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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/931095-The-Memory-of-War
Rated: E · Book · Entertainment · #1932477
It is a waste to ignore the musings of the mind.
#931095 added March 21, 2018 at 3:05am
Restrictions: None
The Memory of War.
The memory keeps coming back:

The barrio was small. There were but 100 or so residents, most of whom were related to each other.

The war, the 2nd World War, came tumbling into the barrio. The platoon of Japanese soldiers shouted their commands. They want all young men assemble in the village hall.

The leader, a Corporal got hold of an old villager. He demanded an interpreter, one who speaks English. Fear made the old villager run to Rosa.

That was me. I was visiting the barrio that time. There was fear in the barrio. Men, women, children stayed in their homes. Word spread very quickly: these Japanese are cruel. They hurt people. They shoot people. The usual gathering at the hall did not materialize. The young men did not appear. There were none in the barrio at that time. Only old men presented themselves to the Japanese Corporal.

The Corporal screamed in anger. Where are the young men, he asked me. I told him there were no young men in the barrio. They were all away - on a job or searching for jobs outside of the barrio.

The Corporal looked at the four old men who presented themselves. There was fear in their eyes. They had to present themselves to save the women and children. The Corporal was an angry man, he was almost spewing saliva.

He ordered his men to round up buckets and fill them with water. He ordered planks of wood to be brought to him. He was giving orders upon orders, getting madder each time he screamed.

Then he started his tortures. He ordered his men to torture the old men. The four, old villagers, all aged somewhere between 70-80 were made to lay on the ground. The Japanese soldiers poured water into their mouths. Then they stepped on the villagers' tummies. Then, they were whipped with planks of wood, on their backs, on their sides, on all sides of their bodies.

I sat on the side of the hall, shivering with fear. I could not protest. I could not do anything to help the old villagers. My heart bled with tears.

The 2nd World War came to our barrio that day.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/931095-The-Memory-of-War