kafka-24grammata.com-free-e-book.-pdf

ead yet. At five I exit the library. So most of the day I'm in the gym or the
library. As long as I'm in one of those two, nobody seems to worry about me.
Chances are pretty slim a kid skipping school would hang out in either one. I eat
dinner at the diner in front of the station. I try to eat as many vegetables as I
can, and occasionally buy fruit from a stand and peel it using the knife I took
from my father's desk. I buy cucumbers and celery, wash them in the sink at the
hotel, and eat them with mayonnaise. Sometimes I pick up a container of milk from
the mini-mart and have a bowl of cereal.
Back in my room I jot down what I did that day in my diary, listen to
Radiohead on my Walkman, read a little, and then it's lights out at eleven.
Sometimes I masturbate before going to sleep. I think about the girl at the front
desk, putting any thoughts of her potentially being my sister out of my head, for
the time being. I hardly watch any TV or read any newspapers.
But on the evening of the eighth day--as had to happen sooner or later--this
simple, centripetal life is blown to bits.
Chapter 8
U.S. ARMY INTELLIGENCE SECTION (MIS) REPORT Dated: May 12, 1946 Title: Report on
the Rice Bowl Hill Incident, 1944 Document Number: PTYX-722-8936745-42216-WWN T he
following is a taped interview with Doctor Shigenori Tsukayama (52), professor in
the Department of Psychiatry in the School of Medicine, Tokyo Imperial University,
which took place over a three-hour span at the GHQ of the Supreme Commander for
the Allied Powers. Documentation related to the interview can be accessed using
application number PTYX-722-SQ-267 to 291. [Note: Documents 271 and 278 are
missing.]
Impressions of the interviewer, Lt. Robert O'Connor: Professor Tsukayama was
quite calm and relaxed throughout the interview, as one might expect of an expert
of his caliber. He is one of the leading psychiatrists in Japan and has published
a number of outstanding books on the subject. Unlike most Japanese, he avoids
vague statements, drawing a sharp distinction between facts and conjecture. Before
the war he was an exchange scholar at Stanford, and is quite fluent in English. He
is surely well liked and respected by many.
We were ordered by the military to immediately undertake an examination of
the children in question. It was the middle of November 1944. It was quite unusual
for us to receive requests or orders from the military. The military, of course,
had its own extensive medical branch, and being a self-contained entity that put a
high priority on secrecy, they usually preferred to handle matters internally.
Apart from the rare times when they needed the special knowledge and techniques
that only outside researchers or physicians had, they seldom appealed to civilian
doctors or researchers.
Thus when they broached this we immediately surmised that something
extraordinary had occurred. Frankly, I didn't like to work under military
directions. In most cases their goals were strictly utilitarian, with no interest
in pursuing truth in an academic sense, only arriving at conclusions that accorded
with their preconceptions. They weren't the type of people swayed by logic. But it
was wartime and we couldn't very well say no. We had to keep quiet and do exactly
as we were told.
We'd been continuing our research despite the American air raids. Most of
our undergrads and grad students, though, had been drafted. Students in psychiatry
weren't exempt for the draft, unfortunately. When the order came from the military
we dropped everything and took a train to [name deleted] in Yamanashi Prefecture.
There were three of us--myself and a colleague from the Psychiatry Department, as
well as a research physician from the Department of Neurosurgery with whom we'd
been conducting research.
As soon as we got there they warned us that what they were about to reveal