Chapter 2

September 1958

Hawkeye Pierce was woken from his warm and cosy dream by the sound of someone yelling the house down. In a second he was on his feet and running towards the source of the noise. Without bothering to knock he burst through the door of the room to find Father Mulcahy sitting bolt upright in his bed, clutching desperately at the bedclothes.

"Father? Father, what on earth's wrong? Talk to me."

The Priest looked at him with unseeing eyes, staring at him with horror. His breath was coming in short, uneven bursts and Hawkeye realised with a shock that tears were running down his cheeks. It took several minutes before Mulcahy was able to speak, and when he did it was in little more than a whisper.

"I'm… I'm fine," he croaked. "I just had a nightmare."

"That must've been one heck of a bad dream, Father." Hawkeye said softly, "You've woken up half of the Cove. What's the matter?"

"I suppose being back near everyone again. It brings back memories, that's all." He looked down shyly at his hands which were still gripping the blankets. "Not particularly good ones, either."

Hawkeye sighed. He knew what it was to have nightmares. In the first few years after he left Korea it wasn't uncommon for him to find himself waking up in exactly the same state as the Father. But he had an inkling that Mulcahy's troubles were more localised than the usual horrors of the war.

"Those memories wouldn't include a certain British doctor?" Hawkeye bit his tongue, hoping he hadn't put his foot in it by mentioning Sally. Mulcahy's blue eyes flashed at him in panic. That told Hawkeye all he needed to know.

"Look, I know I've told you this a hundred times. And I'm gonna keep telling you until it gets through. What happened to Sally was the fault of whichever idiot picked the fight which got us all sent out there in the first place. Don't keep beating yourself up with your Catholic guilt complex."

Mulcahy peered at him through the low light of the early morning. "But if I hadn't…" he struggled to find the words. "If I hadn't been so weak, so open to suggestion. If I had the courage to… I don't know. She shouldn't have been at the front, and she wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for me."

Hawkeye sighed distractedly. "Of course, it was all your fault, wasn't it? She was an innocent bystander to your animal urges. If you want to blame anyone, I'd blame the parents." Mulcahy looked baffled. "Well, they were the ones who made her so damned attractive that not even a priest could resist. Those eyes, the little bow of her lips…"

Hawkeye could see the smile playing on Mulcahy's lips as they remember their friend. Sally had made an impression on more than just Mulcahy during her time at the 4077th. Hawkeye had the privilege of tasting those lips on at least one memorable occasion too, and it was an encounter he always remembered with a smile.

"Well, if you're done with the blood curdling screams, Father, I'll be off back to bed."

"Thank you, Hawkeye. I'm sorry I disturbed you. Just sometimes, well…"

"I know. G'night Father."

"Good night, Hawkeye."

Mulcahy watched carefully as his friend stood from the bed and walked to the door, closing it quietly behind him. He assumed it was quietly, because everything was quiet to Mulcahy now. The blast which had robbed him of 80 per cent of his hearing affected his faith in much the same way. For the three years of the war he had answered every call God made to him, followed every sign God gave him of the right way to go. And in those three years he made one mistake in the eyes of God, and he was punished more severely than he could ever have imagined. The last 6 months in Korea robbed him of more than he ever thought was possible. He reached out onto his bedside table and lifted the book which lay there. There was a time when that book would be the bible, but no longer. The book was a collection of poems by Emily Dickinson, and he opened it to read the inscription on the inside cover. It was written in a wild scrawl which could only belong to a doctor. But it was a scrawl which Mulcahy could decipher with ease. He read the words for the millionth time, tracing every loop and curve of the letters, even though he knew them by heart.

"Johnny. This book found its way into my possession through means of which I am unsure. I thought I ought to make an effort to learn more about the literature of your country, and it has lain under my pillow for the last month. It has brought me great comfort since I left you, and I wanted you to have it. Please excuse the frank margin notes, I hope you accept them in the way they are intended – as a reminder of me and also as proof that it isn't always easy to forget. Miss you, love Sally xx"

Smiling to himself, Mulcahy turned to the page which had obviously been read the most. The corner had been folded over to keep the place. He read again the poem there, and the notes written in the margin. The words that made him feel close to her again.

Today was a bad day. I miss him so much it feels as though it would be easier to simply lie down and stop breathing. I tried that, but my lungs conspire against me and force the oxygen in. For the first time in my career I am in despair at the body's ability to survive. His eyes, his smile- imprinted on my treacherous memory which will not let me forget. Lord, if you can show mercy to a sinner, please let me forget. Please God, make me stop loving him."

Mulcahy could feel his eyes burning as he began to read the poem, his lips moving along with the words on the page. The poem that had made her think of him. "Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me, Then I, my thoughts, will dim. Haste! 'lest while you're lagging I may remember him!"

When he was finished reading, he carefully removed his glasses, and rubbed his tired eyes. He tried hard not to let the words she wrote affect him, and he understood the reasoning behind them. He too had prayed for God to take the pain away. He prayed that he might forget, or realise the error of his ways. He tried hard to repent for his feelings, but in his heart he knew he never could. He hoped Sally never could either. He stretched out an arm and turned off the bedside lamp, before placing the small book under his pillow.

He felt closer to her then, and slept peacefully until morning.

oOo

Hawkeye was awake early and spent some time preparing a hearty breakfast for his guests. First downstairs was BJ Hunnicut. His eyes grew wide when he saw the feast laid on before him.

"Hey, since when did you learn to cook like this?" he asked incredulously, looking at the array of bacon, egg, sausage, pancake and various other components of 'Breakfast a la Hawk'. Taking his place at the table, BJ poured himself a cup of coffee and began to pick on a slice of toast. Hawkeye turned away from the stove to face him, and BJ could not keep the smile from his face when he saw the 'I'm with Stupid' apron which Hawkeye was wearing. He had never looked so ridiculous, with a spatula in one hand and the other resting precariously on his hip.

"Lovely," said BJ, "You're every inch the suburban housewife. Can we go play on the swings today, Mom?"

Hawkeye snorted with derision. "Don't go changing the subject, Beej. You need more than a slice of toast for breakfast. Come on, eat up."

"Why the sudden concern about my eating habits. We were lucky if we got a lick of a sweaty sneaker some mornings when we were over there. I didn't hear you nagging me then."

"Yeah well," came Hawkeye's defensive reply, "I wasn't up at the crack of dawn cooking the sneaker, was I? Anyway, I owe it to Peg to make sure you eat properly while you're here. She'll never let me forget it if you waste away under my care."

BJ's face fell at the mention of his wife. Hawkeye noticed this, and opened his mouth to comment before realising that he didn't have a clue what to say. His best friend had been cagey about the reasons why Peg could not accompany him to the first reunion of the MASH 4077th. When he had pressed him on the telephone, all BJ would say was that she had other commitments, and Erin didn't travel too well. Hawkeye had made a joke about making her sound like a fine wine and they had laughed at it. He realised that the only way he could deal with this was with humour. And, judging by the look on BJ's face, he wasn't in the mood for laughing.

While Hawkeye stood wrestling with his conscience, the silence was broken by the arrival of Father Mulcahy. Only he didn't look like Father Mulcahy on this morning. He was wearing an open necked shirt and a pair of smart brown trousers. There was no sign of his religious persuasion anywhere on his person, which surprised both BJ and Hawkeye. Although Mulcahy had arrived in 'mufty' (as they had jokingly referred to it) the day previously, Hawkeye thought that he would certainly have been dressed for the occasion which awaited them that afternoon. He said as much to Mulcahy as he sat down to breakfast. His reply stunned both his friends.

"I may as well tell you both now, you'll find out sooner or later. I don't tend to dress like a priest now because I'm not really a priest anymore. I haven't been for almost a year now."

Hawkeye wheeled round from the stove and stared in astonishment, while BJ dropped his toast onto his plate.

"When did this happen?" BJ asked.

"Yeah," continued Hawkeye. "When did our Father stop being our Father?"

Mulcahy shifted awkwardly and pushed his glasses further up his nose. He knew he was going to be telling this story a lot over the few hours, and so it was almost a relief to have something of a rehearsal. He knew it was useless beating about the bush with Hawkeye and BJ - they knew him too well to let him fob them off with anything other than the truth.

"Well," he began, "You can probably guess when it began." He looked at them both for confirmation, and their refusal to meet his gaze told him they knew what he was talking about. "But I somehow managed to cling onto some kind of faith until the end of the war. I knew I had souls to save, and whilst I had them to deal with I could almost force myself to believe. Then I went to work with the deaf children, the children who had been damaged the same way as I had. But it was only a matter of time before someone realised about my… disability. I was given a discharge within a month. And so, I found myself back in Philadelphia, working in a city parish with all its challenges. And then my sister, Katherine, became ill."

Hawkeye moved forward, taking off his apron and sitting down on the chair beside BJ. Mulcahy continued his story, never missing a beat.

"She had been complaining about feeling under the weather for some time, but never had the opportunity to do anything about it. Typically, she was being a martyr. But none of us noticed just how ill she was, until it was too late. In the end, it was peaceful. And I'm grateful that she never suffered much, she kept her faith right to the end."

"What did she die of?" BJ asked, mouthing his words carefully to let Mulcahy lip read them.

"Cervical cancer. It spread so quickly she didn't stand a chance. I found myself wrapped up in the whole grief process, trying to make sense of it. I kept praying like I always have and I suddenly realised that I wasn't getting any answers. Then I thought back, and realised I hadn't had any answers for a while. Not since Sally, well, anyway…"

He cleared his throat whilst the other two looked on dumbstruck. Mulcahy's faith had been a constant throughout their time in Korea, along with Hawkeye's sense of humour and Klinger's section 8 requests. They had been through so much together, and now both BJ and Hawkeye felt that they knew nothing about this man who sat before them. He was the man they thought they had always known, but he was somehow changed. Less naïve, and far less cheerful. He radiated an air of melancholy and as he took a glass of orange juice, BJ voiced the question on both their lips.

"Does this mean you've lost your faith?" he asked.

Mulcahy considered the question carefully before answering. "I haven't lost my faith in God, but I have questioned my effectiveness as his representative. What use is a priest who cannot hear what God is telling him? And I'm not just talking metaphorically here, you understand. I felt I could no longer be relied upon to do God's bidding, and came to the conclusion that God was telling me through his silence that I was… I don't know… free to go perhaps?" He chuckled slightly, "God's way of letting me down gently; 'Thank you, Francis. We'll let you know.' Only He didn't. He just let me go."

The three men stared into space for a few moments, taking in the enormity of what had just been said. They began to realise that there would be more stories along these line, probably just as shocking to them, in the day ahead. They were meeting up with their friends and for the first time in five years they would be together again as a group. It was going to be a strange experience to say the least.

BJ was the first to break the silence. "Do you know who's going to be there today?" he asked Hawkeye.

"I have a fair idea," his friend replied. "As far as I know, Charles is coming, but Trapper isn't. Apparently his wife thinks we were a bad influence on him. He wanted to come, but he decided that now would not be a good time. I've only met her once, and as I was pretty drunk on that occasion I don't think I've done much to endear myself to her!"

BJ laughed again. "What about Margaret?"

"Ah, now Hotlips!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "Hotlips is most definitely on the guestlist, much to my surprise. She's probably a General now or something equally well to do. General Hotlips, at your service!" he giggled, "Man, what a hoot! And Radar will be there of course. We wouldn't be having the party without Radar. And Potter, well now he's on his own I think he's glad of the company."

They grew sombre again when they thought of Potter and how he had lost Mildred after she had waited to patiently for them to be togther. BJ began to think that Mulcahy was on the right lines, and maybe there was no justice in the world after all.

"Well, we'd better get going, we don't want to be late or we might miss something," Hawkeye said, looking at his watch. He began clearing the leftover food away and putting it in the refrigerator. "Looks like Dad and I are going to be eating well for the next few months."

BJ and Mulcahy made their way from the kitchen to gather their things for their overnight stay at the hotel where the reunion was to be held. At the top of the stairs, before he went into his own room, BJ put his hand on Mulcahy's arm.

"Father," he began.

"It's just 'Francis' now, BJ. Don't worry, you'll get used to it," he said, seeing the man's worried face, "I have."