He was at the Remedios Hospital during that fatal hit, through that night's evacuation and even part of the next day. He stayed until he was virtually the last man there, outlasting Manolo by several hours, until the rising stench of death on that hot day became unbearable. He rejoined Manolo at the Quiogue house, and refused to budge from there until the 17th. An American Greek officer from prewar Manila (an Australian Air Force Captain on special leave to find his family) couldn't get him to move. Another American officer tried to force him to leave.

"If I stay, will you shoot me?" asked Talambiras point-blank.

"Of course not," replied the startled officer.

"Very well," said Juan with an air of finality, "I stay right here."

He recalls the Americans asked some Filipinos to bury two dead white men (one of which may have been Father Kelly) in the grounds of the Apostolic Delegate's Palace. It was promptly done, but the Filipinos drew the line when asked to bury three Japanese corpses. On the subject of Japanese atrocities, he saw no hand-grenading or bayoneting, but he recalled one incident where he says the Japanese told the Remedios people that they could evacuate, and then shot the first two that came out. It may have been a misunderstanding (the Japanese were often impossible to understand). Once when four Japanese came in to inspect the hospital, shrapnel killed one of them instantly. He was buried on the spot.

Juan had nothing good to say about the guerrillas. At one spot, the guerrillas gave everyone ten minutes to leave because there would be "blasting" — he heard one feign asking another guerilla if he had brought matches. Well, Juan had already said NO to the Japanese and NO to the Americans, so he made it a clean sweep by saying NO to the guerrillas. He asked an American around the corner if he knew anything about any blasting. It was, of course, a lie.

When Talambiras left the area on the 17th, Nenuca Campa was still there. "What a courageous woman!" he said. "Never saw anything like her coolness and devotion to duty under fire."

. . . .

So on to Fred Schaer's on my bike, and to his usual warm reception. It turns out that the Americans are giving the Swiss a special ration all right. Paul Luthi, a fine man and a good friend, is in charge of its distribution. The ration knocked Schaer over! A five-day ration for his family of five consisted of 15 tins of fish, 25 of meat, and much rice! Ever the honest man, Schaer complained that it was too much. "It's ridiculous, we can't possibly eat three whole tins of fish a day."

continues...