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Monty walks up to the makeshift confessional, sighing and wiping his hands on his fatigue pants he’s cut into shorts. He doesn’t know whether to attribute the perspiration developing all over his body to the sweltering South Korean heat or the nerves of just being near Father Mulcahy. The inside of the opaque tent is just going to make whatever it is worse. It’s like an oven inside of there. He’s already as undressed as he can get with a cool, damp washcloth across the back of his neck but he is still absolutely cooking, sweat soaking through his green wife-beater at the chest, back, and armpits. His glasses keep slipping off of his nose and fogging up due to all the sweat coating his body. He’s sure he smells horrible, but it’s not like anybody else smells any better. Most everybody around here is blind to the smell of body odor at this point because the only time they aren’t sweating is when they’re in a cold shower.
He isn’t ready to walk in, but he needs to. His sins won’t repent themselves. But he knows that isn’t the real reason, most everybody does just by looking at him, but he just can’t hide it. He takes one look around the camp, looking into the Swamp and seeing Hawkeye and BJ doing something. Towards the Father’s tent, hoping for just a glimpse of movement to make him be able to back off. Nothing. Monty just steps in, sitting down on the folding chair and locking the door. He just sits there for a moment, not saying anything while waiting for his heart rate to slow.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” he starts, placing his hands between his thighs and staring straight ahead, “It’s been about a week, I think, since my last confession.”
“I believe it has, Monty.” Father Mulcahy says, his voice as soft and cheerful as usual. It makes Monty’s stomach flip.
He breathes out again, “It’s a couple things today. One much more serious than the other.”
Monty didn’t even mean to say that. He said it, so he can’t back down now.
“Have you been stealing cigarettes again?” Father Mulcahy is trying to stifle a laugh, but it doesn’t work very much.
“Yes, Father… They’re just so expensive and I can’t kick the habit no matter how hard I try. I just get so angry whenever I do, I threw a bedpan at Hawkeye last time I tried.” Monty can’t help but laugh at the last part. “That was, what, two months ago?”
“Nobody will blame you for your anger or whatever else might happen when you try to quit next time.”
“It’s not just the worry, it’s just the feeling of… Being able to let go of my issues, it numbs you a little just like Hawk’s gin does for him and Beej. God only knows how much I need that lately. All this death really takes it outta you, Father, and other issues I got really don’t help.”
“We all need our outlets, Monty. Even if they’re not the healthiest, it’s better than other things. Your father has his horse and his paintings, maybe you just need to find something. Have you tried playing your violin?” Father Mulcahy shifts in his seat, the crappy chair groaning under his weight. It would collapse under the weight of a child if they sat down on it hard enough.
Monty shakes his head, looking down at his shoes. Then he realizes the Father can’t see him shake his head. “I haven’t. The strings are getting rusty and I can’t ask Ma to send me any. Those cakes she sends are already more than enough and good strings are a good chunk of money.” Anything over 5 bucks is a good chunk of money in Monty’s opinion.
“Maybe next time you’re on leave you can stop by a music shop? Or get Hawkeye to grab you some when he goes to Tokyo next?”
“Yeah, maybe… This next thing’s really heavy to me, so please try your best not to judge.” Monty breathes in deeply.
Father Mulcahy doesn’t speak for a moment. “I can’t judge, only God can. I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as the things other men come in here with.”
Monty pulls his hands out from under his legs and squeezes them into fists, taking in another breath. “What is the Bible’s stance on homosexuality, Father?”
“Oh, from what I’ve read and the most common interpretation in my seminary, there’s nothing wrong with it. The new Leviticus translation that Major Burns likes to try and quote to me is actually a mistranslation. So there is no mention of homosexuality being wrong in text in the past.” He gets quieter. “But I don’t think the Bible should have any say in how a man feels about another man, or how a woman feels about another woman.”
“So God’s not gonna condemn me for wanting to be with somebody?” Monty’s voice wavers a little, he’s still not looking over at the little screen. “Frank looked at the scars on my chest and said that I would be condemned for that, too.”
“Do you mind if I share some of my own personal beliefs with you, Montague?”
“Not at all, Father.”
“I believe that Major Burns is wrong about that, as well. God may not have shaped you into the perfect version of yourself and He’s made your life much harder than most because of that, but He gave you the strength to find yourself. And that is very admirable. He gives His strongest soldiers His toughest battles, and yours is quite tough.”
Monty glances up at the screen and sees that Father Mulcahy isn’t looking at the screen either. He just sees his hair slightly matted down with sweat and the sheen of his glasses, along with the top half of his face. It surprises Monty every time he looks at him how tan the Father actually is. It makes Monty’s nerves calm just the slightest to see that he’s not paying any mind to the small screen separating their faces.
“Well, the man I’ve had my eye on is here at camp. He’s one of my friends, but I could never say anything to him. He’s sworn off anything like that indefinitely. But I just… Can’t stop feeling that way towards him and I’m worried it’s going to ruin our friendship.” Monty’s hands start shaking again and his body doesn’t quite feel like his own, but he has to get this out or it’ll never go away. He’s still looking at the screen, searching the part of the Father’s face he can see for any little change he can find. His eyes widened a little, but that was it. The implications absolutely terrify Monty down to his core.
Father Mulcahy clears his throat and glances towards the screen. Monty turns his head quickly and looks down at his hands again. “I feel the same way about somebody here, Monty. Another man. In my position it’s hard to express those feelings, but I’d say go for it. If he’s truly your friend, he won’t let something like that ruin your friendship. If he does, he isn’t worthy of being your friend.”
“Do you really believe so?”
“I know so, Monty. You’re too good of a friend and a person to have somebody like that around and consider them a friend.”
Monty’s face flushes and he can’t help but laugh, “Thanks, Father.”
“If you don’t mind me prying, may I ask who it is?”
“I… You consider us friends, right, Father?”
“Of course.”
Monty pauses and gets extremely quiet. The quietest whisper he can muster to where he thinks it may still be audible. “It’s you, Father. I’m not even religious like this, I just wanted to be closer to you and have an excuse to talk to you.”
The chair on the other side of the confessional groans, almost sighing in relief as Father Mulcahy stands up. “Can we talk about this further in my tent? I don’t think this is… Quite the place for this conversation.”
Monty stands up and opens the door to the confessional and steps out, sticking his hands in his pockets as the Father steps out. Monty’s looking down at his shoes. Once the Father readjusts his glasses and puts on his white panama hat, Monty starts walking towards the Father’s tent. He can feel his face burning just as hot as the sun, the feeling extending to the tips of his ears. They walk in silence, Father Mulcahy humming something quietly. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit upset. If anything, he seems happy.
Father Mulcahy opens the door to his tent and Monty walks in after the Father motions for him to. He sits down on the stool seated next to Father Mulcahy’s cot, and Father Mulcahy takes off his hat before sitting down in front of Monty.
“Monty, I want you to know that I feel the same way towards you. This is just going to be difficult for the both of us. The 4077th already knows about my sexuality, but I’m not sure how they’d react to it being in practice…” The Father’s voice is quiet, and he’s looking at Monty with a look that Monty can’t describe as being anything other than sincere.
Monty wrings his hands together, matching Father Mulcahy’s tone. “And with somebody who outranks you, right?”
“Why, yes, that’s also part of it… And Colonel Potter’s judgment.”
“He won’t say anything about it, Father. If anything he’ll be grateful I won’t be sulking around or complaining to him. I’m not meaning to diminish your concerns, but my dad won’t be one of them.”
“I… I don’t really see an issue with anything else. If our ranks won’t be an issue and your father won’t be one either… We just have to watch out for Major Burns.” A smile creeps onto Father Mulcahy’s lips.
“And Burns is dumber than a box of rocks.” Monty leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So are we wanting to do this thing?”
“Absolutely. But I have one request.”
“Yeah, anything.”
“Don’t call me Father anymore, that would just be awkward. If you don’t mind, of course, you can do whatever you like in that aspect.”
“Alright then, Francis .” He puts more emphasis on his name, and he really likes how it sounds. A name that only he’ll call th- Francis.
Francis smiles more, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m glad we got that cleared up, Monty.”
Monty stands up, “Now that we did, how about a first date? I was thinking the mess hall. If we get there soon enough, Klinger might give us the good stuff- if there is such a thing.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Francis reaches over as he stands up and takes the washcloth off of Monty’s neck. Monty watches as he walks over to the bowl he has sitting on a shelf, dipping it in the water and wringing it out thoroughly before placing it back on the nape of Monty’s neck. Monty looks up at him and smiles.
“Thank you.”