MASH 14 MASH goes to Moscow by Richard Hooker+William Butterworth Read Free Book Online Page A

asked.
    “They are a new taste to me, sir,” the Russian ambassador said.
    “You’re probably used to the Yankee kind,” Jim-Boy explained. “They roast theirs. We boil ours. I asked Senator Kamikaze … you know who I mean?”
    “Yes, of course, the Japanese-American educator-statesman from California.”
    “That’s the fella ,” Jim-Boy said. “I asked him what he thought and he said they tasted like soap. But then, he’s a Republican, and they’re all a little sore about how the election turned out.”
    “The Chairman of the Supreme Soviet and the millions of peace-loving Russian workers and peasants rejoiced in your election, sir,” the Russian ambassador said.
    “Old Lester did tell you, didn’t he, that I’m not going to loan you any more money?”
    “The gentleman you mention, sir, did make a statement along those lines,” the ambassador said.
    “Just so we understand each other,” Jim-Boy said. “Now, what can I do for you?”
    “Are we alone, sir? Completely alone?”
    Jim-Boy, before replying, put his right hand behind his back and crossed his fingers.
    “Completely alone,” he said. “There’s nobody here but you and me and that oil painting of Shur -lee Strydent .” Jim-Boy indicated the picture of the actress-singer hanging on the wall.
    “Ah, yes,” the ambassador said, “the actress.”
    “The singer and actress,” Jim-Boy said. “Now there’s some who don’t appreciate Miss Strydent . My own brother calls her the world’s ugliest movie star, but he’s probably just saying that to make me mad. He gets his kicks making me mad. I keep that picture of her hanging there to remind me that I’ve got an obligation to the arts, if you know what I mean.”
    “The arts? Of course, sir, I know what you mean. And it is the arts about which I wish to speak to you.”
    “The arts? Funny, I thought you’d come to talk about those armored divisions you’ve been moving around Poland and East Germany.”
    “You know about that, sir?”
    “Got it straight from the horse’s mouth,” Jim-Boy said. “And from a source I can trust.”
    “Oh?”
    “From a classmate of mine. An Annapolis classmate. The navy academy. We take an oath, you know. Never lie to each other. Maybe to Congress and the army and the air force, but never to each other. That’s why I put him in charge over there in Virginia. In a job like that, you need somebody you can trust—you know what I mean?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I mean, I’d really hate to blow your country up, Mr. Ambassador, on the wrong information. If I’m going to do something like that …” He stopped in midsentence and seemed to shift on his chair.
    “Is something wrong, sir?” the Russian ambassador asked. “It looked for a moment as if you were being pulled under your desk.”
    “My foot went to sleep is all,” Jim-boy said. “Now, we started to talk about the arts …”
    “Indeed we did. May I ask, sir, if you are acquainted with the name Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov?”
    “Of course I am, Mr. Ambassador. I’d hate you to get the idea that just because I went to Annapolis and come from Georgia that we don’t know what’s going on in the world. I’m fully aware that whatever that name was you said is one of the most distinguished of your countrymen.”
    “Excuse me, sir,” the ambassador said, “but he’s one of your countrymen.”
    “What was that name again?”
    “Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov,” the ambassador repeated.
    “Of course, Boris Korsky-Rimsakov,” Jim-Boy said, crossing his fingers. “I must have been thinking of the other one, Alfred Korsky -Whatever. Well, what about him?”
    “Our beloved Chairman of the Supreme Soviet has a little favor to ask of you, sir,” the ambassador said. “Vis-à-vis Maestro Korsky-Rimsakov.”
    “I thought you said his name was Sergei, or something like that. One of those funny Russian names.”
    “Boris is his name, sir.”
    “Well, get to the point, Mr.