April 24. Am in bed. The day before yesterday, while seeing For Whom the Bell Tolls with Sudhira (who is up and about again) I developed a pile [= aambei]. I called Peggy and suggested that Bill Kiskadden should come down and cut it open for me — thinking, in the kindness of my heart, that this would be a nice treat for him, since he never gets any surgery to do in the army. So Bill came, with his little knife. It hurt like hell. I yelled clear around the block, and immediately knew I'd gotten a black mark for doing it. Bill is a spartan.
However, the pain — or rather, the discomfort: it's nothing more — is a great relief, because, for the moment, it takes the sting out ot the X. situation. You can't be in love when you have a sore behind.
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