Saturday, March 30, 1929
Getting lazy. I slept till seven. Mort discovered tomorrow is a holiday and we finally learned it is Easter. I had plenty of good resolutions as to what I was going to do, but the wind blew most of them away. I knew it wouldn’t be hot near the Equator. I am a jinx to all heat. When the wind dies, which it never does for more than a couple of seconds, the sun is scorching. But the wind keeps it cool. Today seemed to be wash day, so at noon when the sailors were about through, we got hold of a couple brushes and boards and a bucket, and went to it. Among other things, I washed my knickers, turning them from dirty gray to a respectable light gray. Unfortunately, I started to wash my arms. Once started I could not stop for the dirt kept coming out and no end of it. After over a half hour, in which much sunburn was rubbed off, I had to give up with them still dirty—and all of this after our swim at Masawa. Later when I had hot water to wash my hair, I tried the arms again with more success. Don’t have to brush my hair now for there is nothing there to brush.
Tonight there is a show put on by the boys. If the band performs, it will be a riot, for this organization has been tooting of late up forward and, take it from me, they are out of tune. We were talking to one of the star singers today. He surely is a typical sailor. Has been in the navy 6 years. Told us about how the Americans and Italians in Shanghai would fight with the British and French sailors. This particular scrap was a wild one in a cabaret over a Russian girl an Italian was dancing with. It ended after the Yanks had killed two British and the Italians three Frenchmen. He has a girl in every port, but doesn’t care for any of them. An ugly one in China wants to marry him. He is going to do it because she has $100,000 which is what he is after. Then he says he’ll tell her good-bye once he has the money; or if she wants to come to Italy, he will drop her overboard to the sharks in the Red Sea. He is a case, wild, carefree.
The coast has been in sight all day. It is Aden, a small colony belonging to England with Aden as the principal city. Now we are again coming to Arabia. At the present time we are several miles off the mountainous coast of Aden and four or five more days to Karachi. Our needle-alibi has fallen through for one of the sailors has procured some needles from upstairs. Mort is down in our suite drawing pictures for the benefit of our boxer friend, to tell him about some pictures we took of him. The cinema tonight was a comedy, old when the ark grounded.