The Japanese police then went to where I was living with my wife, turned it upside down, and discovered my diaries. They brought the diaries to me and went through them page by page, demanding I tell them about the names they found. I denied everything, even though I knew they might kill me for my silence. The police stomped on me mercilessly with their spiked military boots until my body was as limp as if I were dead. Then they hung me from the ceiling and swung me back and forth. Like a slab of meat hanging in a butcher shop, I swung this way and that as they pushed me with a stick. Soon, blood filled my mouth and began dripping onto the cement $oor below me. Each time I lost consciousness they would pour a bucket of water over me. When I regained consciousness the torture would begin again. They held my nose and stuck the spout of a teakettle into my mouth, forcing me to swallow water. When my stomach became bloated with water they laid me face up on the floor, looking like a frog, and began stomping on my abdomen with their military boots. The water would be forced up my esophagus and I would vomit until everything turned black. On the days a.er I had been tortured this way my esophagus felt as though it was on fire. The pain was so great I could not bear to swallow a single mouthful of soup. I had no energy and would just lie face down on the floor, completely unable to move. The war was coming to an end, and the Japanese police were desperate. They tortured me in ways words cannot describe. I endured, though, and never gave them the names of any of my friends. Even as I was going in and out of consciousness, I made sure not to give them what they wanted. Finally tiring of torturing me, the Japanese police sent for my mother. When she arrived my legs were so swollen that I couldn’t stand on my own. Two policemen had to put my arms over their shoulders and help me walk to the visiting room. My mother had tears in her eyes even before she set eyes on me.