"What is your name? What is your age? What are your father's and mother's names?"
The monotonous questions were repeated all over again; and then,—
"To confess were better. When you confess, we shall let you go. If you do not confess, we keep you here for days and days."
"I am feeling sick," pleaded Asako; "may I eat something?"
The warder brought a cup of tea and some salt biscuit.
"Now, confess," bullied the procurator; "if you do not confess, you will get no more to eat."
Asako told her story of the murder. She then told it again. Her Japanese words were slipping from the clutch of her worn brain. She was saying things she did not mean. How could she defend herself in a language which was strange to her mind? How could she make this judge, who seemed so pitiless and so hostile to her, understand and believe her broken sentences? She was beating with a paper sword against an armed enemy.
An interpreter was sent for; and the questions were all repeated in
English. The procurator was annoyed at Asako's refusal to speak in
Japanese. He thought that it was obstinacy, or that she was trying to
fool him. He seemed quite convinced that she was guilty.
"I can't answer any more questions. I really can't. I am sick," said
Asako, in tears.
"Take her back to the 'sty,' while we have lunch," ordered the procurator. "I think this afternoon she will confess."