Page 51 - Marutas of Unit 731
P. 51

“one  log,  two  logs.”  We  are  not  concer ned  with  where  they  are      from,  how
                they  came  here.  e  man  looked  like  a  farmer,  covered  with  grime.  He  was

                wasting  away,  and  his  cheekbones  protruded.  His  eyes  glared  out  from  the

                dirt   and   tattered   cotton   clothes   he   was   wrapped   in.   e   team   leader   was

                fully  pleased  with  yesterday’s  results.  We  never  had  such  a  typical  change  in

                blood  picture  and  rate  of  infection,  and  I  was  eagerly  looking  for ward  to  see

                what  changes  would  be  present  in  today’s  blood  sample.  With  high  hopes,  I
                came    to   the   Number   7   cell   block   with   the   armed   guards   at   my   side.   e

                maruta I was working on was on the  verge of death. It would be  disastrous if

                he  died.  en  I  would  not  be  able  to  get  a  blood  sample,  and  we  would  not

                obtain the important results of the  tests we had been working on. I called his

                number.  No  answer  came.  I  motioned  through  the  window  at  the  other  four
                prisoners    to   bring   him   over.   ey   sat   there   without   moving.   I   screamed

                abusively at them to hurr y up and bring him over to the  window. One  of the

                guards    pulled   out   a   gun,   aimed   it   at   them   and   screamed   in   Chines e.

                Resigned,  they  gently  lied  up  the  other  man  and  brought  him  over  to  the

                window.  More  important  to  me  than  the  man’s  death  was  the  blood   owing
                in   the   human   guinea   pig’s   body   at   the   moment   just   before   his   death.   His

                hand  was  purplish  and  turning  cold.  He  put  his  arm  through  the  opening.  I

                was elated. Filled with a sense of victor y and holding down my inexpressible

                excitement,  thinking  for ward  to  how  the  team  leader  would  be  waiting  for

                these  results,  I  reached  for  the  hypoder mic.  I  inser ted  the   needle   into  the
                vein.   It   made    a   dull   sound.   I   pulled   the   red-black   blood    into   the

                hypodermic.      ree    cubic   centimeters…       ve   cubic   centimeters…     His   face

                became  paler.  Before,  he’d  been  moaning;  now  he  could  not  even  moan.  His

                throat  was  making  a  tiny  rasping  sound  like  an  insect.  With  res entment  and

                anger  in  his  eyes.  He  stared  at  me  without  even  blinking.  But  that  did  not
                matter.  I  obtained  a  blood  sample  of  ten  cubic  centimeters.  For  people        in
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