“I see,” said Major Haskell. “Now perhaps we are getting somewhere. In what way does he remind you of your father?”
“He doesn’t play tennis.”
“Why doesn’t your father play tennis?” Major Haskell asked, sort of by reflex, and regretted the question even before the answer.
“Because the harpies of the shore have plucked the eagle of the sea,” Hawkeye explained. “He can’t take the ball on the rise no more. They have laid poor Jesse in his grave.”
“I see,” answered the Major. “Captain Pierce, tell me about yourself. Feel free to talk. I want to help you. Perhaps if you’d just relax and open up and let the words come, you’d feel better and I’d be able to help you.”
“Dad, I feel great.”
“Talk to me anyhow, Captain. Just talk about anything that comes into your head.”
“Death is an elephant, torch-eyed and horrible, foam-flanked and terrible,” Hawkeye commented.
Major Haskell lit a cigarette.
“You nervous or something?” asked Hawkeye.
“Not at all,” the Major replied, nervously.
“Hey, Dad, I’ll give you a nice buy on an elephant. Velly clean. Takes penicillim. Finest kind.”
“Captain Pierce, what are you up to? Frankly, I can’t decide whether you’re crazy or just some kind of screwball.”
“Well, why don’t you mull it over for a while. You got anything to trade in?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you want a clean deal on a clean elephant, or you got some kind of used up elephant you wanta stick me with in return for my best elephant?”
“Look, Captain Pierce—”
“You hate me, don’t you?” said Hawkeye. “Just like Duke and Trapper hate me.”
“I’m sure no one hates you, Captain.”
“They sure as hell do.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a great mahout. I’m an elephant boy. That’s all I ever wanted to be but because the elephants like me so good, the people all hate me.”
“Captain Pierce, I think we’ll send you to the States for treatment.”
“Finest Kind,” said Hawkeye, rising, and added: “Be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet,” and cut out on swift, jubilant feet for Mrs. Lee’s where he found Duke and Trapper John at lunch, or rather at pre-lunch martinis. They appeared unusually happy.
“Here’s the nut,” said Trapper. “How do they handle you hopelessly deteriorated schizophrenics nowadays?”
“The shrinker said he was gonna send me back to the States,” Hawkeye informed them. “Maybe I oughta take him up on it. I don’t know how they treat it, and I don’t plan to find out. Now tell me why you guys look so happy.”
“You’ll never believe it, Hawk,” Trapper filled him in, “but Mrs. Lee actually has an epileptic whore, or at least a babe who has some kind of convulsion every time she entertains a client. She’s been scaring the customers silly, but with proper publicity she should go good.”
Duke and Trapper had already told Mrs. Lee of the potential value of her convulsing employee. They had predicted that there would be some phone calls before long, inquiring as to her existence and availability. When the phone rang, it was answered by Mrs. Lee, whose round cherubic face broke into a wide smile as she nodded her head rapidly.
“Epileptic whore hava yes,” she assured the party on the other end of the phone. “Velly clean, school teacher.”
Mrs. Lee described all her girls as “velly clean.” Beyond that, they were divided into three subcategories: movie actresses, cherry girls and school teachers. A girl’s status varied with Mrs. Lee’s usually shrewd estimate of the customer’s needs.
There was a commotion at the front entrance as Major Haskell appeared with two M.P.’s. Hawkeye was led to an area of seclusion by Mrs. Lee as Major Haskell and his troops entered the dining room.
“Has Captain Pierce been here?” he demanded of Trapper and Duke.
“Hell, no,” said Duke. “We figured you all had him under wraps. How’d he get away?”
“I don’t know,” said Haskell, “but that boy is way out. It’s imperative that I find him.”
“If I were you, I’d search the waterfront,” suggested Trapper. “He might be looking for mermaids.”
“How about you fellows helping out? You said he meant everything to you. I should think you’d help me find him before he harms himself or someone else.”
“If he’s all that crazy, the hell with him,” said Trapper. “Yeah,” the Duke said. “We got appointments with the epileptic whore anyway.”
“I’m tired of hearing about the epileptic whore,” stated the Major. “What’s it all about anyhow?”
“Epileptic whore hava yes, Major,” smiled Mrs. Lee. “Velly clean, school teacher. Finest Kind.”
Major Haskell perked his ears at the last expression, but before he could draw any conclusions Trapper started talking.
“Major,” he said, “a guy in your business really should take a crack at this broad out of professional interest. It’s an opportunity that’s unlikely to come your way again. You could make a name for yourself writing papers about her.”
The Major sat down, ordered a drink and excused the M.P.’s. “You may have a point, gentlemen. Can you fix me up? It should be quite an interesting case.”
“The fastest ride in the Far East Command,” Trapper assured him.
“And y’all may have my reservation,” Duke told him. “I was on for three o’clock, but I can see that it’ll mean more to you all.”
“That’s very kind of you, Captain,” replied Major Haskell.
They had a few more drinks, ate an extended lunch, and at 3:00 p.m. Major Haskell went to keep his appointment.
“Good luck,” said Trapper. “Don’t break your stem.”
“Y’all watch out when she sunfishes,” warned Duke.
Within fifteen minutes the Major, looking somewhat pale and drawn, reappeared and nervously ordered a double Scotch.
“That was quick,” said Duke. “Major, y’all must be one of them short-time skivvy boys.”
The Major did not reply.
“Come on, Major,” urged Trapper, “how was it?”
“I don’t think it’s epilepsy. I think it’s a purely hysterical convulsion,” replied the Major.
“Yeah, but how was it?” insisted Duke.
“Tremendous,” said the Major and departed.
For the next two days, business at Mrs. Lee’s was big. The epileptic whore was in popular demand. The Swampmen hung around, observed with interest, interviewed many of the survivors, but did not avail themselves of her services.
On the second day, Hawkeye asked, “When are you guys gonna try her?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” answered Trapper.
“What’s the hurry?” asked Duke. “When y’all gonna try her yourself?”
“Never,” said Hawkeye. “I’m a man of simple needs, which have already been adequately fulfilled for the time being.”
On the third day Colonel Henry Blake, returning to his duties as C.O. of the 4077th MASH, stopped at the 325th Evac, called his outfit and requested transportation. He spoke to Colonel DeLong, who told him that the Swampmen were undergoing psychiatric evaluation at the 325th Evac.
Henry laughed with delight, but to himself. He sought out Major Haskell, who told him that McIntyre and Forrest were at Mrs. Lee’s but that Pierce had dropped from sight.
“Don’t worry, Major, they’re all at Mrs. Lee’s. I’ll go over there. When my driver comes would you be kind enough to send him to pick us up?”
“I’m sorry, Colonel, but even if Pierce can be found, I couldn’t possibly allow him to return to duty. I’m sure, when you see him, you’ll agree with me.”
“Pierce isn’t any crazier now than he’s ever been,” Henry assured him. “Don’t let him worry you, Major.”
“I’ll come with you if I may,” said Haskell.
They found the Swampmen in Mrs. Lee’s bar.
“Hiya, Henry. How they goin’?” asked Hawkeye. “I bet you got plenty in Tokyo, didn’t you?”
“Shut up, Pierce. What’s this all about?”