Milk and Cookies
‘Mail call!’ cried Klinger, barging into the Swamp, swinging his mailbag.
‘It’s too early.’ Said Hawkeye’s muffled voice from deep under the blankets.
BJ and Charles just groaned as Klinger threw bundles of letters at them.
‘And a box marked “Perishable” for Captain Pierce.’ Klinger continued, laying the box on Hawkeye’s footlocker.
That made Hawkeye sit up.
‘Perishable? As in food? Give it here, Klinger.’
He grabbed the box and rapidly undid the knotted string and tore away the brown paper, to reveal a cardboard cakebox. By now, Klinger, BJ and Charles had all moved to stand around Hawkeye, desperately curious as to what was in the box. Slowly, reverently, he opened the lid to reveal a pile of the most perfectly formed, delicious smelling fudge cookies any of them had ever seen.
‘Aunt Martha’s cookies.’ Said Hawkeye in a hushed voice. ‘These, my friends, are the most divine cookies ever to be created. They’re straight from heaven.’ He paused. ‘And I’m locking them up, nice and safe.’
‘Locking them up?’ BJ cried. ‘Aren’t you going to eat them? Aren’t you going to share them?’
Hawkeye closed the lid of his footlocker and explained:
‘When I was a kid, Aunt Martha used to bring me cookies once, maybe twice a year. And I always used to eat them all in one sitting, and I would end up with a stomach ache and no cookies for another year. So I learned to hoard the cookies, rationing them strictly to make them last as long as possible. Every bite should be an occasion.’
‘But you’re still gonna share them, right?’ BJ asked, practically drooling from the lingering cookie smell.
‘Yea, yeah, I’ll share them.’ Said Hawkeye. ‘But first, I’m gonna hoard them. Hey, and don’t tell anyone else, okay? I don’t mind sharing, but if the entire camp finds out, there won’t be any left.’
‘Mail call, Major!’
After he left the Swamp, Klinger headed for Margaret Houlihan’s tent. He was a little surprised to be delivering the letter, since the Major rarely got mail.
‘Morning, Klinger!’ she said, smiling as she opened the door. ‘A letter? For me?’
‘Got your name on it.’ Said Klinger, handing her the envelope.
Her face fell as she saw the handwriting on the front.
‘Thank you, Klinger.’ She said quietly, closing the door.
That afternoon, Hawkeye was making his rounds in Post Op, while Margaret sat at the desk, doing paperwork. He was trying to avoid her. When he had come in, she had only glared at his cheery greeting, and she had scolded him for tripping over a bedpan and making a noise. She wasn’t letting on what was bothering her, so Hawkeye decided to leave her alone for now.
He turned to ask her a question, but stopped when he saw that she was crying, silently. She was reading a letter.
‘Margaret, what’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ She said, swiftly folding the letter and putting it in her pocket.
‘Margaret, if I can help…’
‘Drop it, Pierce, it’s personal.’ She said. She picked up some more paperwork and started on it, not looking up.
Hawkeye sighed and went back to his rounds.
That evening, Hawkeye walked into the Officers’ Club and up to the crowded bar. It was Saturday night and everyone was there. He ordered a drink. As he waited, he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation Margaret and Kellye were having at the nearest table.
‘It doesn’t make me sad so much as angry.’ Margaret was saying. ‘I can’t believe, after al that’s happened that Donald would write to me and try to make it up with me. I thought that part of my life was over and forgotten when I got my divorce, and now I’ve had to be reminded of it again.’
‘But you are kind of sad too, aren’t you?’ Kellye asked.
‘I guess so.’ Margaret sighed. ‘I really thought we were going to live happily ever after, but it wasn’t meant to be. Ah, I could do with some milk and cookies right now.’
‘Milk and cookies?’ said Kellye.
‘Yes, that was one of the few things my mother ever taught me. However bad things seem, however dismal your situation, if you have milk and cookies, everything seems just that little bit easier.’
‘Shame that cookies are so hard to come by.’ Kellye said.
‘Oh, just thinking about it has made me feel a little better.’ Said Margaret, with a small smile.
Hawkeye got his drink and went to sit with BJ, thinking about what Margaret had said.
BJ lay on his cot, idly shuffling a pack of cards and gazing at the canvas ceiling of the tent. It was almost lunchtime and it looked as if it was going to be a long, hot day. The door was propped open to let in some fresh air.
‘How about those cookies, Hawk?’ he said, hopefully.
‘Not right now.’ Said Hawkeye sleepily, also lying on his cot.
‘Well then, when?’
‘Maybe never.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve decided… I’ve decided I might give them away.’
‘Give them away? How could you?’
‘I didn’t say I was for sure, I just said maybe.’
Hawkeye propped himself up on his elbows and gazed boredly out of the door.
Margaret had been on duty in Post Op all morning and was at the end of her tether. Two wounded Marines had got into a fight and she’d had to break it up, but by then they had already smashed a tray of beakers, knocked several instruments onto the floor and ruined the beds she had just made. She had only just finished sorting out the mess when one of the patients took a turn for the worse, and what with one thing and another it had been a very trying morning.
She must have looked as bad as she felt, because the nurse who came to relieve her asked if she was ok. Margaret just nodded, but as she entered the compound the tears that had been threatening to spill all morning finally escaped. She hurried towards her tent; hoping no one would see her crying.
As Hawkeye looked through the open door, he saw Margaret rush past on the way to her tent. She was crying. Hawkeye thought for a moment.
‘See you later, Beej!’ he said, quickly opening his foot locker, stuffing something into a satchel and dashing out before BJ could react.
Margaret slammed the door of her tent and threw herself onto her cot.
‘It’s not fair!’ she said aloud after a moment. ‘Why doesn’t anything ever go right for me? No man ever really loved me! I thought Donald did, but it wasn’t true!’
She grabbed his letter from the bedside table and glared at it.
‘It wasn’t true, and now he wants me back, because no one else will have him! Oh yes, Donald! Don’t think I don’t know! You never wanted me for myself!’
She sat up, feeling suddenly decisive, and tore the letter into tiny pieces.
Hawkeye set off back to the 4077th triumphant. It had taken a while, between his bad Korean and the farmer’s bad English, to make the man understand that he wanted a bottle of milk – but now he had it, luminous white, fresh milk. It was in the satchel with everything else and in one hand he held a bunch of flowers he had been picking.
He headed for Klinger’s office – he would need his help for the next phase of the plan.
Feeling less angry, but still very sad, Margaret stared at the little scraps of paper on the floor of her tent.
‘Major Houlihan, report to Colonel Potter’s office.’ Blared suddenly over the PA.
Margaret sighed and dried her eyes.
As soon as Margaret had entered the outer office, Hawkeye ducked into her tent. Klinger could only keep her occupied for so long, so he hurried. On her bedside table he draped a little white tablecloth he had hastily made. (This had involved some theft from the laundry, and one of the surgical gowns now had a square hole in it). He took a vase from Margaret’s shelf and put the flowers he had picked into it. He poured the milk into a glass, placed it on the table and reached into his satchel for the main attraction. He felt a pang of sadness as he opened the box of cookies and arranged them on the plate he had brought. They smelled so good that he nearly lost his resolve, but the thought of Margaret’s tear-stained face spurred him on.
After this was done, he took one last look at his handiwork and crept back out of the tent.
Margaret was frowning and tutting as she strode back to her tent. Colonel Potter hadn’t even been in his office and Klinger had pestered her for nearly five minutes about some trivial thing. She stomped into her tent and stopped short.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, unable to tear her eyes away from the plate of cookies.
Who could have done this? She had only told Kellye about what was upsetting her, and if Kellye had any cookies she would have heard it from the other nurses.
Whoever it was had made so much effort – where had they gotten a white tablecloth? Where had they gotten the cookies? The smell of them wafted over to Margaret and she felt suddenly hungrier than she had all week. Her mouth watered as she looked at them. She didn’t want to eat the cookies without knowing where they had come from, but surely one wouldn’t hurt?
She sat on her cot and took a cookie from the plate, turning it over in her hands. She was thinking about what this meant.
Someone cared that she was upset. Someone cared enough to give away cookies, actual cookies, which were more precious than gold dust in this place, just to make her smile. And she was smiling, really smiling, for the first time since that letter had arrived. She bit into the cookie and her smile grew even wider. Not only were they cookies, they were the most delicious cookies she had ever tasted!
After she had eaten the first cookie, she drank a little of the milk and took another. She felt happier than she had in days. She fewer cookies remained, the happier she felt, and soon she was looking at the last cookie on the plate. As she looked at it, she suddenly realised who had done this.
Who had wanted to help her the other day in Post Op? Who had been standing nearby when she had told Kellye about the cookies? And who, for all his infuriating behaviour and crude jokes, had always been sympathetic when she had a problem?
She looked again at the last cookie.
The choppers had come that afternoon, and many hours later, Hawkeye Pierce slouched into the Swamp and sat heavily on his cot, exhausted from the draining surgery. The kids he operated on seemed to get younger every time and he was in very low spirits as he flung back the cover to crawl into the cot.
There was something on his pillow, wrapped in paper. Bemused, he picked it up and unwrapped it. Inside was a single fudge cookie. He knew it was meant as a thank-you.
The End.
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