July 20, 2000: First of, let me apologize for a typo. I seem to have entitled one of my entries, "An Erudie Perv's Reading Journal Part Four." "Erudie?" that certainly wasn't particularly erudite.
I want to return to excerpts from Jim Yoshida's memoir. For those of you who want more context, check out "An Erudite Perv's Reading Journal Part Five."
"The horse chores taken care of, I have five minutes to rush back to the barracks, wash up, and report to the kitchen to pick up breakfast for the men in my unit. There were three buckets of rice to be placed on the tables, the inevitable bean paste soup, vegetables cooked with meat, and pickled turnips [I wish Y had given us some Japanese names; it would have been more of a turn on than "pickled turnips," for Christ's sake!]. Several other recruits and I dished out the food, then waited for the noncoms to sit down.
That's when the second ordeal of the day caught up with me. Sergeant Kido, between mouthfuls of rice, ordered one of the recruits to recite the first chapter of the Military Handbook. [Again, it would have been more of a turn on if Yoshida had also given me the imperial Japanese military term for "Military Handbook"]. He rose and sang out several paragraphs flawlessly.
'Enough,' Kido said, 'Private Yamamoto, carry on.'
Yamamoto finished his assignment and then it was my turn.
'Private Yoshida, continue.'
I couldn't. Not one word. I didn't know a single word. I stood helplessly, in agony, completely dumb. Sergeant Kido rose menacingly from the table. The only sound in the room was of men eating, studiously staring into the rice bowls in front of them. 'Yoshida!' he was inches from my ear, 'Are you deaf? Did you not hear me? I ordered you to continue with the recitation.'
Still I could not speak. He whacked me across the mouth with the back of his hand, reopening a cut inflicted at the stable. I could feel the blood trickling down my chin.
'If you are too stupid to memorize the Military Handbook,' Kido continued coldly, 'perhaps we can make an impression on you some other way. Get me a rifle.'
At that moment I didn't care if he shot me. Someone brought in a rifle with a bayonet attached. Kido handed it to me. He ordered me to raise it up to firing position, the stock against my right shoulder, my left arm holding up the barrel. Sergeant Nakamura slipped a heavy steel helmet over the bayonet. 'Now let's see how strong you are.'
Kido and Nakamura went back to their breakfast. I continued to stand with the rifle still in the firing position. The gun was incredibly heavy. I arched my back trying to hold the rifle level so the helmet would not fall off. Kido came over and plunged his fist into my belly. 'That is not stance for a Japanese soldier,' he remarked, 'Stand straight!'
I was perspiring heavily now. The rifle weighed a ton. My back was numb from the strain. I wanted to pass out but couldn't. I wanted to run the bayonet through Kido and Nakamura and every noncom in the room but I didn't dare. When Kido finally released me I was bathed in sweat and there was no time for breakfast.
I was to go through this ordeal dozens of times for failing to memorize the Military Handbook, and almost always it was Sergeant Kido who started it. I asked my buddy Mizuno to help me, but he confessed he could hardly read. Finally, I made a deal with one of the other recruits. I gave him my tobacco ration, my beer ration, and my share of the sake (one bottle for eight men each week) in return for help. He proved to be no friend of mine. He was more interested in prolonging the supply of tobacco and alcohol than in helping me to learn the manual."
More sadistic deals about Jim Yoshida's life in the Imperial Japanese Army to come after the erudite (or do I mean erudie) perv finishes cumming himself.