The strangled gurgling of the engine was drowned out in the ears of the
corporal who was just now coming around by the screaming of his wife in his
ear. She was standing beside the jeep, her arms flailing as she gestured
wildly and bellowed at him to wake up, to get up, and to get the hell out
of that dress.
Klinger groggily pushed himself into a half-sitting position, and shook his head, "I wore it on our wedding day and now it just won't come--" was all he said before his words were choked off.
Mulcahy turned his head in surprise; to Klinger, it seemed like indignation.
"Klinger, you're awake!" he exclaimed gently, moving to put a supportive hand on the corpsman's shoulder.
"Klinger, you're disgraceful." Klinger heard, and sat up further, putting a hand on his own shoulder and fingering the lacy trim there fondly, needily, but hopelessly ashamed, and then--
"I know. I know, but it just won't-- oh, god!"
He flung his arm back over the seat of the jeep, clinging onto it for dear life as he spied the city of Toledo stretched out below him as he looked up into the air, feeling a nauseating rush of a feeling of being about to hurdle downward (upward?) to meet his end on the city streets.
"Klinger! What is it?" Mulcahy swerved under the steering wheel to put his hands on the sprawling shoulders of the terrified Klinger, "Klinger, tell me what's wrong..."
"You sick, deluded idiot," Klinger heard, "Why don't you go back where you came from."
A laughing came from the back seat of the jeep, a sound of a man laughing, "Ha! You want us to take that thing back? Not if you gave me five dollars. I've seen pig carcasses made better excuses for men than that... cross-dressing freak."
Morty laughed. Soon Laverne's incisive cackle joined along with him. The priest who leaned over him glared in disgust, but soon began to laugh, himself, at the pitiful excuse of a sinner. From the sky the guffaws and sniggers of the entire city of Toledo fell on his head like so many shell casings.
Mulcahy, watching over Klinger in concern, and perhaps a bit paranoid, himself, looked back into the back seat as Klinger looked there, then up in the sky. The sky was deep blue, the remains of a beautiful day fading into the cool indigo of evening, and the jeep was empty except for the two of them. A bird chirped curiously at them from a bush.
The chaplain knelt on the driver's seat, and hunched down close to Klinger, "Calm down, Klinger. I know it's hard, but just... concentrate... tell me what's wrong. Talk to me, Klinger..."
Klinger visibly gritted his teeth and, pulling on a torn and filthy hem of white train, he lifted the material slowly toward Mulcahy's questioning face. "It won't-- I know, I know, but it just won't come off," Klinger replied tearily to who-knows-whom-or-what.
Father Mulcahy looked down briefly, then back up into Klinger's eyes, terrified by their dark circles and their frenzied stare. "The... the mud?" he questioned gently, "Well," he tried, "I'm sure we can get it washed. We can send it out to Seoul," he rattled in a soothing voice, "We can get it dry-cleaned. You-- you'll be dazzling in white again, soon enough." He offered the frazzled Klinger a smile.
Klinger stared intently back at him, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows knitted upward, at least showing that he was hearing something of what the priest said. "No." He started, calmly, at least, "No! You can't make me go! Father! Don't make me leave! Good God, no!" he began to flail, sitting up and whacking the priest in the underside of the chin with an elbow.
Father Mulcahy, taken aback, was knocked backward and tumbled out of the jeep onto the rocky ground. He could vaguely hear Klinger's pumps shuffling on the ground; looking over, he managed to note that one of the white shoes had lost its heel before he lost consciousness.
~
Klinger groggily pushed himself into a half-sitting position, and shook his head, "I wore it on our wedding day and now it just won't come--" was all he said before his words were choked off.
Mulcahy turned his head in surprise; to Klinger, it seemed like indignation.
"Klinger, you're awake!" he exclaimed gently, moving to put a supportive hand on the corpsman's shoulder.
"Klinger, you're disgraceful." Klinger heard, and sat up further, putting a hand on his own shoulder and fingering the lacy trim there fondly, needily, but hopelessly ashamed, and then--
"I know. I know, but it just won't-- oh, god!"
He flung his arm back over the seat of the jeep, clinging onto it for dear life as he spied the city of Toledo stretched out below him as he looked up into the air, feeling a nauseating rush of a feeling of being about to hurdle downward (upward?) to meet his end on the city streets.
"Klinger! What is it?" Mulcahy swerved under the steering wheel to put his hands on the sprawling shoulders of the terrified Klinger, "Klinger, tell me what's wrong..."
"You sick, deluded idiot," Klinger heard, "Why don't you go back where you came from."
A laughing came from the back seat of the jeep, a sound of a man laughing, "Ha! You want us to take that thing back? Not if you gave me five dollars. I've seen pig carcasses made better excuses for men than that... cross-dressing freak."
Morty laughed. Soon Laverne's incisive cackle joined along with him. The priest who leaned over him glared in disgust, but soon began to laugh, himself, at the pitiful excuse of a sinner. From the sky the guffaws and sniggers of the entire city of Toledo fell on his head like so many shell casings.
Mulcahy, watching over Klinger in concern, and perhaps a bit paranoid, himself, looked back into the back seat as Klinger looked there, then up in the sky. The sky was deep blue, the remains of a beautiful day fading into the cool indigo of evening, and the jeep was empty except for the two of them. A bird chirped curiously at them from a bush.
The chaplain knelt on the driver's seat, and hunched down close to Klinger, "Calm down, Klinger. I know it's hard, but just... concentrate... tell me what's wrong. Talk to me, Klinger..."
Klinger visibly gritted his teeth and, pulling on a torn and filthy hem of white train, he lifted the material slowly toward Mulcahy's questioning face. "It won't-- I know, I know, but it just won't come off," Klinger replied tearily to who-knows-whom-or-what.
Father Mulcahy looked down briefly, then back up into Klinger's eyes, terrified by their dark circles and their frenzied stare. "The... the mud?" he questioned gently, "Well," he tried, "I'm sure we can get it washed. We can send it out to Seoul," he rattled in a soothing voice, "We can get it dry-cleaned. You-- you'll be dazzling in white again, soon enough." He offered the frazzled Klinger a smile.
Klinger stared intently back at him, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows knitted upward, at least showing that he was hearing something of what the priest said. "No." He started, calmly, at least, "No! You can't make me go! Father! Don't make me leave! Good God, no!" he began to flail, sitting up and whacking the priest in the underside of the chin with an elbow.
Father Mulcahy, taken aback, was knocked backward and tumbled out of the jeep onto the rocky ground. He could vaguely hear Klinger's pumps shuffling on the ground; looking over, he managed to note that one of the white shoes had lost its heel before he lost consciousness.
~