EIGHT


Nov. 11th: 1900 hours

The new mess tent was crowded. On either side of the heaters, MASH personnel and the men from the Army Corps of Engineers were taking their seats. Major Winchester had already secured a bench. He motioned to Lieutenant MacAllister as she entered. She accepted the cup of hot chocolate he offered and sat beside him, "Good seats, Charles."

"Winchesters always have front row boxes," he informed her. She caught his amusement and smiled. Hawkeye Pierce still insisted that he had no sense of humor.

Colonel Potter stood to address the company, "Welcome to the 4077th MASH version of the 'Fireside Chat'. Before we begin tonight's activity, a word of thanks to Colonel Hodges and his men who have worked so hard rebuilding this camp." He waited for the applause to die down before he continued, "Some of us are especially grateful for the new officers' latrine." He grinned as the people laughed. "Now, our purpose here tonight is to have a good time and to keep warm."

"That's why all the nurses have to sit around me," Hawkeye Pierce interrupted.

The colonel ignored him, "Lieutenant MacAllister is our hostess tonight. Lieutenant..." He motioned for her to step forward.

Sarabeth stood and nodded at the polite applause. She ignored the more raucous suggestions. "This is intended to be a friendly story telling session. Your story doesn't have to be very long. It doesn't even have to be very true. It does, however, have to follow the topic...sort of. Everyone is expected to treat the story teller with courtesy. And, no interruptions!" At this, she looked directly at Captain Pierce.

"Who me?" he asked innocently.

MacAllister grinned at him before resuming her presenter duties, "I would also like to remind y'all that the price of admission for tonight's event is going towards two good causes: Sister Teresa's orphanage and the Tokyo Children's Fund." Pierce caught her attention and winked at her. Beside him, without Hawkeye noticing, B J Hunnicutt winked at her, as well. "All purchases of hot cocoa, cookies and sandwiches are also going towards these funds---so y'all drink and eat up! See Father Mulcahy. He's used to handling the collection plate."

"And don't forget, we're having a dance here on the 15th," the resident from Maine announced, "You can buy your tickets for it tonight, as well."

"And now, without any further interruptions.…" The Texan glared at the dark haired man who grinned at her in return, "we'll begin. Now then: tonight's topic is...fear." People stirred uncomfortably and she hurried to reassure them, "I'm not talking about the fear we experience around here every day. The Lord knows there's too much of that kind already."

"I'm talking about the kind of fright that y'all had as kids---an experience that frightened the beejeebers out of you as a child---but one that you can laugh at as an adult."

"As y'all know," MacAllister explained with her soft Texas drawl, "everyone has agreed to tell a story if their name is drawn. Your names are in this special selection box." She held up the clean bedpan to the cheers of the crowd. "Father Mulcahy will pick the first liar---er---volunteer. I assume y'all trust the good padre?"

"I don't know," Corporal Klinger quipped. "I've watched him play poker!" He dodged the popcorn thrown at him.

"If you'll do the honors, sir," MacAllister directed as she held the container.

The priest pulled a name from the bedpan. "The first storyteller for the evening is...oh, my. Lieutenant MacAllister. How about that!"

Sarabeth returned to the center stage. Catcalls and wolf whistles sounded. "Gee, this is a tough audience." She thought for a moment, "Something that scared me as a kid and that I can laugh at now. OK. I've got one. This tale is true, by the way."

Her expressive face was even more animated than usual and her accent intensified as she set the scene for her story. "We're on my daddy's ranch...the Rocking Double A...in Big Oak, Texas. It's the first week of January. I'm seven---almost eight years old. We're in the middle of a very rough winter. We had already had weeks of ice and sleet. The temperature had lingered close to freezing for days. The wind never seemed to quit blowing."

"We had just brought Travis, my brother closest to me in age, home from the hospital. He was so very sick. Actually, they thought we were bringing him home to die. I knew better...but no one asked me. Anyway, Travis wanted some milk. The trouble was; we had already drunk all of the milk that morning."

"My daddy and my other brothers were out taking care of the cattle: hauling hay out to the pastures and breaking the ice on the water troughs. We had to keep those cattle alive because they were our livelihood. My mama couldn't leave Travis alone. So she asked me to go out to the dairy barn to get some more milk."

Sarabeth paused long enough to sip some of her hot drink. She gave her mug to Major Winchester. She needed her hands free to emphasize her story. Her hair, tied with a new, bright blue ribbon, swished from side to side as she talked.

"You walked into our dairy barn through a narrow doorway to the stalls. There were three stalls on each side with a dog run between them. Beyond the stalls, separated by a half-wall, there was an area where we stored the hay for these cows. Since it was so cold, we had moved the chickens into that section of the barn to keep them from freezing. The cats were in there, too. They liked the warmth."

"Being winter, we only had three cows in there. Two of them were gentle. They didn't care what you did to them or how often you milked them. But the third one, Rose, had a mean streak. She had one crooked horn that curved over her eyes. And the other one pointed out to the side."

"That cow hated me. I wasn't too fond of her, either. She was always trying to butt me with her head. Or step on my toes. We kept her tied most of the time, just to make it easier for me to milk."

"I kept asking my daddy to get rid of her but she was a good suckler. We could put two or three calves on her and she'd produce enough milk for all of them."

"Anyway, I had removed my coat and had milked the cows. I set my bucket down in the run and walked past Rose to see if there were any eggs. She didn't try to kick me--which was unusual for her--so I reckon I should have been suspicious. There were a couple of eggs so I tucked them into my shirt and started back."

"Just as I walked by her, Rose lashed out with a hind foot, hit me right above the knee and knocked me to the ground! Somehow, she had pulled her tie loose. While I was down, she started hooking me! And stomping me!"

"At the same time, she's bellowing and snorting. I'm screaming and crying. The chickens are squawking. The cats are squalling. And the other cows are becoming upset."

MacAllister changed the tone of her narration momentarily, "Now, y'all may not realize that, cattle, when they become upset, start urinating and defecating in copious amounts. These cows were very upset." She grinned at their expressions and returned to her story.

"So here I am---on the floor---crawling, back and forth, between the legs of the other animals---through the muck---with more coming down all the time---trying frantically to get away from this beast! And she's still trying her best to kill me!"

"There was a small workbench next to the hay store room. I dove under it. Rose couldn't reach me. But I couldn't get out. The wall behind me was solid stone."

"I was scared."

"I was hurt."

"And I didn't know what else to do."

The story teller paused again. She had the ability to draw her listeners into her drama. Each of them was a frightened child, alone in a barn, facing danger.

"Then, I started getting mad. Here I was, a sixth generation Texan...a rancher's daughter...and I was being stomped to death by the family milk cow."

"And, I started thinking about Travis. I'd do anything in the world for any of my brothers. And all Travis wanted was a glass of milk. But I couldn't give him one because the bucket had been overturned during the ruckus."

"There was a stick of wood nearby. It was a broken handle to an ax or a shovel or something. Someone had placed it in the corner and had forgotten about it. I grabbed it. And the next time Rose tried to push her head under that bench, I swung that stick as hard as I could!"

"That cow stopped in mid-bellow." Sarabeth grinned in remembered satisfaction. "Rose looked at me in surprise as I came out from under that bench and laid into her with a vengeance!"

"I hit her...and I hit her...and I hit her...and I hit her."

"I smacked her across the nose, on the ear, on the flank, in the ribs---wherever I could find a target. I just kept swinging that stick and crying and cussing that cow!"

"Finally, she gave up and ran back to her stall. Still carrying my stick, I ran after her. And we're standing there---with our sides heaving---staring at each other."

"I'm all cut up. My side hurts. My knee hurts. I have a couple of smashed fingers. Blood is running down from my busted lip and from a gash on my shoulder. Egg yolk is dripping from beneath my shirt. Rose has blood pouring out her nose."

"And then, she turns and starts eating hay; totally unconcerned. Just like nothing had ever happened."

MacAllister looked at her audience and smiled. Her green eyes were glistening with mischief. "We ate that cow two days later. She tasted real good. My daddy said it was because of all the extra tenderizing I gave her."

Applause and laughter filled the tent.

"Wait. There's more!" She held up her hand for silence. "There's a moral to this story."

"I know what it is: if someone backs you into a corner and makes you mad enough; you'll beat the hell out of him," Hawkeye contributed.

She laughed. "That's true," she conceded. "But that's not it. The moral is...even if a cow runs a-muck, her tail can still be udder-ly a-moo-zing"

She was met with a stunned silence. Her story had been so serious---and she had delivered her last line with such a straight face---that it took a few moments for everyone to catch her puns. Then, pandemonium broke out.

Popcorn and caps and scarves and mittens were thrown at her. Moans and great whoops of laughter swelled in volume. Captain Pierce fell off his chair. He rolled around on the floor and laughed in delight. That caused even more howls. Everyone was holding their sides and wiping their eyes. And MacAllister was laughing as hard as anyone in the room.

As they struggled to catch their breath, B J quipped, "Thanks, Sarabeth. That was a moo-ving experience."

The laughter erupted again.

Standing slowly and stiffly, Major Winchester led the ovation, "Excellent, my dear. A master storyteller isn't she?" he asked the crowd. Their approval was loud and long. Sarabeth curtsied. The major walked her back to her seat.

"More! More!" Major Houlihan urged, "Pick someone else, Father!"

Others took up the chant.

"Wait," MacAllister called, "Um...I have a small confession to make."

"Are you listening, Father?" Hawkeye asked.

"Always, my son," the clergy man replied with a kind-hearted smile.

"I wasn't sure if anyone would really want their names drawn that first time." Sarabeth hesitated, "So---the only name in there is mine." She shrugged apologetically.

"It doesn't matter," Hawkeye informed her. He swept the hair from his eyes as the attention was centered on him. "I'll go next. Here's my story: it's spring and we're back in Crab Apple Cove..."