yin1982xie

@@@@@ But killed they would be, because the Japanese were dopesThey had been dopes for a thousand yearsWakara lit another cigarette, and sifted some sand through his fingertips Pop! The carbine sounded again Well, there was nothing he could do about itThe Americans would march in eventually and after twenty or thirty years the country would probably be the same again, and the people would live in their artistic abstract rut, and begin generating some more juice for another hysterical immolationTwo million, three million killed, it was all in the Oriental's stepped-up version of the Malthusian lawHe could feel it himself, understand that better than the Americans Ishimara had been a foolHe didn't see things like population density; he saw it through his own shortsighted eyes, watching the sun go down with atavistic dreadThe red sun and his own blood; that was what Ishimara knewIt was the sop allowed the JapaneseDeep in their own hearts, deep in the personal concretion of a diary, they could be philosophers, wistful philosophers, knowing nothing about the vehicle that moved themWakara spat on the sand, and then with a nervous furtive motion of his hand, he covered it over, and turned around to look at the sea And he was alone, a wise man without a skin The tide was coming in, and the sand spit on which Major Dalleson had been firing his carbine was beginning to be inundatedHe retreated a step or two as a wavelet pattered around his ankles, and then bent down to pick up another pebbleHe had been shooting pebbles for almost an hour now, and he was beginning to wearyHis large chest and belly had reddened in the sun, his body hair was slicked with perspiration, and the waist band of his cotton shorts, the only clothing he was wearing, had become quite wetHe grunted, looked at the pebbles in his hand, and selected one which he held between his forefinger and thumbThen he slumped forward like a buffalo, his head almost parallel to the sand, the muzzle of his carbine pointing vertically downward just past his toeHe bent farther forward until his head was not more than a foot from his knees, and then he straightened abruptly, throwing the pebble into the air with his left hand and raising his carbine with his right armFor just an instant he caught the pebble in his rear sight, a tiny speck of dust against the blue of the sky, and then he squeezed the trigger and the pebble spattered "Goddam," Dalleson said with satisfaction, wiping the sweat from his eyes with his heavy forearm, licking the dried salt at the corners of his mouthThat pebble made four in a row he had