Coming home this afternoon, I had forgotten all about the Japanese looking for forced labor at Arlegui. I caught up with Pete Siy and we turned into Aviles together, pumping each other for news. It was too late to turn by the time I noticed a Spaniard on a bike ahead showing his pass to six or seven Japanese soldiers. I stopped and showed my pass, opening the little black bag I usually carry. In it were two loaves of rice bread and three-dozen coconut macaroon cookies, but the Japanese nearest me was only interested in my bike — it was obvious by the way he held it. My heart sank. My bike! After all this time.

"Anong trabajo?" asked one. [What's your work?] I pretended to be dumb. He repeated the question several times to no avail. Finally I decided to take command.

"Me," I said, thumping my chest vigorously, "live Manga Avenue. Same street Military Police, Commander Ito — Military Police. Same street."

"Don't spik Engrish," he answered stiffly.

The fellow in charge pointed a finger at me and said something sharply in Japanese, but somehow, he didn't impress me.

"Captain Ito, Military Police. Me, Manga Avenue! Sergeant Kunishi...you know Sergeant Kunishi?"

"No spik Engrish." So I shrugged and tried to look even dumber. A pause followed.

Suddenly, looking inspired, the first one asked: "You spik Spanish?"

"NO!" I blurted out in a flash of inspiration, looking even dumber.

After a few words between themselves, one turned to me and said: "Aw ... go-go-go-go." So I did ... very much relieved.

Pete also got by with a pass from the Embassy people sharing his house. Catching up to me he said: "They would have taken you for forced labor but the officer said: 'Aw, let him go — we can't understand him anyway.'"

"It's a good thing I don't speak Spanish," I grinned, and he burst out laughing.

...ooOoo...