"You're sure he's not faking, medically speaking?"
"Of course not," snapped the doctor. "From the medicopsychological point of view, this is a very plain case. As long as he went under another name and pretended to be a lieutenant, you did not notice him because he was normal. He held his personality together by remaining privately at war with the Soviet Union. But when he admitted his real name and identity, he could not hide the situation from himself. He had to admit that he really was a colonel, that he really was a prisoner, that he really had surrendered his flag. For a Japanese, that is unthinkable. In his time, this fellow must have been a fine-looking man. He could almost pass for a Russian. But the truth tore him to pieces. His mind is more than half gone."
"Please, Sir Captain," said Dugan in Japanese, "what does the honorable doctor officer say?"
"He says you can go home to Japan." The captain spoke passable Japanese, which he had learned in a special school at Ulan Ude.
"But — but — but—" Dugan stammered, "I cannot go back to Japan. Not until I have gone to a rest home for convalescing. I will write the Great General Sutarin himself. You must not send me home until I am well. It is just arthritis. If you will just give me a room and an orderly, as befits an Imperial Japanese colonel who is proud to be a prisoner—"
"Shut up," said the Russian captain in Japanese. "What was that last?" asked the Russian doctor.
"He's going to write Stalin if we don't send him to a rest home before we make him go back to Japan. All he wants is a private room and a servant all for himself and a few other little things like that. I'd like to see him get them."
"So would I," said the doctor. "He's on the list. Got any more?"
"Two," said the captain. "One lost a leg. The other went blind." He turned to Dugan and said in Japanese, "Tamazawa-san, you can go along now."
When Dugan had left the room the doctor said, "I'm almost sorry for him. Look what he's going back to. American rule."