Corregidor Fars. Despite the morning headline, people still refused to believe. But when on the next page of the Nishi-Nishi they saw a picture of General Wainwright broadcasting from KZRH studio and ordering the USAFFE forces to surrender in the Philippines—then they realized it was true.
Like robots, we went about our work.
The rich and nervous dowager in our room finally obtained a permanent release for herself and her husband. Those near her bed were happy to see her leave, for on more than one occasion they had been annoyed by her nagging and indignant fussing over trifles. As she left our room for the last time she frankly said, “It will be wonderful not to have to see anyone for a while!”
“Amen!” said Margo, sighing with relief and rolling her large eyes heavenward.
Mammoth victory balloons hovered in the sky to torment us. Attached to each balloon were long and tattered red, white, and blue streamers, dancing and swaying tipsily in the wind.
An endless procession of bombers made up the victory parade over our heads, while on the streets marching and singing soldiers paraded for hours. All over the city, effigies of a defeated Uncle Sam were being dragged by ropes through the filthy streets.
By the time I reached my room, I was ill again, and there were many like me tonight. We were too sick to care about anything.