“Be that you, Hawkeye?” yelled Ben Simmons, who’d needed his appendix out during the winter.
“Ben! How be yuh?" asked Hawkeye. “You getting much?”
“You might call it a lot,” Ben answered modestly.
“I’m sure I would.”
“Hey, Hawkeye, I wantcha to meet Mr. Russell. He’s from the college to Orono.”
“I’m Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, Mr. Russell,” explained Hawkeye. “I had the pleasure of removing Ben’s appendix awhile back. Unfortunately the ethics of my profession forced me to stop there.”
“I think I know what you mean,” said Mr. Russell.
“Ayuh,” said Ben Simmons. “By Jesus, I think I may go up to the parsonage.”
“I hear there’s action there,” said Hawkeye. “Is it true the Reverend is a marriage counselor, in addition to his other activities?”
“You might say,” agreed Ben, “But I ain’t heard of him counselin’ no couples. Mostly he just counsels the female and you gotta figure he ain’t too bad. Lotta young folks been stayin’ together, just so long as the Reverend can keep on makin’ mornin’ calls. Hung, he is."
“I’m sure,” agreed Hawkeye. “The faith is kept in many ways.”
Ben Simmons, a six-pack in him, aimed for the parsonage, leaving Mr. Russell and Hawkeye Pierce in the bright sunshine on Tedium Cove Wharf.
“I just don’t know what to make of that man,” exclaimed Mr. Russell.
“That’s just because you weren’t born and brought up around here,” said Hawkeye. “He may not be the exact average, but he’s not unusual either.”
“He’s an animal,” exclaimed Mr. Russell.
“Perhaps more overtly than you and me, Mr. Russell, but quantitatively not much more. If I knew where I could get a good piece of tail half an hour from now, with no trouble from it, I’d get it. Probably you would, too.”
“But a minister’s wife!” persisted Mr. Russell.
“Think a little, Mr. Russell. A minister in Tedium Cove, whatever his denominational handle, has to be very dumb or very something else with rare exceptions. I happen to know that the Reverend and Mrs. Titcomb are treated for venereal disease about once a month. I’d say that they are dumb and something else, too. I’ll leave the final evaluation of this to you, since you’re a sociologist.”
“I must admit I’m out of my element,” said Professor Russell. “I can’t really believe this sort of thing goes on. Well, I mean, I know it goes on, but is Ben Simmons going to just walk up to the parsonage and go to bed with the minister’s wife?”
“Depends on the length of the line,” said Hawkeye.
“Hi, Hawkeye,” came the voice of John Simmons. “By Jesus, Hawk, I was gonna take my woman to the hospital soon as I got through haulin’ but she come on quick and the State Police took her in. I got me a new daughter.”
“Congratulations, John. How do you plan to celebrate?
“I been broken off, except to the parsonage, for three month. Maybe I’ll up and go git me a hunk of religion.”
“Good luck, John,” offered Hawkeye.
“Good Lord,” exclaimed Mr. Russell. “Ben Simmons and John Simmons are both heading for the parsonage.”
“Could be sociologically significant. Why don’t we see what happens?” Dr. Pierce suggested.
“Oh, my,” said Mr. Russell.
As they approached the parsonage they heard three voices, all loud, all outraged. What on earth is happening?” gasped Professor Russell, breaking into a gallop.
“Hold her up, Professor. Sounds like Mrs. Titcomb is defending her virtue.”
They approached warily, mounted the front porch and peeked through a window into the spacious living room of the old parsonage where Ben and John Simmons were thrashing about, threatening each other with death and mutilation. Mrs. Titcomb, armed with a baseball bat, circled warily and bided her time.
Swish went the bat, not too hard but not too soft, on John Simmons’s head, and the lights went out for the proud parent.
“By Gawd, Jenny, you got him good, you did,” applauded Ben Simmons. “Let’s get busy afore he comes to.”
There was a dull thud as Jenny Titcomb, apparently disenchanted with Ben Simmons, carefully brought the baseball bat to bear on his right temporal area. Ben joined John in dreamland.
“Oh, my God, my God,” wailed Professor Russell.
“This is real basic sociology, Professor,” said Hawkeye. “I hope you’re taking notes. That broad has a sweet swing. Reminds me of Musial, the way she holds it up high waiting for a shot.”
“What’ll we do?”
“I suppose we have to take these base hits to the hospital.”
Opening the screen door leading to the batting cage, Hawkeye walked in, followed by a trembling professor of sociology, and said: “Congratulations, Mrs. Titcomb. You are two for two. I’m Dr. Pierce. Professor Russell and I happened to be passing and heard the commotion. I guess maybe I’d better take over. These gentlemen could be seriously injured, although it’s unlikely since you hit them both in the head.”
“Oh, the Lord help me,” requested Jenny Titcomb.
“I don’t know about him, but I will, Jenny. Under the circumstances it’ll be easy for me and the Professor to testify that Ben and John knocked each other out, if anyone cares enough to ask, which isn’t likely.
“What do you have for wheels, Professor?” asked Hawkeye, as he examined the victims and decided that although unconscious and in need of care, they’d probably recover.
“A station wagon,” said the Professor.
“Get it, and we’ll take these fallen athletes to the hospital.”
As Professor Russell drove Hawkeye and the fallen athletes to Spruce Harbor General, Hawkeye was bemoaning his fate. “Wouldn’t you know it?” he complained. “I take a day off, just put in for some gas and the first thing you know I’m working again.”
“You seem more concerned about your day off than the lives of two men,” said Professor Russell.
“That’s where you peripheral thinkers always blow it, Professor. Once in the hospital, they’ll get well with just token care, or they’ll require a neurosurgeon, which I am not. Nobody can do anything out here. I’m just the guy who decides that whatever happens, you and I will keep the law off the broad because putting the law to the broad would serve no purpose in this case.”
“Do you mean to say that, if these men died, you’d protect that woman?”
“Sure. Even if it got to court, no jury would convict her. So why let it get to court? Think of the taxpayers’ money that would be saved.”
“I believe your attitude is basically antisocial, Dr. Pierce. Society has certain rules, and if these rules are broken, we have no society.”
“Think peripherally all you want,” said Hawkeye. “Around here I’m known and you aren’t so nobody’ll pay any attention, even if you blow the whistle. What you ought to do is pursue this case, at the purely academic level. I’ll bet you both these guys get a roll in the hay from this broad within a week after they’re out of the hospital.”
As Dr. Pierce and Professor Russell arrived at the hospital and helped unload Ben and John Simmons onto stretchers, Goofus MacDuff approached and said, “Hey, Hawkeye, they’ve been looking for you. The coast guard sent a plane out.”
“Goofus, you don’t mean it? My popularity knows no bounds. Are you going to tell me why the coast guard sent a plane out or are you just going to hint around?”
“Gee, they got a man with a flag in his chest. Everybody thought you should see him.”
“I’ll sure as hell go along with that, Goofus. Even a thoracic surgeon with my background and experience hardly ever gets to see a man with a flag in his chest.
I’m some damn glad you thought of me.”
“He’s in the emergency room,” said Goofus. “Trapper John is there.”
Trapper John, called on the hospital-to-Thief-Island-Radio, had arrived ten minutes earlier and found that the
patient, Reverend Titcomb of Tedium Cove, did indeed have a flag in his chest, the kind of flag sold everywhere during patriotic holidays. A small flag with a fairly firm, two-foot-long wooden staff, about two inches of which had penetrated the area between Reverend Titcomb’s left fourth and fifth ribs, a little to the left of the breastbone. Trapper John, after one look at the patient, whose pulse and blood pressure were quite normal, realized that the flagstaff had penetrated the intercostal space, not damaged the heart, and that the wound, however impressive to onlookers, was inconsequential. Treatment would consist of removing the flag, applying a small dressing, injecting tetanus toxoid and perhaps an antibiotic. A day or two of hospitalization would be necessary to calm the patient’s nerves.
Trapper, in swimming trunks, was accompanied by Lucinda Lively, in her usual bikini. Trapper, interrupted on a day of leisure may or may not have had a touch or two of Old Bejoyfull. Either way, Hawkeye knew that Trapper was putting on a show.
“What’s the word, Trapper?” asked Hawkeye.
“Not my line of work. Apparently the guy’s a vampire and somebody tried to drive a stake through his heart. He missed the heart. I got no use for vampires and if the heart is not involved, it’s out of my field.”
“The only thing in your field is cranberries,” said Hawkeye. “Are you sure he’s a vampire?”
“All I know is the stake isn’t in his heart. Why don’t you order a vampire test?”
Turning to Goofus MacDuff, who lurked in the background, Hawkeye ordered: “Goofus, you’re the Medical Director. Unleash all your forces and find out if this guy is a vampire. Remove his right great toenail, soak it in Formalin for ten minutes and hold it up to the sun.”
“What’ll that prove?” asked Goofus.
“I don’t know, but it might save your eyesight if there’s an eclipse.”
Hawkeye had been aware of Jocko Allcock’s presence and had no doubt that Jocko would provide the basic facts of the case. Joining Jocko, he asked, “Well, who stuck the flag in Reverend Titcomb, and why?”
Jocko was only too pleased to supply the information. “The Reverend was over to Eagle Head this mornin’ marriage counselin’ Sally Witham. He was a marriage counselin’ the livin’ bejeezus out of her in that tent they got in their backyard when Jake come home. Seems like the old Chevy engine in his lobster boat blew somethin’ and instead of haulin’ off’n Egg Rock, he was to home. Jake ain’t got nawthin’ agin religion but he don’t hold with marriage counselin’. He picked up that little flag was stuck in the lawn for the Fourth of July and he druv her right into the Reverend’s chest.”
“A true patriot,” observed Hawkeye.
“Ayuh. I guess so,” agreed Jocko.
A nurse approached and said: “Dr. McIntyre has turned the case over to you, Dr. Pierce.”
Dr. Pierce went to see his new patient and introduced himself. “The Lord is my shepherd,” the patient stated.
“Well, now, Reverend,” said Hawkeye, “I’m reminded of a scene from Mr. Roberts in which a sailor, stricken with gonorrhea in a supposedly clapless area, sought treatment from his physician. His physician, quite logically under the circumstances, questioned the patient’s basic philosophy, and withheld treatment until he’d made the patient fully aware of the significance of his affliction. I can do no less. You, Reverend, on the day after the Fourth of July, have our flag stuck in your chest. I understand your emotional discomfort but, after all, you are the only guy in Maine with a flag in your chest. I’ll remove it, if you wish, but I want to be very sure that in the future you won’t regret your decision.”
“The Lord is my shepherd,” answered Reverend Titcomb.
“Just in case Trapper’s wrong, will someone move the Stars and Stripes about halfway down before I pull them out?” asked Hawkeye.
“What?” asked a nurse.
“That’s the usual response to a simple order around here,” said Hawkeye. “Jocko, will you provide us with background music?”
“Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,” sang Jocko, as Hawkeye pulled the flag from Reverend Titcomb’s chest.
There was no gush of blood but suddenly, from afar, came the sounds of altercation. A nurse appeared, yelling: “There’s a fight in the intensive-care unit.”
“Ben and John have come to,” said Hawkeye. “Jocko, why don’t you take them home? Maybe the Professor will take me back to my boat.”
Jim Russell drove Hawkeye to Tedium Cove. “How’d it grab you, Professor?” asked Hawkeye.
“I just don’t know,” said Professor Russell.
“I figured as much,” said Hawkeye.
12
AS summer progressed Trapper John and Lucinda prepared for a long life on Thief Island. Trapper bought a twenty-six-foot diesel-powered lobster boat. A wooden floor appeared in The Swamp, as well as insulation and two potbellied oil stoves—one more than in the original, Korean Swamp. Lucinda, a lover of animals, had acquired, with no encouragement from Trapper, a Saint Bernard puppy, a black sheep, a white sheep and a pony.
In late July, Hawkeye Pierce, no longer on vacation, had lunch with Lucinda at the Bay View Café while Trapper fussed the postoperative care of a cardiac case. This was, in fact, Hawkeye’s first private meeting with his former secretary since the arrival of Trapper John.
“How is it?” asked Hawkeye.
“Beautiful. I’ve fallen in love with the guy, hook, line and sinker.”
“I’m glad,” said Hawkeye. “When are you getting married?”
Lucinda looked down at her beer and a common vascular phenomenon intensified the pink of her sunburned face. “I guess I touched a nerve,” said Hawkeye.
“Yes, Trapper wants to wait a year.”
“And you don’t?”
“No, I want to have a baby and get married. I also want a goat.”
“In that order?” asked Hawk.
“Any order.”
“I won’t bother to ask about the goat. No wonder Trapper wants to wait a year. Christ, if I had a broad who wanted a goat, I’d wait a year, too. Why don’t you get pregnant and force his hand?”
“He won’t let me.”
“How in hell have you avoided it? I know as your former doctor that you can’t take the pill and your periods are irregular as hell. What do you mean, he won’t let you?”
“Well, we sort of play Pope’s pinball and he takes my temperature every morning. He says if it’s over ninety-nine it means I’m ovulating and he rests for a few days.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Hawkeye said.
Between cases the next morning Hawkeye gave Lucinda Lively a thermometer.
“What’s this?” asked Lucinda.
“It’s a very special thermometer,” Hawkeye told her.
“How so?”
“Babe, it’s locked in at 98.6 degrees. It can’t go up.”
Hawkeye was confident that he’d solved Lucinda’s problem and that the solution needed no embellishment. Two days later, however, the Reverend Richard Titcomb, his flag-dented thorax nearly healed, appeared in Hawk’s office for a final checkup. Reassured about his health, the Reverend expounded his newly discovered divine mission, which was to forsake all sin, particularly of the flesh, and to rescue others weakened by lust.
“Amen,” said Dr. Pierce. “Such a sinner is Dr. McIntyre of Thief Island. Reverend Titcomb, I beg you, save him.”
The Reverend Titcomb responded appropriately. He charged out of Hawkeye’s office suffused with zeal and godliness. No one aware of his mission could doubt that Trapper and Lucinth would soon be shown the path of righteousness.
Dr. Pierce, as soon as Reverend Titcomb left, leaned back in his chair and laughed his head off. He had visions of the Reverend invading the cranberry bog; of the Reverend finding Trapper and Lucinda in a moment of passion; of Trapper John hurling the Reverend into the ocean. Dr. Pierce imagined all kinds of ridiculous happenings, but his imagination was meager and uninspired. He could not possibly guess that be
cause he gave Reverend Titcomb a mission Pasquale Merlino would, while hauling in a seine full of herring, get hit on the head by a mackerel.
Two days later Lucinda Lively described to Hawkeye the Reverend Titcomb’s visit to Thief Island.
Much to her surprise, Trapper John had not rejected Mr. Titcomb. He had listened, humbly, to the Reverend’s exhortation. He had knelt in prayer with Reverend Titcomb on the newly, installed wooden floor of The Swamp. Lucinda was quite impressed. Also she was worried.
“It just doesn’t seem normal for Trapper,” she said.
“It isn’t,” Hawk said. “I touted Titcomb onto Trapper for a laugh. It won’t make any difference. Just use my thermometer. We’ll both have to wait and see what Trapper’s up to.”
As an undergraduate Dr. McIntyre had been an enthusiastic member of the Dartmouth Outing Club. While serving as an army surgeon in Korea he had learned to fly helicopters. He intended secretly to fly to the top of Mount Everest and implant the banner of the Dartmouuth Outing Club where it could be discovered by Sir Edmund Hiliary, or whoever got there second. A variety of technical, financial and other problems had frustrated this ambition, so he’d settled for burning down the officers’ latrine.
Hawkeye believed that a man with this kind of vision and resourcefulness could cope with the Reverend Richard Titcomb. He heard, the day after the Reverend’s visit to Thief Island, that Trapper John was buying beer for Wrong Way Napolitano in the Bay View Café and knew that something would happen soon.
After the first beer, Wrong Way had said: “If you and Lucinda are looking for a raise, forget it. Intercontinental will pay one hundred a week and no more.”
“Such a thought never entered my mind,” Trapper assured him. “I understand you have great reflexes.”
“This is true,” admitted Wrong Way.
“Excellent,” said Trapper. “I want you to acquire a new skill.”
“Such as?”
“I want you to learn how to stick a fish in a guy’s ear from an altitude of one thousand feet”
M*A*S*H Goes To Maine Page 14