On the 16th, Manolo got up — enraged, blinded by tears and weak from hunger — dug a grave and buried his wife and baby side-by-side. Four bullets whistled overhead from Japanese snipers, but Manolo was beyond caring, hoping even for a quick release, and forgetting momentarily about his elder daughter. He stayed by the grave on the 16th and 17th until some Americans came and shared their rations.

He walked from Malate to Santa Ana and from there to Paco and the Cuyugans to check on his daughter. After leaving instructions, he departed for Malate again, determined to salvage what he could — a little money, some modest jewelry and three suitcases of clothes. The Americans tried to stop him: "See here buddy," said one, "it's like this. Which do you value most, your life or your possessions?" It was the wrong question to put to a man that had just suffered such losses and was now only concerned for the near future of his remaining child. He doesn't remember what he replied. It's best left to the imagination.

. . . .

I went back to the middle of the story where Manolo contradicted himself at one point — probably because of his loyalty to Uncle Sam. He looked at me for a while before relenting:

Henry, the fact is the Americans WERE shelling us ... time and again. They were not missing the Michel; they were hitting it, but quite apart from that they were shelling US. I know it because the Pipers were overhead all day and knew where the shells were landing. We tried to signal the plane time and again ... draped several Red Cross flags over and on the sides. We even tried to wave to it. The planes MUST HAVE SEEN US, but the shelling didn't stop. Perhaps the Americans thought it was a Japanese trick.

You know me — I'm American — you know how I feel. Well ... well, the Americans shelled us for days ... and only a handful of Japs were around! The Americans were too slow, too cautious ... too fearful of their own casualties.

And there it was: at last the words were out. I wasn't surprised — it comes out last, but out it comes.

I asked if he saw Nenuca Campa at the Remedios, and boy did I get a reaction! "She was a heroine ... deserved a medal ... beat any man to any work." He beat every description I'd already heard about her. The doctors couldn't slow her down. During the evacuation on the 14th, she even carried patients to the new refuge!

. . . .

continues...