At War44-02-1536The New Sun

Words at war. From the tenant-curnall-we-dious account of the death-march of the Tan, I quote, Two more followed these. Then a sixth broke from the ranks. Japanese guards all along the line made no sign to prevent them.

Just raise their rifles and wait for the sixth to scramble into the grassy ditch and go up on the opposite side, a few feet from the well. Most of the Filipinos fell at the first volley.

Thus did our fifth day of the death march start with a bloodbath. I needed... What's that knocking? I needed all the strength. Somebody stop it. You were on the air. Will somebody get them away or let them in or something?

We're on the air. Continue. We're on the air. Men had been murdered behind me all night. But the deeds had been veiled by darkness. It is true. The deeds may have been darkness. I read them nothing to avail the pennilessness and wantfulness of the murders I have just seen.

I walked to the corner, and I was back to our cell and some people among us. We, his fellow prisoners, counted five cigarette burns on his neck. Quiet! No, I must speak. It is important that I tell you how true it is.

The things you are just learning. The things I knew for years. For I am a Japanese. Japanese! Yes. Haro Yashima, a painter from the Japanese. Will you hear my story? At war.

The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with the Council on Books in War Time, presents The New Son by Taro Yashima, Japanese painter. Where shall I begin? Tell you how poor I was. How my father was a village doctor.