Richard Hooker - MASH - A Novel About Three Army Doctors

“Hey, Duke,” he asked, “whadda ya know about mer­maids?”

“Nothin’,” Duke assured him.

Trapper John, a leading authority on many subjects, joined the conversation. “In my opinion, there are mermaids in this river.”

“I’m forced to keep an open mind on that,” said Hawkeye. “Certainly if there are mermaids in this river, we’d be just plain foolish not to grab a few of them.”

“How y’all gonna catch a mermaid?” asked Duke.

“In a mermaid trap, naturally,” said the Hawk.

“How do you make a mermaid trap?”

“Just like a lobster trap, only bigger.”

“Let’s get goin’ on it.”

“OK”

They paddled ashore, dressed, went to the supply tent, where a cooperative sergeant provided material and tools. Hawkeye Pierce, in his boyhood, had built many lobster pots. For a man of his experience and background, the construction of a mermaid trap didn’t seem to present a major problem, and the next morning found the Swampmen well along on their project when again Colonel DeLong dropped by.

“What are you doing here, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Buildin’ us a mermaid trap,” Duke informed him. “Y’all want to help?”

The Colonel was trying to blend into the environment. “I see,” he said. “Where do you expect to catch mermaids?”

“The river’s alive with them,” answered Trapper.

“I see,” said the Colonel again. “Assuming that you are able to catch one of these creatures, what do you propose to do with it?”

Hawkeye gave the Colonel a look of impatience and scorn. “We’re gonna screw the ass off her,” he stated.

The Colonel was desperately trying to hang in there. “Do you have reason to believe that mermaids may be effectively utilized for that purpose?”

“Oh, Finest Kind,” Hawkeye assured him.

“Numero Uno,” said Trapper John.

“Yeah,” said the Duke,

Colonel DeLong retreated to his tent to think. Colonel Blake, before departing for Toyko, had deliberately and perhaps maliciously not briefed him on the Swampmen.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye had words with the Duke and Trap­per John, which went something like this: “I haven’t built a lobster trap in years, and I’ve lost the touch. This mermaid trap has already become bigger than I am. Let’s change the game. We got this guy DeLong buzzing anyhow. Let’s con­vince him we’re nuts, and maybe he’ll ship us out for awhile until Henry gets back and catches on. They got psychiatrists in Seoul, and we’ll be close enough to get back if business picks up.”

Trapper took the cue. He went to the next tent and spoke to Rafael Rodriguez, a lieutenant in the Medical Service Corps.

“Rafe,” he said, “we’d like a little help. Would you be willing to go tell Colonel DeLong we’ve flipped and suggest emergency psychiatric care?”

Rafael Rodriguez had been on The Swamp’s list of nonsur­gical good boys for several months, and now he justified the faith bestowed upon him. He went to Colonel DeLong’s tent, knocked respectfully and was bade to enter.

“Sit down. Have a beer, Lieutenant,” the Colonel urged him.

“Thank you, Sir. Sir, you look troubled. Perhaps I could be of help. I’ve been here for some time, you know.”

“Perhaps you could, Rodriguez,” the Colonel said. “I’m new. This is a strange and unusual situation for me. I’m very worried about three of our surgeons: Pierce, Mclntyre and Forrest. Their work, in the little time I’ve been here, has impressed me, but the last day or two their general behavior has caused me considerable concern.”

“Sir, I don’t blame you. In fact, that’s why I’ve come to see you. I’ve known them since they came. They have been good men, but I’m compelled to say that I’m disturbed about them. Sir, I know them intimately. Something has happened. Sir, I think they need psychiatric care.”

“That’s all I need to hear,” said Colonel DeLong. “I thought so, but I needed the confirmation of a reliable observer who’s been on the scene longer than I. I’ll take the responsibility of telling them about it.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Rafael Rodriguez. “I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”

“I understand, Lieutenant,” said Colonel DeLong.

Rafe took a back route to The Swamp, poured a Scotch and gleefully informed the occupants that they were to under­go psychiatric evaluation. He left after one Scotch, lest the Colonel catch him there. Half an hour later, Colonel DeLong entered The Swamp.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’ll come directly to the point. I am informed that your work here has been of exceptional quality. However, my own observations, confirmed by others, indicate that now you need help. Apparently prolonged responsibility in this situation, along with the heat and the isolation, has taken its toll. I’ve arranged for you to go to the 325th Evac tomorrow for a few days rest and to be seen by the psychiatric service. They will determine what happens next.”

Hawkeye Pierce looked at Trapper John. “I always knew you was foolish,” he said.

Duke Forrest whined, “I cain’t go to no hospital. I gotta get me a mermaid.”

Trapper John rose from his sack. “Colonel, if I could catch a mermaid tonight, you’d let me take her to the hospital with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course!” said the Colonel.

“Colonel,” said Hawkeye, “I’ll go along with this for only one reason. A few days down there will give me a shot at the epileptic whore, which has become one of my life’s ambitions, and in this general geographical location that’s the only thing that interests me more than a mermaid.”

Colonel DeLong desperately, all of a sudden, wanted to ask about the epileptic whore but restrained himself. “Transporta­tion has been arranged,” he told them. “You’ll be picked up at 0800 hours.”

“Finest Kind,” agreed Hawkeye, as the Colonel left. Duke and Trapper turned to Hawkeye.

“What’s this about an epileptic whore?” they demanded.

“It just popped into my head. I got a buddy back home who’s a psychiatrist. He had a patient who was an epileptic, and every time her husband tried her she threw a fit. All the guy had to do was plug himself in and the world went crazy. To me it always sounded like a great bit. For all I know, they may have an epileptic whore in Seoul. Anyway we might be able to use the idea. How do we handle the psychiatrist?”

Trapper was thinking, which was vaguely recognized by his colleagues, so silence ensued for several minutes. Finally he spoke.

“We tell the headshrinker nothing except name, rank, serial number, and we want to get fixed up with the epileptic whore.”

Silence again, while Duke and Hawkeye mulled it over. “Whadda you think?” asked Trapper.

“I think Henry’ll be back in four days,” said Duke, “and that’s how long we’ll get away with this crap.”

“I think it’s OK,” said Hawkeye. “Let’s tell the shrink the broad’s at Mrs. Lee’s. I don’t figure to spend four days down there without some psycho-sexual-physiological relief.”

“I believe,” said Trapper John, “that the group is in full accord in that area.”

Trapper mixed another round of drinks. A few moments passed before Hawkeye spoke again.

“I figure we’d better think this over a little more,” he said. “Psychiatrists are never overly troubled with the smarts, but even the dumbest one is going to smell a rat if we all go in and say the same thing. I kind of have a yen for this deal. Why don’t you guys tell the shrink that you’re OK, that you’ve been riding along to protect me, and that I’ve suddenly become much worse. I think I can drive whatever simple son-of-a-bitch we encounter out of his mind.”