The Hasty Heart Page #4

- Good night, Blossom.

- Good night.

- Good night, Digger.

- Good night, fellas.

What was that?

Don't you look at me.

Bagpipes!

Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers,

Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth,

Samuel, Kings...

- Hey, I'll be leaving here soon.

- I know.

Who's gonna carry things for you

after I'm gone?

I have no idea.

You'll find somebody.

Yes, I suppose I will.

Please put that in my office.

- Who wants mail?

- I do.

That's what we've been waiting for.

- One for you, Digger.

- Sister, you're an angel.

- You got one for me?

- Well, somebody loves you.

- Any more, Sister?

- Yes, here's one. Here's two for you.

Any more, Sister? You're an angel.

I don't know what can be happening

to your mail, Lachie.

Unless they're holding it

at your regimental headquarters.

I expect no mail.

Don't your friends know where you are?

- You do have friends, don't you, Lachie?

- Aye, many friends.

Very carefully chosen individuals

in various parts of the world.

However, they all know my views

and I'm fully acquainted with theirs.

Still, it's nice to know what's

happening back home sometimes.

My knowing will not change anything.

I see.

Lachie, is there anything special

you'd like for tea?

No, nothing.

Well, there must be something you'd like.

Something I can fix for you myself.

- Why?

- Why do you ask why?

I've noticed, Sister,

you seek to do me favors.

I do not ken your motive,

but I think it only fair to warn you,

I've no place for marriage in my plans.

I beg your pardon?

- I thought you might as well know.

- How kind of you to tell me.

But I assure you, Lachie,

I have no desire to marry you.

- None at all.

- Aye, so you say.

Now that you ken it's no use.

I only ask you about the food

because I thought something

a little different might please you.

May I remind you that I do not like

to have things done for me!

And I do not seek privilege.

Lachie, we're all entitled

to privilege every once in a while.

When I have a right for privilege,

I'll not ask for it. I'll demand it.

You are aggravating.

Why don't you make an effort

to be human?

I'm sorry I cannot be a weak character

to your liking.

So am I.

At least it's something I can understand.

- Lachie, I'm sorry I was cross with you.

- I do not notice the tantrums of women.

That will be such an advantage

if you ever marry!

It's odd how you harp on marriage.

Lachie, will you please believe me?

I'm not setting a trap for you.

I have no designs on you.

I'm gonna be strong

and resist your charm.

I would just like to know

if I can prepare any special dish for you.

I'll take what comes.

- I've had a baby!

- Did you suffer much?

- Boy or girl?

- A boy!

She's named it after me!

- Congrats, Kiwi boy!

- Thanks, Tommy mate!

- Good on you, Kiwi.

- And he's kicking well?

- Yeah.

- Blimey, boy!

Hey, did you hear that?

I've had a baby! A baby!

Blossom.

Yeah!

I've had a baby.

What's the matter with you?

Yeah, come on, spill it.

His mother-in-law died.

Oh, oh, dear, oh, dear.

They've had a dinner in me honor.

Me old woman's told them all

about my wound.

I'm a hero!

They've named a pudding after me!

I bet it's a heavy one!

A fine lot of women you must have!

What's wrong with you?

Have you any idea of the tons of paper

that's wasted writing such drivel?

Have you ever considered

the fortune in stamps

that could be spent on food instead?

Do you ken the number of ships

and planes it takes to deliver the letters

of millions of giddy females?

You're guilty of criminal waste,

you and your women.

Do us a favor, buster.

Don't show us the error of our ways.

Why don't you try

running the world for a bit?

Okay, it's your conscience troubles you,

not I.

Okay, so it's our conscience.

Oh, somebody give him asthma.

Lachie, the Colonel just called.

He wants to see you in his office.

- What does he want?

- I believe he wants to take an X-ray.

- Would you like someone to go with you?

- I need no one.

My legs and my health

have little respect for the Colonel.

- He's got a spite on me.

- That's not true, Lachie.

Well, why else should I be kept here?

My operation has mended,

and I've recovered from his butchery.

And yet there's never any mention

of letting me go home. Why?

I'll tell you.

I'm a Scot with a mind of my own.

Something no Englishman can abide.

Is he really gonna die, Sister?

Because if he isn't,

I'm thinking of killing him.

Yank, that's a dreadful thing to say.

- Well, you don't have to live with him.

- Hear, hear.

Why don't you try to understand him?

- Understand him?

- To understand him is to loathe him.

He's a terrible, stern man, he is, Sister.

We've all tried to get along with him,

Sister, but you can't touch him.

Now, listen to me, he wasn't sent here

to make things pleasant for you.

He was sent here for your help.

And whether you like him or not

is unimportant.

I admit, I lose patience, too.

- But we mustn't stop trying.

- But you can't get near him, Sister.

He doesn't know the meaning

of the word friendship,

and he doesn't want to.

If you're nice to him, he thinks

you're trying to steal something from him.

- Right.

- Aren't we all like that sometimes?

Don't we all suspect people's motives

and try to shut them out?

Yeah, but with him it's a disease.

He's got a spite

against the whole world, Sister.

And do you know why?

You know what kind of life he's had?

He tells everyone he's an orphan.

That's not true.

He was a foundling.

His mother wasn't married.

Do you know what that means?

He sure is.

Yank, I'm serious.

Lachie's probably worked

since he was old enough to walk.

Because his mother was foolish,

he spent all that time with no friends

and nothing but ridicule

from everyone around him.

Of course he suspects us.

Of course he hates the world

and everything in it. Why shouldn't he?

What's it ever meant to him

but bitterness and sorrow?

Even here now, when he's dying?

I'm sorry.

I reckon we're not much good, Sister.

What do you want us to do?

I'm gonna give you a chance

to redeem yourselves.

Today's his birthday.

- Oh, is it?

- I wanna give him a party.

- How old is he?

- He's 24, I looked on the record.

Now, what about the party?

I need your help.

Well, look, boys,

it isn't often you have an opportunity

to make a man grateful he spent

the last weeks of his life with you.

Remember, you're going to get well.

He's not.

- We'll do what we can.

- We might as well have a go at it, Sister!

Yank?

- We'll give him a party.

- Thanks.

And he better enjoy himself,

or we'll beat him to death

with those bagpipes.

- Hey, Sister, what about presents?

- Oh, I've got that arranged, too.

- Come on, Blossom.

- Bring the gorilla, Kiwi.

Now, here are the presents.

- Hey, it's a kilt!

- That's right.

A Cameron Highlander's kilt, complete.

The RAF brought it

all the way from Calcutta.

You did all that for him, Sister?

That ought to make him happy,

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