to them weep. Thirty Calmotin, thirty-one. To my father: I hope you have been well. We land tomorrow. I shall do my best, as you would wish. To my wife: the great moment has come. To me, there is no tomorrow. I know well what you are thinking about, my dear wife. But be calm and serene. Take care of our children. To my son: Masaki, dear, your daddy is going to fight with the Chinese soldiers soon. Do you remember the big sword that your grandfather gave me? With it, I shall cut and stab and knock down enemy soldiers, like your hero, Iwami Jutaro. Daddy is going to bring home a sword and a steel Chinese helmet as a souvenir for you. But Masaki, dear, I want you to be a good boy always. Be nice to your mummy and Grandmother and all your teachers. Love your sister, and study so that you may become a great man. I see your little figure, waving a little flag in your little fist. Daddy cherishes that picture forever in his mind. Masaki, Banzai! Daddy, Banzai! Forty Calmotin, forty-one. Heavy fog hides everything but the railway station. Hints of Chinese houses, echoes of Chinese voices. Everything is yellow. Now we can smell acacia flowers, now we see Rising Sun flags. Everything khaki. Lookout patrols are dispatched, sentries posted. This unit to the noodle factory, that unit to the match factory. The Chinks rob the Japanese. The soldiers cook and clean. The Chinks rape the Japanese. The soldiers guard and patrol. The Chinks murder the Japanese. The soldiers build defence zones. The Chinks rob the Japanese. Barbed wire and barricades throughout the city. The Chinks rape the Japanese. Every Chinese is challenged at every intersection. The Chinks murder the Japanese. There are sandbags and there are roadblocks. More units arrive. There is always sand, there is never water. More units arrive. Always dust and always dirt. More units arrive. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari. Daytime duty is followed by nighttime duty. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari. Nighttime duty followed by daytime duty. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari. The mattresses are torn, the bedbugs hungry. I itch and I scratch. Gari-gari. There among the corpses, I cannot sleep. Bayonets fixed. I can hear their screams. Rifles loaded. I can hear their pleas. The Chinks rob the Japanese. The Japanese bosses don’t pay their Chinese workers. The Chinks rape the Japanese. The Chinese workers complain to their Japanese bosses. The Chinks murder the Japanese. The bosses insert cotton-thread needles into the gaps between the flesh and the nails of their workers’ fingers. I can hear their screams. The bosses thrust the needles into their ring fingers, their middle fingers and their index fingers. I can hear their pleas. The Japanese bosses do what they want now. I was impertinent, lazy and bad. Workers are lashed with wet leather whips. This is a warning. Workers are hung from the branches of trees. I was impertinent. Fifty Calmotin, fifty-one. A child shits behind a sorghum straw fence. Single-wheeled carts rush down the street. In this city of robbery. A woman with bound feet hurries past. The solitary wheels groan beneath the weight of huge gunnysacks. In this city of rape. Coolies the colour of dust sift through peanut shells and watermelon rinds. The rhombus-shaped sails of the carts inflate and disappear. In this city of murder. Long-eared donkeys lead a lengthy funeral