MASH 14 MASH goes to Moscow by Richard Hooker+William Butterworth Page A

the pot, he’ll even get What’s-his-name to stop banging his shoe on his desk at the UN and to stop calling me all those nasty names.”
    “To reiterate, what has this got to do with you and me?”
    “Well, when the Chairman of the Supreme Soviet himself, personally, called this guy and asked him to come to Moscow, he told him … well, you wouldn’t believe what he told him.”
    “I think it would be best if I had all the details,” the senator said. Jim-Boy told him. “My sentiments exactly,” the senator said. “Even if it is, if I remember my undergraduate work in the procreation of the species Homo sapiens, an anatomical impossibility.”
    “The Secretary and the Admiral have been going through their files, Senator, and have come up with the information that only four people in the world can make this singer do something he doesn’t want to do.”
    “Indeed?”
    “Indeed. The first was His Eminence, John Joseph Mulcahy, titular archbishop of Swengchan ,* presently assigned to the personal staff of the Pope. We just this minute got off the phone talking to the Archbishop.”
    (* Archbishop Mulcahy served during the Korean War as a Chaplain (Captain) and was assigned to the 4077th M*A*S*H. He offered both spiritual and spirituous comfort to Maestro Korsky-Rimsakov during the period the singer was hospitalized.)
    “I gather he was unable, or, more likely, unwilling to come to your assistance?”
    “He said there was no way he was going to Moscow,” Jim-Boy said. “The next name on the list is that of the singer’s sister, Madame Kristina Korsky-Rimsakov O’Reilly* of the San Francisco Opera.”
    (* Madame Kristina Korsky-Rimsakov was married to J. Robespierre O’Reilly, chairman of the board and chief executive officer of Mother O’Reilly’s Irish Stew Parlors, International. The details of their courtship and marriage have been recorded, in rather lurid detail, in M*A*S*H Goes to Las Vegas. (Pocket Books, New York.))
    “Ah, yes,” the senator said.
    “You know the lady?”
    “I have that great privilege,” the senator replied.
    “Great,” Jim-Boy said. “How about you calling her and asking her for me?”
    “Might I inquire why you do not choose to telephone her yourself?”
    “I tried to,” Jim-Boy confessed. “I got her husband, Robespierre, on the line, and he said he never lets his wife talk to Democrats.”
    “I could have told you that,” the senator said.
    “Are you going to help us or not, Senator?”
    “Hand me the telephone,” the senator replied. He began to dial a number.
    “You know the number?” Jim-Boy asked, surprised.
    “No,” the senator replied drily. “I am simply testing the laws of probability.” The dull buzzing of the phone could be heard throughout the room, and then a voice came on the line. The Admiral reached over and pushed a button on the telephone which broadcast both sides of the conversation throughout the room.
    “The J. Robespierre O’Reilly Residence,” an English accented voice said. “This is Quincy the butler speaking.”
    “Senator George H. Kamikaze speaking,” the senator said. “May I please speak with Madame Korsky-Rimsakov O’Reilly?”
    “I’m terribly sorry, Senator,” the butler replied. “Madame was already feeling rather badly when that horrid man in the White House telephoned. I’m very much afraid that Madame is now really indisposed.”
    “In that case, Quincy, let me speak to Mr. O’Reilly.”
    “I will endeavour to determine, Senator, if the master is available. Would you hold the line a moment, please?”
    The senator took a long black cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and put the cigar in his mouth.
    “Light his cigar, Admiral,” Jim-Boy ordered. “He’s working for us now.”
    “Hey, George, is that you?” A male voice came over the speakers. “I’ve been trying to get you for an hour.”
    “How are you, Radar*?” the senator said. “You were trying to get me?”
    (* During his military