Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
Note and Disclaimer: Yep, we all know we don't own the M*A*S*H characters and plots or anything from the Bible. Any other silly questions?
For the fate of the sons of men and the fate of beasts is the same. As one dies, so dies the other; indeed, they all have the same breath and there is no advantage for man over beast, for all is vanity. All go to the same place. All came from the dust and all return to the dust. Who knows that the breath of man ascends upward and the breath of the beast descends downward to the earth?
Ecclesiastes 3:19-21
Those words from the Old Testament I have always repeated to myself over and over again, especially today, of all days. From the Christian burial this morning of a rare Catholic Korean woman who was killed in a minefield to another of a child trampled to death by the family oxen (and their only source of survival), I had been trying to comfort myself with those great words, but found it was almost empty. For we all become ashes and dust in the end, I had supposed, but as I walked back to the camp with my hands in my pockets and the tools of my office in a small backpack on my shoulders, I felt depressed once more.
And why not? I had just buried two Christian people, good people no doubt about it (as are all of God's creatures), and had to watch their families suffer the consequences and their grief. The woman was a farmer's wife and was trying to find new land for them to make a livelihood. The next thing they knew, an explosion was heard and her body laid in pieces in the fields. The child was only five years old and a sweet child, trying to get the fields ready for the seeds and the oxen she held suddenly went wild after hearing some gunshots, goring her. By the time the doctors reached her, she was dead.
The usual camp activities were underway when I came back inside its fold, but I could not get into this "spring fever" mood that held these people in its sway. I understood the losses these people suffered, as well as those around me, and a brief respite from the pain was hardly cause for celebration some days. I had seen their sacrifices, being away from their families, and see that death was taking a toll of them. The families here were losing them as well, but more permanently, and it was worse, much worse for them.
I soon was doing a circuit around the camp like I used to, getting my feet stuck in the mud many times and almost losing my boots to them. It was late April now and spring was in the air, but the weather was always unrelenting, just like this war. It gave us sunshine like today, but other days it would give rain, clouds and tears of boredom and rage. It was as if God was testing us, giving us happiness and then taking it away from us so quickly. It was a struggle, I must say, and one I never comprehended from a being I was supposed to follow with all my heart and dedicate my life to.
Why would God give us so many tests? Why must this life be so hard?
I asked myself these questions again and again. I had no shame in them, but it gnawed at me often. Ever since this war began, I was afraid…very afraid. And I could never tell what my purpose was to be. God wasn't ready yet to give it to me, but the obstacles he gave me along the way…it was difficult to accept them and to keep hopeful at the same time, to see His purpose. And I had many more occasions to officiate over, I figured, many more funerals, memorial services and servicing those who need Final Rites.
In time, the sun started to go down and a chill began to make me cold. I shivered in my thin jacket, willing myself to stop running round in circles, and followed some campmates to the Mess Tent. I heard whispers of entertainment in there and my curiosity was piqued as I tried to find a way inside amongst many people. I did not expect much for the entertainment, maybe Hawkeye and Trapper singing and dancing like the night before (when it was warmer and the fires in the stove were making me sweat), but it was something. Maybe God was giving me the gift of joy for a few minutes, perhaps to still my mind, and I had to take it. Gifts came in small ways too, I suppose, so I went inside and found a seat in the corner, alone.
The crowds were getting larger by the minute and the anticipation was high. I lost interest and soon played with the saltshaker absentmindedly as Hawkeye came to sit with me, a cup of coffee in his hands. Trapper was nowhere in sight, but I was keenly aware that he was always near Hawkeye somehow.
"Father," Hawkeye greeted me, seeing that I was distracted immediately. "Anything I could do?"
For once, Hawkeye was being serious and I was touched. "Nothing," I replied quietly, putting the saltshaker down on the table and forgetting it for a moment. "It went well, all thing's considering."
Hawkeye nodded, his eyes sympathetic. He knew as well as I did was it meant for those families without their beloved. He could not do no more than I could.
Before I knew it, the commotion grew louder and Hawkeye motioned my attention to the front. The doors to the Mess Tent banged open with an immense flourish and Radar and Trapper came in with a human-sized red egg, rolled in on a gurney and with great effort on both of their parts. While Majors Burns and Houlihan looked on with disgust (as they normally did when silliness was about, but the two were also in command and watching everyone carefully), Hawkeye grinned. There was a conspiracy about and the whole camp was about to see it.
"Ladies and germs," Trapper announced, bringing the noise level down to almost nothing. "I bring you a rare treat from the sandy roads and potholes of Korea…the Lebanese phoenix!"
It was with great fanfare that the red egg cracked open, splitting the shell into two easily and dramatically. Flames jumped out and soon were drenched and dying into ashes. From the ashes though came out the largest, hairiest and ugliest red and pink bird that ever lived.
Klinger!
Excited, the camp muttered amongst each other in whispers, watching in wild fascination when Klinger rose from the ashes, naked except for the feathers glued to his body. He screeched like a bird too, shaking the great dust from his shoulders with his wings, and prepared to jump from his shell, flapping the great arms of his and taking flight with the wings, up and up and up…
Only to fall flat on his face.
"The phoenix has risen!" Trapper cried out loudly as the camp laughed with the announcement. Klinger, in his humiliation, got up and again tried to take flight, this time actually taking to the air and his secret of flight with him. This time, Klinger rose to the top of the Mess Tent and ripped a hole at the top, flying away from the camp.
Just before the tent went down and us covered with green material, Major Burns yelled loudly, "Get the MP's! Klinger is escaping!"
Before I knew it, fabric covered me and I was in the dark. I struggled with the others to get out, but waited patiently as the MP's helped us out, one by one, each of them cursing the act or laughing because it was Klinger. By then, when I was out into the dusk and upcoming darkness, I saw Trapper and Hawkeye nearby, laughing hysterically, but it wasn't for long. Majors Burns and Houlihan were not amused as they came out, ordering the captains' arrests. They soon had the two cuffed and about to be marched away for tent arrest, the MP in charge of them grinning from ear to ear with the prank. For what charge the two were under, I did not know (most likely for assisting in helping one escape the camp), but I did see what their message truly was from.
From the ashes, we all are resurrected. We can begin anew, start from scratch and have a second chance. For many people though, their way of life was ruined, but there are always ways to rise above your troubles and to set yourself free.
I looked up to the skies, seeing Klinger some distance away and appearing all the more like a giant red and pink bird with peachy-colored feet. He was falling again, trying to gain a little momentum with his large wings, but was slowly dipping into some trees outside the camp, near Rosie's Bar. I grinned, shielding my eyes from the sinking sun, and started to walk away to my own tent, aware that we are all the same people…and that we live and die the same as well. The pathways are different, but we are human regardless.
God speed, Klinger…God speed, and may you get back home to Toledo soon. I pray we all go home soon too.
This story is dedicated to Mistress Twist, who reminded me through all our writings that it was always best to go back to ours roots. Thank you for everything!