Father Mulcahy had taken the time to beat his punching bag to a frazzle, and hadn't let it stop swinging before he was dressed, or, rather, undressed, for a good shower. Now that the initial rush of the vitae had worn down, he was one more feeling quite himself: even more himself, perhaps, than he had this morning, when crabbiness had overcome his typically genial demeanor. Withdrawal's a bitch, and certainly a mother of bitches.
"Oh! Good afternoon, Hawkeye," he smiled as he entered the tent and found it half-occupied. "I'd have thought you were asleep by now."
Hawkeye turned his eyes, his chin thrust forward in an attitude of shaving. The bright blue eyes sparkled over a cluster of foam. "I'd say the same of you, Father, but with all the coffee you've been chugging recently, I doubt if you'll sleep again until 1953." The date stuck in his mind.
Mulcahy smiled warmly, cast his eyes down to the floor, mildly ashamed. "Yes, uh, well... it's been a rough week for all of us." He walked around to the other side of the shower, and, reaching in intrepidly with one armsleeve of his robe rolled up, he pulled the handle.
"Hm. Still... grape." He commented, letting the handle go and bringing his grape-nehi-splattered hand back out of the stall.
"I know; I'm glad I remembered to check..." Hawkeye mumbled, "I'll be out in a minute, Father."
Mulchay lifted his purple-spattered hand dismissively, "No hurry, Hawkeye." Curious, and perhaps having inured himself to tasting strange substances, he cautiously licked up a droplet. "Oh, my." Was all he could comment.
Hawkeye sped up, nonetheless, hastily shaving off the stubble from his chin in a haphazard fashion. All was silent for a moment but the rushing of the shower water. Then, Hawkeye: "Look, Father, I just wanted to say that I was sorry-"
Just as Mulcahy was saying: "Hawkeye, I wanted to apologize for how I-"
They both broke off, laughed wanly.
"You better lay off that nehi, Father, you'll turn into a Changeling." Hawkeye smiled to himself as he quipped. "And you know the church is against suicides."
Father Mulcahy stared at him blankly, his brow suddenly furrowing.
For "nehi" he had heard "vitae," and for "Changeling," "Monster." It shook him to the core.
Hawkeye let up on the shower handle, the water's flow ceasing as he sensed the distress of the Priest, though not necessarily its cause. He shook his head: his mouth had been walking two steps ahead of him.
"I'm sorry, Father," he mumbled deeply.
He pulled the chain again and began to rinse off the dregs of shaving cream.
Father Mulcahy shook his head. "It's quite alright, my son. It's quite alright. I deserved that." He smiled, and his smile was the old, genial expression Hawkeye was used to seeing on their mild-mannered camp chaplain.
"After all, I'm over here to keep you all in line. It's the least you can do to return the favor," he added in a jocular tone.
Hawkeye, relieved, smiled and gave himself a final rinse.
"Thanks, Father," he spouted through the falling drizzle, a wide, trademark Hawkeye-grin spreading over his face at the at least momentary truce between the two. And yet, his smile soon faded again.
"Darn it! Out of hot water, already! Sorry, Padre." Hawkeye shrugged helplessly.
Mulcahy just laughed again, indeed seeming to be his more cheerful self, in general. "It's alright, Hawkeye, I was kind of looking forward to a nice... cool... shower anyway."
~
"Oh! Good afternoon, Hawkeye," he smiled as he entered the tent and found it half-occupied. "I'd have thought you were asleep by now."
Hawkeye turned his eyes, his chin thrust forward in an attitude of shaving. The bright blue eyes sparkled over a cluster of foam. "I'd say the same of you, Father, but with all the coffee you've been chugging recently, I doubt if you'll sleep again until 1953." The date stuck in his mind.
Mulcahy smiled warmly, cast his eyes down to the floor, mildly ashamed. "Yes, uh, well... it's been a rough week for all of us." He walked around to the other side of the shower, and, reaching in intrepidly with one armsleeve of his robe rolled up, he pulled the handle.
"Hm. Still... grape." He commented, letting the handle go and bringing his grape-nehi-splattered hand back out of the stall.
"I know; I'm glad I remembered to check..." Hawkeye mumbled, "I'll be out in a minute, Father."
Mulchay lifted his purple-spattered hand dismissively, "No hurry, Hawkeye." Curious, and perhaps having inured himself to tasting strange substances, he cautiously licked up a droplet. "Oh, my." Was all he could comment.
Hawkeye sped up, nonetheless, hastily shaving off the stubble from his chin in a haphazard fashion. All was silent for a moment but the rushing of the shower water. Then, Hawkeye: "Look, Father, I just wanted to say that I was sorry-"
Just as Mulcahy was saying: "Hawkeye, I wanted to apologize for how I-"
They both broke off, laughed wanly.
"You better lay off that nehi, Father, you'll turn into a Changeling." Hawkeye smiled to himself as he quipped. "And you know the church is against suicides."
Father Mulcahy stared at him blankly, his brow suddenly furrowing.
For "nehi" he had heard "vitae," and for "Changeling," "Monster." It shook him to the core.
Hawkeye let up on the shower handle, the water's flow ceasing as he sensed the distress of the Priest, though not necessarily its cause. He shook his head: his mouth had been walking two steps ahead of him.
"I'm sorry, Father," he mumbled deeply.
He pulled the chain again and began to rinse off the dregs of shaving cream.
Father Mulcahy shook his head. "It's quite alright, my son. It's quite alright. I deserved that." He smiled, and his smile was the old, genial expression Hawkeye was used to seeing on their mild-mannered camp chaplain.
"After all, I'm over here to keep you all in line. It's the least you can do to return the favor," he added in a jocular tone.
Hawkeye, relieved, smiled and gave himself a final rinse.
"Thanks, Father," he spouted through the falling drizzle, a wide, trademark Hawkeye-grin spreading over his face at the at least momentary truce between the two. And yet, his smile soon faded again.
"Darn it! Out of hot water, already! Sorry, Padre." Hawkeye shrugged helplessly.
Mulcahy just laughed again, indeed seeming to be his more cheerful self, in general. "It's alright, Hawkeye, I was kind of looking forward to a nice... cool... shower anyway."
~