"I have," said Dugan, promptly, "and they are fiendishly clever. They pretend to be friendly. They give food to the children so as to contaminate them with capitalism. They send medicines all over the world. When I was in Mukden I heard that they were feeding the Japanese. Probably for the same bad purpose."
Wu said, "Very likely."
The road had wound up from the river to the crest of a low hill. All around them the day was clear. The fields were much larger than most Chinese or Japanese fields. There was something to the look of the land which reminded Dugan of Western Ohio. But the houses were small, poor, and huddled. Wu pointed. Ahead of them was a big village. Guardboxes stood along the highway, built years before for the convenience of the Japanese road patrol. Two or three brick buildings loomed up — probably the Japanese-built post office, police station, and school.
"Our headquarters," said Wu. "You are my prisoner, and I will take you there."
"Whatever the comrade says, just so long as we eat. I desire to eat. When I was in the Red Army, I had delicious American food all the time."
"You are lying," said Wu.
"I swear to you it is true. Excellent pork. Many remarkable delicacies. Even the trucks which brought the food were American. Estiudebakhers, we called them. The newspapers did not say much about it but our officers explained that it was an American trick. They wanted to feed us good food so that we would die willingly fighting the Germans without the Americans having to get killed."
"You yourself fought Germans?"
"I have never been in the West," said Dugan, naively, "and I wonder why the Americans fed me, too. After all, America is run by a few capitalists, so why do they worry if their working-class people are killed? And if they sent us food for a trick, it was a very stupid trick, because they sent us too much. Have you ever eaten the Espam?"
"E-ssu-p'angT