To Panama and back

by Henry T. Byford

Not having a magic ring or an oriental lamp to rub, I scratched my head while I wished for a bath-tub—and immediately found a small wash-basin. I wished for fresh water, and found a large pitcherful. I wished for a portable shower bath, and found my hands, two of them. I preferred a pitcherful of cold fresh water and a wash-basin to a bath-tub full of cold brine. I also reflected that a cold sponge bath with plenty of soap could be made more cleansing than a shower or tub bath with cold water, because the sponge bath could be kept up indefinitely, or until one was clean; whereas the cold shower or tub bath was a chilling affair, and must necessarily be of brief duration and not very soapy. In order not to injure the ceiling of the room below, I spread newspapers on the floor before the washstand, poured the washbowl two thirds full of water and stood for a moment shivering before it, for the cool night air still lingered in the room. It was a delightful sensation to feel chilly within eight degrees of the equator and only a few hours after the all-day boiling spell of the day before.

I rapidly washed my face, neck and shoulders, then wet my head and lathered it thoroughly with soap. In order to get the soap and dirt all out of my hair without irritating or infecting my eyes, I stood on my head in the washbasin (as far as my head and shoulders were concerned) and soaked and washed out the soap. I then changed water, and stood my head and neck and shoulders up side down again in the basin to rinse them. After wiping them I began to feel warm and in a mood for more work. I soaped my left chest and arm, then put my left elbow in the bath-tub, leaned my body over it and splashed and soaked off the soap, using my hand as a movable shower bath. I then did the same to the other side. Not being a woman, I had neither washrag nor powder rag to wash and dry myself, but had two heavy bath towels. The towel was a great success as a washrag in holding water and soaking off the soap; the ordinary little feminine washrag is a miserable makeshift and does not deserve the favor it enjoys. After a long period of cold splashing with my washrag and another of dry scrubbing with my powder rag, I transferred my bath-tub to the floor and stood in it right side up, and was able to complete the bath to my joy and satisfaction with the bowl and water that had originally been intended for face and hands only. As a schoolboy I had been an amateur contortionist, and was not disabled like most of my friends by the fear of bursting a bloodvessel or straining my heart. But what pleased me most of all was that I had had an hour of active exercise, and felt strengthened and refreshed by it. I had found an antidote to the sun’s deadly rays, a life-saving remedy. After getting my light tropical clothes on, I felt as if I wanted something more than the cup-of-coffee-and-half-a-roll-early-breakfast of the natives, and hurried down to the dining-room.

Early breakfast, called “coffee,” was served from six to eight o’clock on a long table in a small dining-room. Near each end of the table were a dish of oranges and a large platter upon which were piled round water rolls, similar to our round Vienna rolls. Two waiters stood at a sideboard, each with a long-handled tin pot of coffee in one hand and a corresponding pot of hot, unskimmed, fresh milk in the other, ready to serve a mixture of strong coffee and hot milk in any proportion asked for.

I found three men at the table, a young, slender, dark-skinned Panamanian and two elderly, dignified-looking, gray-haired and gray-eyed Americans about sixty years of age. The Panamanian was sipping a cup of coffee, smoking his cigaret and reading a newspaper that lay beside the coffee cup. By the time his cigaret was half smoked the coffee cup was emptied, and he left the room—one of those fellows who can eat anything but food, and drink anything but water. I was sure that he had not had an appetizing sponge bath that morning, or he would not have breakfasted on a few whiffs of smoke. However, he had the advantage of me in being able to satisfy his appetite with other whiffs if he became hungry before noon. Perhaps he was a club man and had worked his head and stomach hard all night. While I was helping myself to an orange, the large, portly, dignified-looking American at the head of the table suddenly called out in a loud American voice:

“Where is that head waiter? Why doesn’t he bring my eggs?”

The two waiters immediately rushed out of the room and back, and tried to say in broken English that the head waiter was not there. Since nothing but coffee, rolls and oranges belonged to the first breakfast, it was necessary to order the eggs and pay extra for them, and if one came down pretty early (as heavy-eating, light sleepers usually do), there was apt to be some delay in getting them. Hot fires and head waiters were not usually going at so early an hour.

The old man glared at the waiters fiercely and they stared at him stupidly, not daring to drop their eyes. After a few moments he again broke out:

“Hasn’t that head waiter been found yet? Where is the second head waiter—or the third head waiter? Telegraph to Spain for a live one. This is great service for eight dollars a day. Not even anything to eat when you pay extra for it. If you want an egg you’ve got to fight for it—nothing short of a revolution will make a hen lay, or an egg cook in this country.”

Just then a waiter, rendered nervous by the, to him, unintelligible thunder, allowed a roll to drop on the floor as he was passing them around, and the other waiter quickly picked it up and put it back among the rolls on the table. The second old man who was also waiting for eggs, exchanged glances with me, and I expected him also to speak his mind about the eggs and rolls and waiters; but he did not, for he undoubtedly felt that the efforts of the first speaker would bring his eggs also, and that all of the rolls had been in dirty hands and baskets, and on dusty tables and floors long ago. By way of relieving the tension I said to the one who had been complaining:

“These waiters are native Panamanians and do not understand United States, and how to wait on Americans.”