An English translation from Esperanto

(from the newspaper Asahi, 4–17–2017): letter from Mrs. Suzuki-Tsuki (96 year old from Miyagi province)

In the following year (1946) at the end of the war, a funeral letter about my nurse school-friend from the Japanese Red Cross came to me, reading “She died in battle in the Philippines. Please come to the funeral ceremony”. She was a classmate, with whom we learned. I was looking for her. I hastily went to the ceremony to know her fate and to see friends from school.

I saw five friends who were with the friend that died in the battlefield. The story was cruelly ferocious. They (with an army) fled and fled with patients, fearing the American army through the jungle. They ate snakes, lizards, unfamiliar nuts and everything possible in the journey for refuge. For those who lacked nutrition, had dysentery, or could not follow behind the army, a war doctor injected cresol to kill them.

And our friend likewise slowed down due to malaria. She begged, saying, “I can go on foot, don’t inject”, and five nurses marched and helped to support her, but finally an army doctor declared, “I should inject her”. “If she doesn’t avoid that, we ourselves must do it”, they decided. They lied together under the shade of a tree like they did back at school. Having relaxed, she began to sleep, and one got on top of her, with the other four holding down her limbs, and injected poison into her.

The five nurses apologized to the parents, “we killed your daughter”. The crying father raised his face, said, “Thank you. My daughter could return to Japan thanks to you”, and he bowed his head. “If my daughter, who could not march, should continuously call for friends and parents, it would have been intolerable.”

The five nurses carefully brought back her notebook, on which were written Katsudon, Oyakodon, and such. Everything was a meal. And the end of the writing was “Kenchin-jiru-udon cooked by my mother”.