says, “These things take
time.”
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17, 1938
I had the dream again last night. It was the same as the other times, only this time I was certain Daddy was going to speak to me, but he didn’t.
I try not to think about Daddy during the day. I feel like a dam holding back the ocean: If I let go, I’ll be swept away.
I wish I could be happier when I’m around Aunt Clara and Uncle Martin. They have been so nice to me.
But I feel so sad inside, and I’m afraid it shows on the outside.
I don’t talk about what happened in Vienna because I don’t want to burden them any more than I already have. And, besides, I don’t know if they would understand — if anyone who wasn’t there would understand.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 19, 1938
Each morning we sit in the sunroom, where Aunt Clara has all her plants. She grows the most glorious orchids. It’s really a terrace with a glass roof. It’s her favorite room, and mine, too. You can look out and see Central Park laid out before you like a gently rolling green carpet.
I read the lines that come before hers and she says hers. It’s truly astonishing to hear Aunt Clara speak her lines. She becomes completely transformed. Most of the time she isn’t satisfied with the way she does it, and we do it again.
When I read the lines to her she asked me if I had ever taken acting lessons in Vienna or performed in any plays. I told her I spent a lot of time last year pre-
tending to be Alice in Wonderland, which she thought was very funny.
Watching Aunt Clara laugh makes me happy. Her whole face lights up, like she’s glad that something can be that funny. Maybe that’s why she likes Uncle Mar-tin so much — he always makes her laugh.
She thinks I have a good voice for the theater. That’s the first thing you need. “If no one can hear what you’re saying, it doesn’t matter what you’re saying or how you’re saying it,” she says.
According to Aunt Clara, you can teach someone to sing or to dance, but not to act. You have to be born with it. I have a natural talent. I never thought about it, but I guess I
I know Susie took me there because she thought I would like it, but I had to pretend I was having a good time.
There was the saddest polar bear in this tiny, tiny pool. It wasn’t much wider than he was long. He just kept swimming back and forth, back and forth. He kept it up the whole time I was there, and each time we walked by I tried not to look but I just couldn’t help it. There he would be, swimming back and forth, back and forth.
I almost started to cry but I didn’t. I thought I was doing a good job of pretending, but as soon as we got
back to the apartment, Susie said, “I suppose we won’t be going back there real soon.”
FRIDAY, AUGUST 12, 1938
New York is louder than Vienna. Fire engines and police sirens scream, cars and taxis honk, and the elevated trains rattle noisily all through the day.
Ladies wear lots of makeup and too much jewelry, even if they aren’t rich. And not everyone in New York is rich, like Max said they were. I saw one man who earned his money holding umbrellas for people as they came up from the subway.
People in New York chew gum, use toothpicks, spit, and throw their trash in the streets.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 13, 1938
Aunt Clara is unlike Mother in almost every way. Her face is so expressive — you can always tell what she’s thinking. And even though Aunt Clara is
very rich, she isn’t a show-off about it.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 16, 1938
It’s been a month now. I still have not received a let-ter from Daddy. Every day at five-thirty when Uncle Martin brings the mail up, I run out to see. He al-ways shakes his head sadly, knowing how disappointed I am.
I know Daddy would write if he could. Why can’t he? Uncle Martin said that maybe the mail isn’t getting out of Vienna. He has called someone he knows at the American Consulate. He says, “These things take
time.”
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17, 1938
I had the dream again last night. It was the same as the other times, only this time I was certain Daddy was going to speak to me, but he didn’t.
I try not to think about Daddy during the day. I feel like a dam holding back the ocean: If I let go, I’ll be swept away.
I wish I could be happier when I’m around Aunt Clara and Uncle Martin. They have been so nice to me.
But I feel so sad inside, and I’m afraid it shows on the outside.
I don’t talk about what happened in Vienna because I don’t want to burden them any more than I already have. And, besides, I don’t know if they would understand — if anyone who wasn’t there would understand.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 19, 1938
Each morning we sit in the sunroom, where Aunt Clara has all her plants. She grows the most glorious orchids. It’s really a terrace with a glass roof. It’s her favorite room, and mine, too. You can look out and see Central Park laid out before you like a gently rolling green carpet.
I read the lines that come before hers and she says hers. It’s truly astonishing to hear Aunt Clara speak her lines. She becomes completely transformed. Most of the time she isn’t satisfied with the way she does it, and we do it again.
When I read the lines to her she asked me if I had ever taken acting lessons in Vienna or performed in any plays. I told her I spent a lot of time last year pre-
tending to be Alice in Wonderland, which she thought was very funny.
Watching Aunt Clara laugh makes me happy. Her whole face lights up, like she’s glad that something can be that funny. Maybe that’s why she likes Uncle Mar-tin so much — he always makes her laugh.
She thinks I have a good voice for the theater. That’s the first thing you need. “If no one can hear what you’re saying, it doesn’t matter what you’re saying or how you’re saying it,” she says.
According to Aunt Clara, you can teach someone to sing or to dance, but not to act. You have to be born with it. I have a natural talent. I never thought about it, but I guess I
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