The sullen eyes float in clouds watching, watching, watching, the long yellow river that once flowed red, red. I feel them: tens upon tens, hundreds hidden in the shadows, I feel the raining tears and acid storms. There, only steps away, behind the walls, behind the barbed wire, behind the hush of nothingness the zaimoku marched. They were stacked as lumber on East Zongsha Street.
Silence, silence, then the silence screamed from within the walls, within the souls, inside the minds as they slowly suffered and slowly died. Now their gaseous ghosts drift away, burning in the fog, lost in the haze of broken promises. The promises of food and safety, of protection were long forgotten. The scientist's chemical lies oozed day by day in Ei 1644.
Yung was a lucky one, surviving her first few days at the hospital. She saw many friends walked off in small groups and only a few returned. When they could speak, they told her of the snakes the invaders used in experiments, of how the victims swelled up and died in pain after the bites. They watched as others screamed and mercifully died from the chemicals they were given, and they told of those who survived for days as the experiments continued.
Some of her surviving friends helped to stack "lumber" carting the dead bodies from the examination rooms on squeaking carts, a sound they could never forget. Outside they placed the lumber along that horrible street in Nanking, where the stench of death made them choke. In their own small ways they tried to honor their friends, just as the Japanese degraded them. A blouse would be buttoned, hair pulled back, a naked body would be quickly covered, it was all they could do, but at least it was something.
Yung waited in terror as everyday others around her were lined up and walked out to the experiments and so far, each day, she was left behind for some reason. Several times they made her stand against a wall with some of the other women in her ward as men with bright uniforms, flashing medals walked past, looking them over, checking their teeth, their hair and their breasts. Twice before Yung stood in line with the women and watched as a few women were led out. Finally, the third time she waited in this line a short man came and looked closely at her, running his hand through her hair, looking in her ears and mouth, squeezing her breasts and then placing his hand between her legs and grabbing, laughing loudly.
She had to fight off her revulsion as he breathed on her with a putrid, stinking breath. His body stank too, of decay, a festering wound suffered in battle, a wound that got him a medal in a battle that got him a promotion. Still laughing, the man turned and walked away as she was quickly pushed to follow him.
From behind she could see him limp and as he walked down the two flights of stairs he had to lean from side to side, unable to bend one of his knees. Once downstairs, they walked slowly down the corridor, his boots echoing a resounding click, followed by a slight scuffle as he stepped proudly with one foot and then dragged his wounded leg slightly behind. As he passed the other hospital workers, they bowed, honoring him and Yung heard the word "hero" repeated again and again. Several of the Chinese patients recognized him and Yung could feel their fear and hatred seething inside them.
