The Shadow
He was at it again.
I had been suffering through life in the intolerable hellhole known as the 4077th MASH for less than a fortnight, and already one Corporal Radar O'Reilly was angling to become the principal bane of my existence. Wherever I happened to be -- the mess tent, the aptly named "Swamp," even the O.R. -- there he was underfoot, either attempting to engage me in conversation or simply observing my every move. Whenever I caught him hanging on my coattails in this fashion, to expedite his departure I would bring to bear heavy doses of sarcasm, to which the little twerp seemed all but immune. I suppose it wasn't too surprising that the finely honed Winchester wit would pass yards over the head of a diminutive rustic like O'Reilly.
This morning, he chose to ambush me as I exited the officer's latrine. Was there to be no respite?
"Good morning, Major Winchester, sir," he said, an inane grin on his round little face.
"Corporal," I replied coolly. I continued on my way to the Swamp without breaking stride, but he trotted after me.
"Um...I was just wondering if maybe you might want to...uh...have a drink over at Rosie's? My treat, I mean."
He nearly ran into me when I stopped short to actually consider the offer. After all, I had nothing of vital importance to do until later in the day, and it struck me that perhaps this might be a prime opportunity to conduct myself so noxiously as to drive him off once and for all. "Isn't it rather early in the day to start drinking, Corporal?" I asked.
Hands thrust into the depths of his jacket pockets, O'Reilly demurred. "Well, I kinda meant a Coca-Cola or a Grape Nehi or somethin'. I don't really drink much alcohol."
"I see. And to what do I owe the honor of this singular invitation?"
He shrugged and craned his neck to look up at me, still smiling. "I dunno. I guess it's 'cause you're new and I just like to be on friendly terms with everybody in camp, ya know? And free drinks are a good way to make friends around here."
A keen student of human nature, was O'Reilly. But it would require more than complimentary carbonated beverages to earn the friendship of Charles Emerson Winchester the Third. Much more.
At any rate, somewhat against my better judgment, I agreed to accompany him to the off-base establishment known as Rosie's Bar. As we walked, he emitted a steady stream of small talk, to which I responded with the occasional appropriate sound or phrase, all the while plotting out the most efficient way to disillusion the boy.
When we arrived at our destination, Rosie herself was there to offer us a laconic greeting and a table in the corner. Our drinks were delivered by the barmaid, another young Korean woman with the same blasˇ attitude. It appeared to be the place's trademark.
O'Reilly raised his bottle. "Down the hatch, Major!"
I reluctantly clinked it with my own, after checking to see whether we were being observed. "Indeed."
The first sip behind us, he continued to chatter. "I usually get the Grape Nehi," he said. "Coke bubbles kinda tickle my nose. But sometimes that's okay, ya know?"
It was all carbonated swill to me, of course. Oh, how often over the past two weeks I had longed for a moment's access to the contents of my personal wine cellar back in Boston, or even to the cache of just one of Tokyo's elite dining establishments! But, alas -- in reality I was stuck here, miles from civilization and hot showers, let alone fine wine.
Having managed to depress myself, I pushed aside my cola and beckoned to the barmaid. She snapped her chewing gum daintily as she strode over. "Yeah, Joe?"
"A scotch and soda, if you please."
To my mild surprise, that request earned an actual smile. "Whoa, you sure, Joe? It still early."
I assured her that, yes, I did indeed wish to imbibe alcohol at the outrageous hour of ten o'clock, and she headed back to the bar to gratify my desire.
O'Reilly was squirming a bit. "Um, sir? If you're going to be ordering real drinks and all...well, see, I didn't bring much cash with me...."
I held up a hand to forestall the rest. "Fear not, Corporal. Your invitation was intended to cover sodas alone; therefore you may rest assured that I shall be paying the tab for any alcoholic beverages."
"Oh, okay, then." Visibly relieved, he took another sip of Coke as the grinning barmaid presented me with my drink.
I downed it in a single motion and ordered another, much to her delight. "Hey, Joe, you got girlfriend troubles or somethin'?"
"Young woman, not that it is any of your concern, but first of all, my name is not 'Joe' -- it is Charles Emerson Winchester the Third. And second, I do not have a 'girlfriend.'"
"Maybe that the trouble!" the wench chortled, making good her retreat before I could formulate a cutting rejoinder.
Much later, after several more healthy belts of scotch, and another soda for O'Reilly, it occurred to me that somewhere along the line I had been distracted from the main point of the exercise -- dissuading this provincial pup from dogging me.
In fact, much to my astonishment, our tete-a-tete was turning out to be rather diverting. O'Reilly had been at the 4077th long enough to know all the tales about the camp's more colorful denizens, both past and present, and I acquired enough dirt on my brace of tentmates to lord over them for many months to come. It wasn't the Boston society pages, to be sure, but considering where I was, the gossip was nearly as intriguing.
It may have been attributable to the effects of the alcohol or to my melancholy frame of mind about being mired in the bucolic backwaters of Korea, but for perhaps the first time in my life, I found myself actually enjoying the company of an individual from outside my social class.
There was no way I would ever admit that aloud, of course. Especially to O'Reilly himself.
It wasn't until I looked across the table and saw his face in blurry duplicate that I realized just how intoxicated I must have become over the past two hours. "Corporal," I said, trying to enunciate carefully, "fascinating though this little coffee-klatsch has been, I believe I shall return to my tent now."
He seemed a bit concerned. "You don't look so good, Major. Are you gonna be okay?"
"I'll be fine," I assured him. To demonstrate, I got to my feet, felt the floor sway underneath me -- and started to fall. Oh, my, this was going to hurt....
I heard a chair scrape the floorboards and suddenly O'Reilly was there at my side, supporting me with an arm around my waist. I leaned against him gratefully as I tried to reestablish my bearings.
"You sure you're all right, sir?" he grunted. From a great distance, it occurred to me that I was not exactly a lightweight and that O'Reilly was probably exerting all his strength to prop me up. I made an effort to shift back to an upright position, with limited success.
"Fine, fine. Have we paid the tab yet?"
"I don't think so, sir."
Digging out my wallet (on the third try), I drew out a random wad of bills and handed it to the corporal. "Here, take this. At the moment, it might be best if you handle the financial dealings."
Unwilling to abandon his post as my buttress, he called the barmaid over and settled the tab, not without some amusement on her part. "You have nice day, Joe! Don't worry, Radar take good care of you."
We left the bar and made our way slowly back to camp. I would like to claim that I forged ahead under my own power, but such was not the case; without O'Reilly's assistance, I fear that I would have become an obstacle at Rosie's front door for her customers to step over. A Winchester, inebriated in the middle of the day like a common wino. Quite shameful, really.
Though at that point I was sufficiently mellow as to be past caring about such things, for appearance's sake I dutifully chided myself all the way back to the Swamp, where the intrepid O'Reilly deposited me in my bunk. By a stroke of good fortune, my tentmates Pierce and Hunnicutt were absent, eliminating the need for explanations and leaving me unscathed by their juvenile japes.
Sitting on the edge of the cot, O'Reilly tucked the blanket in around me and helped me locate my indispensable light-blocking eyeshades. It was then that I realized how much I genuinely appreciated the lad's presence -- a concept I would have dismissed as impossible scant hours ago.
"An enigma, O'Reilly," I muttered. "That's what you are."
"Sorry, sir?"
"A puzzle. A mystery. A tough nut to crack."
"Oh." He sounded confused. "I don't think I'm all that mysterious. I just try to be myself."
"You go right ahead and be yourself, then." I flipped up one of the eyeshades to regard him blearily. "But tell me one thing. Why, why do you insist on shadowing me everywhere I go?"
To my dismay, a blush spread across his face. If the mere question embarrassed him, perhaps it would have been better left unasked. "Sorry, sir. Has it been bothering you?"
"Well...." How much truth to reveal? I no longer had any real desire to come down hard on the poor boy. "Yes, I must say that it's been a bit irksome. But if you were to explain your reasoning, it might help me understand."
O'Reilly looked down at the floor. "It's kinda hard to explain. I mean, the thing is, sir...I like you."
"You like me," I echoed, dumbfounded. Maybe the alcohol had dulled my hearing as well as my other senses. Had O'Reilly just admitted to liking me in spite of almost two weeks of ceaseless efforts to discourage him? I raised the other eyeshade to stare at him more clearly.
He hastened to qualify the statement. "Oh, but don't worry. You don't have to like me back or anything, and I promise, I'll never ever do anything else to make you uncomfortable, and...."
I touched his forearm, interrupting the expository flow. "Corporal...slow down, I implore you."
He fixed me with an intense gaze. "Do you remember me telling you about Colonel Blake?"
I nodded. From the stories he'd related, I gathered that O'Reilly had been quite close to the previous commander of the 4077th. In the ironic and tragic coda to Henry Blake's wartime service, he lost his life when the plane that was bearing him home was shot down.
"Well, the colonel, he was really great, ya know? Maybe not the best unit commander that ever was, but a good man and a true blue friend. Don't get me wrong -- Colonel Potter's a swell guy, too. But, to me, Colonel Blake was kinda special."
"I see," I said, struggling to concentrate through the alcoholic haze.
"Anyway, since he's been gone, I've missed him a lot." Here he paused, uncertain, as if to grant me the opportunity to put an end to the conversation. I merely waited, and he soon continued. "But then you got here...and even though we haven't known each other very long, I know there's something special about you, too."
You might well imagine my shock. It actually rendered me speechless for a time, but this development demanded further exploration. "And how, pray tell, do you know this? From the moment I arrived, I've either heaped verbal abuse upon your head or done my utmost to ignore your very existence. Yet you have concluded that I am worthy of the same descriptive terms as your beloved mentor?"
O'Reilly shrugged and displayed a shy smile. "Sometimes I just sense things about people. Like when I know the choppers are coming before anybody else hears them? Sure, so far you've been pretty awful to me and most everybody here, but underneath all that -- maybe way deep down -- I can tell you're a good egg, sir."
It was almost too bizarre to comprehend. This presumptuous snip of a lad, fresh off his Iowa farm, had the temerity to analyze the character of a Winchester!
And the perception to do so with a disturbing measure of accuracy.
It was obvious that, when I recovered from my unwarranted indulgences, this entire O'Reilly encounter merited a thorough reassessment. But for now, I had to lay back on the pillow and allow the room to rotate gently around my aching head. Before pulling the eyeshades down, I said, "Thank you, Corporal, for both the cola and the explanation. This has been a most enlightening morning indeed."
O'Reilly understood that he was being dismissed, but I sensed from him no resentment. "You're welcome, Major. Sweet dreams." He arose from the cot and checked once more to verify that my blanket was securely tucked in. And as I drifted off to sleep -- though it is possible that I may have imagined this -- I believe he placed a single goodnight kiss upon my forehead.
I permitted it.