MASH 14 MASH goes to Moscow (22 page)

“I thank you, Sister, for bringing this matter to my attention,” Brother Bosworth said. “With God’s help, and that of the When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder campus security force, I will instantly, if not sooner, banish Satan, yet once again, from our beloved campus.”

“I thought you would like to know,” Bobby-Sue/
Brunhilde
said. “Bye-bye.”

She hung the phone up, went into her bedroom, made certain the curtains were tightly closed and pulled her size 38-long off-purple dress over her head. Outside, she heard the first wail of sirens on the patrol cars of the When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder Campus Security and Prohibition Enforcement Service.

In her unmentionables, as she hastily threw clothing into a suitcase, it was easy to see why and how she had affected the male members of the student body when she had made her one-time appearance as a cheer leader. In a word, Bobby-Sue was stacked. For a moment, she considered wearing a dress, but realizing that she would probably have to make a dash for her car, campus security force or not, she decided on other clothing. She pulled, over a pair of hips that would have made Raquel Welch green with envy, a pair of blue jeans which appeared to be at least three sizes too small. Over her head she pulled a gray sweat shirt on which had been placed a likeness of Ludwig
von
Beethoven. The stitching, and indeed the very fibers of this garment, were stretched near to the breaking point by her mammary development. She slipped her feet into a pair of loafers and examined herself in the mirror.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said aloud. She reached into her mouth and with dainty fingers extracted what are known in the trade as “caps.” Beneath the slimy-green dental appliance were her own teeth—dual, long, perfect rows of gleaming choppers set in bright red gums. She dropped the caps in her purse, and then carefully removed the rubber warts from her forehead, nostrils, and chin. She added these to the choppers in her purse. Finally, she snatched the mousey-gray wig from her head, undid the thick mat of shimmering red hair which had laid beneath, and with just a stroke or two of her brush restored it to its glorious natural state.

She then closed her purse, picked up the suitcase and went to the door of her room.

“Farewell, When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder Bible Seminary and Junior College Dorm Room,” she said, and then she began to sing, as she ran past the brawling students and security force to her car.

“
Pourquoi
t’occuper
encore d’un
coeur
qui
n’est
pas a
toi
? En vain
tu
dis
: je
t’adore
.
Tu
n’obtiendras
rien
de
moi
.
C’est
en vain.’’*

She sang with such brilliance of tone, such sweetness, such command of her voice that momentarily the fighting stopped as security force and student body alike looked at her. For a brief moment, so startling was the beauty of her voice that her startling beauty was forgotten. But only for a brief moment. And then they were after her.

She beat them to her Volkswagen and locked the door. After a moment’s frightening hesitation, the engine caught. She put the Bug in gear, and, by both weaving from side to side, and by jamming on the brakes unexpectedly, was able to shake from the roof and hood all of her admirers before she shot off the campus.

She sang one more line from
Carmen
as she pointed the Bug’s nose toward Spruce Harbor: “
Jamais
Carmen ne
cedera
;
libre
elle
est
nee, et
libre
elle
moura
.”**

(* Act Three, Scene 26, final duo from
Carmen:
“Why concern yourself with a heart that is no longer yours? In vain you say, ‘I love you. You’ll get nothing from me. It’s all in vain.”)

(** “Carmen will never give in; free she was born and free she will die.”)

Five minutes after
Bobby-Sue/
Brunhilde
Roberts set out for Spruce Harbor, the telephone rang in the residence of Hawkeye Pierce. Truth to tell, both he and Trapper John were glad to hear the somewhat strident ring.

“That must be some sort of medical emergency,” Hawkeye said, jumping up from the table where his wife, Born-Again Bob, and Weeping Wilma were toasting Bobby-Sue/
Brunhilde’s
future operatic success with a special cocktail, known as a Holy Whippersnapper,* the recipe for which had been provided by Born-Again Bob.

(* For those with a sick interest in such things, a Holy Whippersnapper is made of equal parts of clam juice, cranberry juice, carrot juice, and the juice of one persimmon. Shake well with ice, pour in glass, and add a
spritz
of soda water. Hold nose before attempting to drink.)

“Possibly even a catastrophe,” Trapper John agreed, jumping to his feet and following his old pal into the den.

As Hawkeye quickly pushed the week’s
unironed
wash away from the bookcase, and then the books in the bookcase away from the booze, Trapper John answered the telephone.

“The residence of Hawkeye Pierce,” he said. “Cut-rate gallbladder
jerkings
, assorted fancy surgery, and advice to the lovelorn. May I help you, sir or madam, as the case may be?”

By the time he had said all this, Hawkeye had not only removed the top from the bottle, but had had sufficient time to pay close attention to the sacred medical admonition “Physician, heal thyself” by taking what he thought of as a healthy couple of belts from the bottle. At that point, Trapper John snatched the bottle from Hawkeye’s hands and replaced it with the telephone receiver.

“Have I the privilege of speaking with Dr. Pierce?” the caller said, the English impeccable in every nuance and inflection.

“Yes, you do,” Hawkeye said, “and I also dabble in psychiatry, which explains how the phone came to be answered in the manner in which it was. I specialize in mad Irishmen.”

“How interesting,” the caller said. “Doctor, I am Senator George H. Kamikaze.”

“Of course you are!” Hawkeye said. He covered the mouthpiece and told Trapper John who the caller had said he was. They both grinned broadly.

“What did you say?” Senator Kamikaze said.

“I said, ‘Of course you are,’ ” Hawkeye said.

“Well, now that we have reached agreement on that point, perhaps it would well behoove us to reach, as rapidly as possible, while still maintaining complete comprehension on the part of both parties, the reason I’m calling.”

“Good idea,” Hawkeye said. He then handed the telephone to Trapper John with the announcement, “Senator Kamikaze wants to talk to you.”

“How are you, Senator?” Trapper John said. “How’s every little old thing?”

“Your voice keeps changing,” Senator Kamikaze said.

“My father used to say that very same thing,” Trapper John said. “What can I do for you?”

“Ask not, Doctor, what you can do for me, but rather what you can do for our Beloved Leader,” Senator Kamikaze replied.

“I can tell you what I’d like to do to our Beloved Leader,” Trapper John said, and took in a deep breath preparatory to doing just that.

“The correct active preposition, Doctor, I’m afraid, is ‘for,’ ” Senator Kamikaze said.

“In that case, Senator, the obvious reply is that there is nothing I would willingly do
for
that man. You obviously have the wrong number.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Senator Kamikaze said. “Let me be blunt, Doctor.”

“Please do,” Trapper John said.

“You have it in your power, Doctor, to cause to cease and desist two activities presently in progress affecting the security and good name of our beloved country.”

“Such as?”

“The Russians moving armored divisions around Poland and East Germany and the Soviet ambassador banging his shoe on his desk at the United Nations and saying unkind things about You-know-who.”

“Well, I’m all for stopping the Russian armored divisions from moving around, but to tell you the truth, Senator, I find myself rather in agreement with the unkind things the ambassador has been saying about You-know-who. As a matter of fact, I am seriously thinking of writing him a letter pointing out some character deficiencies in You-know-who he has so far overlooked.”

“That thought ran through my mind, too,” the senator said, “but that was before You-know-who put it to me that my patriotic duty lay in other directions.”

“Such as?”

“To get instantly to the bottom line, Doctor,” Senator Kamikaze said, “You-know-who believes that international tension can be greatly reduced if I can get two people—specifically,
Shur
-lee
Strydent
and Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov—to go to Moscow.”

“
Shur
-lee
Strydent
, the world’s ugliest movie star? That
Shur
-lee
Strydent
?”

“That is correct.”

“And
Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov?”

“That is also correct.”

“That sounds like something You-know-who would think up,” Trapper John said.

“I would suggest that it behooves us to give You-know-who the benefit of the doubt,” the senator said.

“We already have,” Trapper John said. “He got elected, didn’t he?”

“Further sacrifice is demanded of us all, I am afraid.”

“And where do I fit into this mad scheme?” Trapper John asked.

“It has been suggested that you have some influence over Mr. Korsky-Rimsakov,” the senator said. “It has been specifically suggested that you ask Mr. Korsky-Rimsakov to go to Moscow.”

“I see,” Trapper John said. “And where do you fit into this insanity, Senator?”

“I am, at this very moment, en route in Air Force One to Spruce Harbor International Airport, Doctor, accompanied by, believe it or not, Ms.
Shur
-lee
Strydent
.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I jest not, sir. The lady is at this very moment regaling the crew with her well-worn rendition of ‘Over the Rainbow.’ ” He paused, and then went on, “Listen.” He apparently took the telephone from his ear and held it up. Trapper John, wincing, took the telephone from his ear when the unmistakable shrill and piercing voice of Ms.
Strydent
came over the airwaves. “See?” the Senator said. “Or, more accurately, hear?”

“I think I’m beginning to understand, Senator,” Trapper John said.

“Then you are willing to cooperate?”

“Nothing would please me more,” Trapper John said.

“Then you are prepared to accompany me and Ms.
Strydent
to Paris, and there to exercise your good offices vis-à-vis Mr. Korsky-Rimsakov in suggesting that he go to Moscow, and go without making reference to his litigation regarding the ownership of the Bolshoi Theatre?”