09x03 - Cementing Relationships

[bunniefuu]

♪♪♪ (theme)

‐How's that stomach, Cochran?
‐Not too good, sir.

Well, that's not surprising,

considering all the iron
I took out of you.

Every compass in Korea was
pointing to your belly button.

His fever's still up,
Doctor.

101.6? You're into
the F. M. dial.

Let me take a look here.

I always like to admire
my artistry.

Huh, my yellow period.

Okay, take a culture
and pack it open.

Increase his I.V.
To 150 c. c.'s per hour,

‐and start him on penicillin
and streptomycin.
‐Yes, Doctor.

You got a little infection,
but don't worry about it.

I'll give you a note to
stay home from the w*r
another two weeks.

‐Uh, can I, uh‐‐ You wanna‐‐
‐Hmm?

‐Uh‐‐
‐What?

Folks, we gotta have
a little staff meeting

about all these
staph infections.

‐Who is it this time?
‐Cochran.

And I've taken
every precaution.

I even put a hospital corner
on his bandage.

It's appalling.
It's our own version
of germ warfare.

Seems to me we've
checked everything,

autoclave,
anesthesia tubes,

suction machines,
partridge in a pear tree.

Yeah, and I always wash
at least one hand
before I operate.

I know it's clean
in here.

Everybody who comes close
to these patients

has been checked out.

Well, if we eliminate,
uh, post‐op,

we're inescapably
left with "op."

Whatever's causing the infection
has to be in the O. R.

We gotta stop letting all
those sick people in there.

‐Pierce, save the jokes
for the operating room.
‐(man groaning)

k*ll off every germ
in the place, you know?

(groaning continues)

Hey, De Simone,
what's wrong?

You should be very happy.
Your leg's doing beautifully.

(Italian accent)
Only one thing would
make me happy now.

What's that?

If that shrapnel‐‐ how you say
in America‐‐

k*lled me dead
as a doorknob.

What a terrible thing
to say.

Sorry. I cannot yet speak
the fluent inglese.

No, what I mean is you have
everything to live for.

Soon, you'll be
returning to Italia.

Warm summer nights at
the Trevi Fountain in Roma.

A gondola ride in Venezia.
Firenzi, Genoa, Milano,
Napoli‐‐

I know the cities.

Depression is very common
for people in your situation.

You'll get over it.

My leg, I will get over,
but today,

this has smashed my heart
to figurines.

‐What's that?
‐A "Dear Giovanni" letter.

‐Oh, I'm so sorry.
‐My Angela, she left me.

She throw me up
for another man.
One with bigger lira.

Well, I think
she made a big mistake.

I am a De Simone!

My Angela.
How could she do this to me?

Believe me,
you'll meet somebody else.

You're a big, strong,
handsome man.

Si, but what good is it
to be a Ferrari

if you are out of gas?

Ignazio, you must stop
dwelling on the past.

‐You have to forget
about Angela.
‐Yeah.

Any woman would be
thrilled to have you.

What is it, your name?

‐Margaret.
‐Margarita.

Hey, Charles,
why don't you get down here

where the germs can get
a better sh*t at you?

Because I can see from here all
that gunk between the cracks.

It's a veritable Shangri‐la
for bacteria to breed.

Yeah, their very own backseat
of a car.

Look at this stuff.
One good draft in here,

and before you know it,
the wounds get wind of it.

You know, Charles,
this floor's a lot like you.

Filled with culture and breeding
that nobody can tolerate.

Your temperature's
almost normal, Private.

Does that mean I'll be
back on real food soon?

No. I'm afraid
you'll have to eat

what comes out of
the Mess Tent.

Ignazio,
how are you feeling?

Now that I see you,
molto bene.

Ah, how Italian of you.

Always I'll be
grateful to you.

When I was, how you say,
beside myself,

you come and sit down
next to me, beside myself.

I'm glad I could help.

I have some good news
for you.

You'll be
rejoining your unit
the day after tomorrow.

Ah, then that day
I have an empty room in
the pensione of my life,

the one where Margarita,
she used to live.

‐Ignazio.
‐If only I do not have to go.

Oh, but you do.

But we could spend
long hours together.

Walks on the moonlight,

picnics at the country,
sunsets in the beach.

‐This is Korea.
‐When you have amore,

there is no Korea.

Watch it, Ignazio.
There are other people here.

You can't do that.
(murmuring)

Capisco.

A De Simone is nothing
if not discreet.

IGNAZIO:
(singing in Italian)

What in the world?

(singing continues)

Ignazio.

What‐‐ Corpsman De Simone,
what are you doing?

‐Margarita‐‐
‐Get in here.

Ah, si, si, si, si.

Ah, Margarita, mi amore.

I'm not your mi amore,
and you're supposed to be
in post‐op.

How can I be in post‐op
when my heart is here?

Well, your heart
is off‐limits, soldier.

Why for you drive me
crazy like this?

You say I cannot kiss you
with other peoples around,
so I come here.

You drag me into your tent,

and say I cannot kiss you
with no other peoples around.

You are toying with me
like a cat with a dead moose.

No, you misunderstand.

I wasn't trying
to encourage you.

A De Simone does not
need encouragement.

You have filled the t*nk
of my Ferrari.

No, you're just
on the rebound from Angela.

Oh, she is nothing.
She is a child.

But you, you‐‐

You are a woman.
My bellissima.

No, no, no!
As an officer of the
United States Army,

‐I am ordering you to bed.
‐Ah!

No, no, no, your bed!

I see. You make a test
to find out

how deep my love,
she is for you, huh?

Get out of here.

I do not understand,
but all is right.

A De Simone, he does not
need to understand.

Buona notte.

Aha, all right.
Well, there you have it, folks.

The special of the day,
staph under glass.

Cochran's running
with a bad crowd.

Gentlemen, as long as
the germs have the floor,

we are engaged in
an exercise of futility.

You know, I hate to put
the knock on wood,

but if we just lay
the same kind of floor,

we've got a new home
for old germs.

‐Yeah.
‐We need something
more concrete.

Boys, I hate to throw cold
sarsaparilla on your scheme,

but every time I've put in for
one, it's been red‐lined.

Good grief, all we're asking
is for the corps of engineers
to lay down a cement floor.

I've been down that road before,
and believe me, it ain't paved.

‐They never run out of ink
for their "no" stamp.
‐Oh, what nonsense.

Colonel, what would you say
if we make the call ourselves?

‐This time it'll be our nickel.
‐All right.

You've got carte blanche,
troops.

Believe me, nothing would
thrill me more than to have
you lads succeed.

But the way the engineers
look at it, we're a MASH unit.

They won't give us anything
we can't fold up

and carry or stuff
in a duffel.

They never let us forget
"M" is for mobile.

I know the "M" is for mobile,
but we haven't moved in five
months.

Because we like it here.

It's near shopping
and transportation and wounded.

Look, look, wait a minute.

What is so difficult
about a floor?

All you have to do is
just come and slip it
under the door.

No, no, no, don't.
No, no, no, just‐‐

Hello?

‐When's it coming?
‐We wanna be sure somebody's
home when they deliver it.

Once again, the army proves
Darwin's theory

of survival
of the "twittest."

You guys are going
about this all wrong.

You gotta learn
to think like the army.

If you want sugar, you gotta
say, "Pass the salt."

We want concrete.
What do we ask for,
feathers?

Close.
Let me demonstrate,
O Outranking Ones.

(whistling)

Hello, Quartermaster?
How are the kids and
Mrs. Master?

And they say
we do all the operating.

This is MASH 4077.
Your buddy Klinger here.

A three‐star is coming
to visit next week.

Intelligence has it that
the general loves barbecued pig.

Right. Got the bricks
for the barbecue,

but what we don't have
is the cement to mix
the mortar

to hold the bricks
to the barbecue to cook.

‐The Genghis of Con.
‐We're in the presence
of Sitting Bull.

A huge barbecue with
a little patio around it

for the general's
chaise lounge.

Thank you, Sergeant.

You're a credit
to your uniform.

Your cement is in the bag.

If there's any left over,
I'm erecting a monument to you.

I don't wanna cast aspersions
on your dishonesty,

but when they get here
and find out that

this barbecue is a concrete
slab in the O. R.,

what makes you think
they'll still put it in?

Who said they would
in the first place?

I was talking to
quartermasters,
not engineers.

Engineers build.
Q. C. just delivers and dumps.

Dare one inquire
what that means?

You have to put
the floor in yourselves.

‐(laughs)
‐Us, put in cement?

We're doctors,
not dentists.

The closest I get to
building anything
is when I make my bed.

Gentlemen, once again
our trusty Arab

has led us to a mirage.

Fear not.
This Arabian knight
is gonna save your day.

I know everything you ever
wanna know about cement.

I spent two summers working
for my Uncle Amos.

He's in the birdbath business.

What did you do, hang up
the little shower curtains?

No. I mixed the cement
and poured the molds

which makes me
a fountain of knowledge.

What do you say, Beej?
You wanna take a cr*ck at it?

What do we got to lose?

For one thing, me.

These hands work on nothing
lower than an appendectomy.

Well, our loss is our gain.

Okay, Klinger, you're on.
But you better know what
you're doing.

Trust me, I know cement,
and it's not that hard.

(whistle blowing)

Let's start moving.
Let's start moving.

This is your foreman.

Wait a minute, wait a minute.
Who made you the foreman?

Well, I thought
the selection was a*t*matic,
considering my background.

Well, you can take
your background and go
sit in the background.

Have it your way, boss.
One quick question before I go.

What's the formula
for mixing concrete?

Why don't you handle
this one, Beej?

Don't look at me.
Talk to the foreman.

(blows whistle)
Listen up. Listen up.

Concrete is a mixture
consisting of four elements:

Cement, sand, gravel and water.

All combined
in precise proportions.

Ah, Klinger, punching in
the old lunch‐pail crowd?

Please, Colonel,
no sidewalk superintendents.

You better be quiet, Colonel.
Can't you see Klinger has the
floor?

Well, I've gotta doff
my derby to you boys.

And the next time
I put my foot down around
here...

I'm looking forward
to having cement under it.

(blows whistle)
You heard the colonel.
You heard the colonel.

‐Let's start moving
some of this cement.
‐Yes, sir, Corporal.

‐Yes, sir, Corporal.
‐Put the sand in the trough.

I'll check the O. R. to see if
everything's ready.
(blows whistle)

Come on, Beej. We've gotta get
that O. R. built before our
hernia operation.

Arrivederci,
my sweet rose flower.

‐Good‐bye, Ignazio.
‐Ah‐‐

For you.

‐Ah, si.
‐Good‐bye.

‐Stop‐a the jeep!
‐DRIVER: Hey!

Carissima.

‐You cannot leave me.
‐I am not leaving.

You're leaving.
You must go back
to your unit.

My unit can wait.
Wars, they come and go,

but you and I are
once in a lifetime.

Please, Ignazio,
you've got to go back.

I cannot.
I cannot leave that hair,
those eyes, those lips,

‐how you say, beyond?
‐Behind.

That also,
I cannot leave.

‐Ignazio...
‐Oh, just say it to me,
"Stay," and I'm yours.

Hey, De Simone, come on!
Let's go!

(yelling in Italian)

Sorry, mi amore.

Ignazio, please, you're
a sweet, wonderful man.

No, no, no, no, no!

Uh, but there could never
be anything between us

because I've gotta stay here
and I've got work to do.

And you must
get back to your unit. See?

‐(engine starts)
‐This is such a tragedy
of sadness.

‐I'm sorry.
‐We are victims of w*r.

We are like two sheep
that pass in the night.
(yells)

MULCAHY: ♪ Cement mixer,
putti putti ♪

♪ Cement mixer,
putti putti ♪

♪ Cement mixer,
putti putti ♪

♪ A puddle o' gooty,
puddle o' vooty,
puddle o' scooty ♪

♪♪♪ (vocalizing)

‐How's everything going
inside, B. J.?
‐Slowly but "pourly."

You know, I never realized
how tiring total exhaustion
could be.

I'd be delighted to switch.
You push the tricycle
for a while.

I'll stay out here
with Der Bingle.

No, no, no, you'd never
get it right.

Besides, I'm the only one
Klinger's trusted
with his secret recipe.

(blowing whistle)
Let's go! Let's go!
Off your butts, sirs.

We're in the concrete business,
not the goldbrick business.

‐We're dead on our feet.
‐We're taking a coffin break.

No time, no time.
The entire floor has
to be poured wet.

If that isn't done fast
enough to set and dry in one
piece, it'll be full of cracks.

‐Why didn't you say so before?
‐Any idiot knows that.

‐He's certainly got us there.
‐If you want this job done
right, pick up the pace.

Everyone's working to the utmost
of his capabilities, Corporal.

Then everyone isn't enough.

We'll either have to get
more people or less floor.

I hope you boys are having
a good time playing
in your sandbox.

Why, Charles,
how nice of you to drop by.

‐Oh, not at all.
‐Just when we needed help.

You stir, while I have
to round up a few recruits.

‐Surely you jest.
You don't expect me to...
‐♪ Cement mixer ♪

Charles, pick up that hoe,
or I'll have you spayed.

‐Now, please...
‐Start mixing, Charlie, or
you'll be part of the floor.

‐Right this way.
‐No, just‐‐ See,
I vowed as a youth...

that the only disgusting work
I would put these hands to

would be the opening
of oysters.

‐It's beautiful, Klinger.
‐Better than that, it's flat.

Klinger, we owe you
our thanks.

Congratulations indeed,
Klinger.

I've always been envious
of you swarthy types,

and your natural gift
for demeaning labor.

If I were Klinger,
I'd resent that,
Mr. Clean Jeans.

Well, I am him,
and I do resent it.

Yes, sir, folks,
Klinger's magic elixir.

Cures any kind
of infection.

One part cement,
four parts sand
and six parts gravel.

Oh, no, tell me you didn't
say six parts gravel.

I said six parts gravel
because you said
six parts gravel.

I never said six parts gravel
in my life, in my life.

I said four parts sand,
three parts gravel.

Congratulations,
ladies and gentlemen...

we have just laid
240 cubic feet of oatmeal.

Don't look at me.
Talk to Mr. Cement Mixer
Putti Putti here.

Klinger, is this not
your crayon?

This screw‐up is on
your shoulders, Captain.

I mean,
you made me a foreman.
You let me be the foreman.

‐Yeah, well, you blew it.
‐Klinger, how could you?

How could you make
such a dumb mistake?

Why don't you use
your brains for once?

‐(overlapping yelling)
‐Easy. Take it easy on Klinger.

True, he is an incompetent.
Now, on to new business.

The bare fact is we haven't
got a floor to stand on.

Let's face it, Pierce,
you, uh‐‐your undertaking

has only served to make
a bad condition worse.

If I were you, I wouldn't
use the word "undertaking"

when there are
shovels around.

Gentlemen, you are
missing the point.

Ideally, cement is infinitely
superior to wood,

but I think you will agree
that wood is equally superior
to the Okefenokee Swamp.

‐Yes.
‐I see I speak
for the vast majority

when I say we can have
the wood floor back
in an hour.

Let's do that and get
a good night's sleep.

Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.
Wait a minute.

I got a better idea.

Why don't we just all go out
and get the old wood,

and then instead of making
a floor,

let's avoid the middleman
and go right to coffins.

Because as sure as we're
standing here,

some kid is gonna die
of an infection,

and we're just
gonna have to live with it.

So, why don't we just
all turn in,

and see if we can
sleep on that, okay?

Pleasant dreams.

Well, we still have
lots of cement.

All right, men, we've got
blisters to tend to.

Band‐Aids all around.

I'll keep
the hot coffee coming.

(blows whistle)

‐Carissima!
‐(screams)

I've returned.

‐Ignazio.
‐Speaking.

What are you
doing here?

You're supposed to be
back with your unit.

You know why I am here.

Your lips, they said,
"Go away"...

but your eyes,
they say, "Go AWOL."

KLINGER:
No question about it.

It's the right color
and the right texture.

In a few hours,
we'll have a solid
wall‐to‐wall floor.

And now if our
beloved foreman

will initial
his masterpiece

in the lower
right‐hand corner.

It will be an honor
and only fitting.

Why don't you give us
a nose print?

Be a great
tourist attraction

here at Grauman's Hopefully
Not Chinese Theater.

What are you painting,
Charles?

A self‐portrait entitled
Man Not Working?

Well, if you must know,
Pierce,

I'm making a wet cement
"Caution" sign.

Hey, how come you got
the easy job

when we had to
bust our buns?

Very well. Klinger,
how do you spell "caution"?

‐C‐A‐W...
‐I rest my case.

When I have this sign finished,
I'll hang one on this door.

Then I have to walk
all the way around,

‐and put one on the other door.
‐Aww.

‐K‐A‐W?
‐Now you got it.

Come with me to Napoli,
mi cuore.

Oh, Ignazio, please.

I give you love.
I give you bambinos.

I give you happiness.
I give you more bambinos.

Do you know you could
be arrested for this?

Already I'm being held
prisoner by my love for you.

Ignazio, look,
I fixed your leg.

Now get up on it
and walk back to
your unit.

Why for you talk
like this to me,
the man you love?

I don't love you.

Ah, then there can
only be one answer.

‐Somewhere is another man, no?
‐No, that's not‐‐

Yes,
that's it. That's it.
There's another man.

A De Simone is always
the last to know.
You love him deeply, no?

‐Oh, with all my heart and soul.
‐Who is he, this lucky man?

‐Oh, I'd rather not say.
‐You must!

Oh, now, fear not for his life.
I carry no grouch.

I just want to know
what kind of man he is

can take you from me.
I must know.

I have no time for this.
There's a w*r on.

If only you tell me,
I go back to my unit
with my heart at peace.

‐(whistling)
‐Si.

Him,
Dr. Winchester.

Him? The man
with the bocce ball head?

Oh, Charles is
a wonderful man.

Of course he is.

As gentleman of honor,
I must go tell him
the best man, he wins.

‐What? No, you mustn't.
‐Yes, I must. I am.
I'm De Simone.

Oh, no, please, Ignazio,
you mustn't tell him.
No, please, he'd be‐‐

Uh, you see, he‐‐ he
doesn't know.

‐He doesn't know about
your love for him?
‐No.

‐I will tell him.
‐No!

‐Si.
‐Now, listen. Ignazio, please!

The man they call Winchest.

This fine woman,
she loves you so big,
and you not love her back.

What on earth
are you talking about,

and in what language
are you saying it?

‐Charles, don't listen to him.
‐You are cold and no sensitive.

‐How can you not see
she love you?
‐Oh, I don't love him.

‐That's one way.
‐Of course she deny it.

She has proudness.
But she give the eye of
her teeth to have you.

Ignazio, you're making
a fool of yourself.

You're not doing
too badly either, Margaret.

‐You "pomposter."
You gigolo!
‐Ignazio, let's go.

My good man,
I have better things to do

than stand around
listening to someone

make no sense
in two languages.

Let me make myself
more clearly.

If this woman,
she is dishonored

if she sheds
one drop of tear
because of you,

our next meeting
will not be so pleasant.

Well, this one has been
enchanting, I assure you.

I can hardly wait
for the next one.

I shall be anxiously
counting the decades.

Oh, dear.

Charles, couldn't you just
sign your initials like
everybody else?

Yes.

That does it, Charles.
I'm throwing in the trowel.

Thank you.

‐Why won't you tell me
where we're going?
‐It's a surprise.

‐Got a little job for you.
‐Oh, yeah? What kind of job?

Well, we thought you might
perform a little
surgery for us.

Ah, the guest of honor.
This is for you, son.

Before we have
the official ribbon‐cutting,

I'd like to thank you all
for breaking your britches.

And I'd like to single out
certain folks

for special commendation.

First, Captains
Pierce and Hunnicutt

for their corking initiative
in going over my head
right to Corporal Klinger.

Next,
Major Winchester.

Major Winchester?
He didn't do a thing.
He didn't lift a shovel.

Pipe down. Pipe down.
This is an operating room.

As I was saying,
here's to Major Winchester

for showing that
a man can be neat,
clean and bathed,

and still end up
smelling bad.

Now you're
talking, sir.

Finally,
Corporal Klinger.

It's thanks to his
horse‐trading skills

that we got the material
for one hell of
a concrete floor.

I owe it all to
my men, sir.

I've long suspected
that one sure way

to get this ornery bunch
off their back pockets

is to tell them that
something can't be done.

And without knowing
I was doing it,

I found I was right.

Padre?

Oh, thank you, sir.

Dear Lord, we ask you
to bless this floor.

May it be used
as little as possible.

‐Amen.
‐Amen.

‐Okay, this is your
big moment, Cochran.
‐Here we go.

‐Oh, look at that.
‐(cheering)

‐(chatter)
‐CHARLES: Retractor, Margaret.

Come on. Hurry up.

MARGARET:
Watch your mouth, loverboy,
or our mutual friend

may just come back
and say arrivederci
to your teeth.

POTTER: Congrats, people.

A Missouri mule couldn't kick
a hole in this floor.

HAWKEYE:
Thanks, Colonel.
More suction here.

B.J.: Uh‐oh, did somebody
drop something?

HAWKEYE:
Yeah, I did.

Don't you just love
that sound?

♪♪♪

♪♪♪ (theme)