I heard later that Luis had been working for the Japanese Navy buying cars and converting them into pick-ups. No wonder he could afford to buy Condensed Milk at P450 a tin. Seeing his car had been in danger of being "commandeered" by the Japanese, Luis had "purchased" it for his own use. He'll get paid too, no doubt, twice as much for that rusted Chevy than for my 1940 A-1 Mercury. And as long as he continued to keep working on other cars, he might never be able to convert his.

Luis kept on talking palsy-walsy with them. How's the air force? Were the Americans expected today to come and bomb? Was that mechanic a pilot, or an engineer? My eye! I was happy when they finished and began to tow my car out.

"Any chance of my getting this car back?" I asked Naky.

"All depends on the circumstances," he answered dubiously, then added: "Maybe ... February."

"But," I said, "you didn't put the license number on my receipt and your copy."

"Not necessary," answered Naky curtly. "You'll be credited with an A-1 car."

My black Mercury began to move out slowly. "Goodbye old thing," said Ma in French from her window, her voice breaking a little. A moment later it was outside, surrounded by a little crowd who had gathered to extend condolences.

Graemiger was there after a full day digesting the loss of his 1940 Mercury. "Take it easy ... no use worrying," said the man who had been inconsolable the previous night.

Andy Klingler was there too with his usual wit. His 1937 Zephyr had been taken the day before, but he had already regained his old form. He related how the third Japanese interpreter — the one with the temper who had lost his sense and balance with Mrs. Menzi several months earlier — had come to his house to look for tires or something. Not satisfied with the answers, he pulled out his pistol and marched Andy into the house to search. Finding nothing, be demanded to know who had a bicycle. "There he was with his pistol," said Andy, shrugging his shoulders, "so I said I had one. Then Kreill said, 'I have one too,' and he did too ... and ... and so we were blitzed."

We all managed to smile. "Well," sighed Andy, "first, your car, then your bicycle. The streetcars, carretelas and whatnot are gone too. That's why I say — keep your shoes close to you every night — that's the only transportation we have left."

Naky had asked about my bicycle too. "Gone," I said, making up a story, "and taken last Saturday by three Japanese who had nothing to do with taking bicycles. They offered me a ganta of rice and I refused. So one slapped me — almost missing me, but jarring my wisdom tooth."

Naky pretended to be shocked. "It's too bad, I don't like to do these things," he said, walking around and throwing a pebble at my car, "but it's absolutely necessary."

The receipt read: "The place of payment will be notified." A friend of mine had his bike taken, and paid for on the spot with P1,000 — not enough to buy a dozen eggs. By today's standards, my car might be worth at least twelve thousand DOLLARS. Sayonara.

...ooOoo...