February 18, 1942

I went to St. Luke’s Hospital this afternoon in a carretela to take things to people who are sick there. Vignettes of occupied Manila passed before me as I rode along. Chinese establishments with their great doors barred and only small cat-hole doors open, the Chinese slipping silently in and out. Dozens of tiny sidewalk stands loaded with all sorts of loot—everything imaginable from caviar to tinned sardines, probably all of it taken from warehouse stocks. Jap sentries all around, looking bored, but always pleased when someone has to bow to them. That gripes me but I do it. I should not care to be slapped by one of them, and that’s what they do to you if you don’t bow.

Most pleasant sight was a dead Japanese officer floating in the estero, other Japs trying to fish him out from the bank. The unpleasant corollary to that: three Filipinos nearby, being questioned and abused.

A common sight: trucks filled with furniture dashing toward the docks. I saw one truck with a huge dressing table in it complete with a huge full-length mirror and in front of the mirror was seated an ape-like Japanese soldier admiring himself as the truck rolled along.

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