Catch-22

40 CATCH-22

There was, of course, a catch.

“Catch-22?” inquired Yossarian.

“Of course,” Colonel Korn answered pleasantly, after he had chased the mighty guard of massive M.P.s out with an insouciant flick of his hand and a slightly contemptuous nod-most relaxed, as always, when he could be most cynical. His rimless square eyeglasses glinted with sly amusement as he gazed at Yossarian. “After all, we can’t simply send you home for refusing to fly more missions and keep the rest of the men here, can we? That would hardly be fair to them.”

“You’re goddam right!” Colonel Cathcart blurted out, lumbering back and forth gracelessly like a winded bull, puffing and pouting angrily. “I’d like to tie him up hand and foot and throw him aboard a plane on every mission. That’s what I’d like to do.”

Colonel Korn motioned Colonel Cathcart to be silent and smiled at Yossarian. “You know, you really have been making things terribly difficult for Colonel Cathcart,” he observed with flip good humor, as though the fact did not displease him at all. “The men are unhappy and morale is beginning to deteriorate. And it’s all your fault.”

“It’s your fault,” Yossarian argued, “for raising the number of missions.”

“No, it’s your fault for refusing to fly them,” Colonel Korn retorted. “The men were perfectly content to fly as many missions as we asked as long as they thought they had no alternative. Now you’ve given them hope, and they’re unhappy. So the blame is all yours.”

“Doesn’t he know there’s a war going on?” Colonel Cathcart, still stamping back and forth, demanded morosely without looking at Yossarian.

“I’m quite sure he does,” Colonel Korn answered. “That’s probably why he refuses to fly them.”

“Doesn’t it make any difference to him?”

“Will the knowledge that there’s a war going on weaken your decision to refuse to participate in it?” Colonel Korn inquired with sarcastic seriousness, mocking Colonel Cathcart.

“No, sir,” Yossarian replied, almost returning Colonel Korn’s smile.

“I was afraid of that,” Colonel Korn remarked with an elaborate sigh, locking his fingers together comfortably on top of his smooth, bald, broad, shiny brown head. “You know, in all fairness, we really haven’t treated you too badly, have we? We’ve fed you and paid you on time. We gave you a medal and even made you a captain.”

“I never should have made him a captain,” Colonel Cathcart exclaimed bitterly. “I should have given him a court-martial after he loused up that Ferrara mission and went around twice.”

“I told you not to promote him,” said Colonel Korn, “but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No you didn’t. You told me to promote him, didn’t you?”

“I told you not to promote him. But you just wouldn’t listen.”

“I should have listened.”

“You never listen to me,” Colonel Korn persisted with relish. “That’s the reason we’re in this spot.”

“All right, gee whiz. Stop rubbing it in, will you?”

Colonel Cathcart burrowed his fists down deep inside his pockets and turned away in a slouch. “Instead of picking on me, why don’t you figure out what we’re going to do about him?”

“We’re going to send him home, I’m afraid.” Colonel Korn was chuckling triumphantly when he turned away from Colonel Cathcart to face Yossarian. “Yossarian, the war is over for you. We’re going to send you home. You really don’t deserve it, you know, which is one of the reasons I don’t mind doing it. Since there’s nothing else we can risk doing to you at this time, we’ve decided to return you to the States. We’ve worked out this little deal to-“

“What kind of deal?” Yossarian demanded with defiant mistrust.

Colonel Korn tossed his head back and laughed. “Oh, a thoroughly despicable deal, make no mistake about that. It’s absolutely revolting. But you’ll accept it quickly enough.”

“Don’t be too sure.”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt you will, even though it stinks to high heaven. Oh, by the way. You haven’t told any of the men you’ve refused to fly more missions, have you?”

“No, sir,” Yossarian answered promptly.

Colonel Korn nodded approvingly. “That’s good. I like the way you lie. You’ll go far in this world if you ever acquire some decent ambition.”

“Doesn’t he know there’s a war going on?” Colonel Cathcart yelled out suddenly, and blew with vigorous disbelief into the open end of his cigarette holder.

“I’m quite sure he does,” Colonel Korn replied acidly, “since you brought that identical point to his attention just a moment ago.” Colonel Korn frowned wearily for Yossarian’s benefit, his eyes twinkling swarthily with sly and daring scorn. Gripping the edge of Colonel Cathcart’s desk with both hands, he lifted his flaccid haunches far back on the corner to sit with both short legs dangling freely. His shoes kicked lightly against the yellow oak wood, his sludge-brown socks, garterless, collapsed in sagging circles below ankles that were surprisingly small and white. “You know, Yossarian,” he mused affably in a manner of casual reflection that seemed both derisive and sincere, “I really do admire you a bit. You’re an intelligent person of great moral character who has taken a very courageous stand. I’m an intelligent person with no moral character at all, so I’m in an ideal position to appreciate it.”

“These are very critical times,” Colonel Cathcart asserted petulantly from a far corner of the office, paying no attention to Colonel Korn.

“Very critical times indeed,” Colonel Korn agreed with a placid nod. “We’ve just had a change of command above, and we can’t afford a situation that might put us in a bad light with either General Scheisskopf or General Peckem. Isn’t that what you mean, Colonel?”

“Hasn’t he got any patriotism?”

“Won’t you fight for your country?” Colonel Korn demanded, emulating Colonel Cathcart’s harsh, self-righteous tone. “Won’t you give up your life for Colonel Cathcart and me?”

Yossarian tensed with alert astonishment when he heard Colonel Korn’s concluding words. “What’s that?” he exclaimed. “What have you and Colonel Cathcart got to do with my country? You’re not the same.”

“How can you separate us?” Colonel Korn inquired with ironical tranquillity.

“That’s right,” Colonel Cathcart cried emphatically. “You’re either for us or against us. There’s no two ways about it.”

“I’m afraid he’s got you,” added Colonel Korn. “You’re either for us or against your country. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh, no, Colonel. I don’t buy that.”

Colonel Korn was unrufed. “Neither do I, frankly, but everyone else will. So there you are.”

“You’re a disgrace to your uniform!” Colonel Cathcart declared with blustering wrath, whirling to confront Yossarian for the first time. “I’d like to know how you ever got to be a captain, anyway.”

“You promoted him,” Colonel Korn reminded sweetly, stifling a snicker. “Don’t you remember?”

“Well, I never should have done it.”

“I told you not to do it,” Colonel Korn said. “But you just wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Gee whiz, will you stop rubbing it in?” Colonel Cathcart cried. He furrowed his brow and glowered at Colonel Korn through eyes narrow with suspicion, his fists clenched on his hips. “Say, whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Your side, Colonel. What other side could I be on?”

“Then stop picking on me, will you? Get off my back, will you?”

“I’m on your side, Colonel. I’m just loaded with patriotism.”

“Well, just make sure you don’t forget that.” Colonel Cathcart turned away grudgingly after another moment, incompletely reassured, and began striding the floor, his hands kneading his long cigarette holder. He jerked a thumb toward Yossarian. “Let’s settle with him. I know what I’d like to do with him. I’d like to take him outside and shoot him. That’s what I’d like to do with him. That’s what General Dreedle would do with him.”

“But General Dreedle isn’t with us any more,” said Colonel Korn, “so we can’t take him outside and shoot him.” Now that his moment of tension with Colonel Cathcart had passed, Colonel Korn relaxed again and resumed kicking softly against Colonel Cathcart’s desk. He returned to Yossarian. “So we’re going to send you home instead. It took a bit of thinking, but we finally worked out this horrible little plan for sending you home without causing too much dissatisfaction among the friends you’ll leave behind. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

“What kind of plan? I’m not sure I’m going to like it.”

“I know you’re not going to like it.” Colonel Korn laughed, locking his hands contentedly on top of his head again. “You’re going to loathe it. It really is odious and certainly will offend your conscience. But you’ll agree to it quickly enough. You’ll agree to it because it will send you home safe and sound in two weeks, and because you have no choice. It’s that or a court-martial. Take it or leave it.”

Yossarian snorted. “Stop bluffing, Colonel. You can’t court-martial me for desertion in the face of the enemy. It would make you look bad and you probably couldn’t get a conviction.”

“But we can court-martial you now for desertion from duty, since you went to Rome without a pass. And we could make it stick. If you think about it a minute, you’ll see that you’d leave us no alternative. We can’t simply let you keep walking around in open insubordination without punishing you. All the other men would stop flying missions, too. No, you have my word for it. We will court-martial you if you turn our deal down, even though it would raise a lot of questions and be a terrible black eye for Colonel Cathcart.”

Colonel Cathcart winced at the words “black eye” and, without any apparent premeditation, hurled his slender onyx-and-ivory cigarette holder down viciously on the wooden surface on his desk. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted unexpectedly. “I hate this goddam cigarette holder!” The cigarette holder bounced off the desk to the wall, ricocheted across the window sill to the floor and came to a stop almost where he was standing. Colonel Cathcart stared down at it with an irascible scowl. “I wonder if it’s really doing me any good.”

“It’s a feather in your cap with General Peckem, but a black eye for you with General Scheisskopf,” Colonel Korn informed him with a mischievous look of innocence.

“Well, which one am I supposed to please?”

“Both.”

“How can I please them both? They hate each other. How am I ever going to get a feather in my cap from General Scheisskopf without getting a black eye from General Peckem?”

“March.”

“Yeah, march. That’s the only way to please him. March. March.” Colonel Cathcart grimaced sullenly. “Some generals! They’re a disgrace to their uniforms. If people like those two can make general, I don’t see how I can miss.”

“You’re going to go far.” Colonel Korn assured him with a flat lack of conviction, and turned back chuckling to Yossarian, his disdainful merriment increasing at the sight of Yossarian’s unyielding expression of antagonism and distrust. “And there you have the crux of the situation. Colonel Cathcart wants to be a general and I want to be a colonel, and that’s why we have to send you home.”

“Why does he want to be a general?”

“Why? For the same reason that I want to be a colonel. What else have we got to do? Everyone teaches us to aspire to higher things. A general is higher than a colonel, and a colonel is higher than a lieutenant colonel. So we’re both aspiring. And you know, Yossarian, it’s a lucky thing for you that we are. Your timing on this is absolutely perfect, but I suppose you took that factor into account in your calculations.”

“I haven’t been doing any calculating,” Yossarian retorted.

“Yes, I really do enjoy the way you lie,” Colonel Korn answered. “Won’t it make you proud to have your commanding officer promoted to general-to know you served in an outfit that averaged more combat missions per person than any other? Don’t you want to earn more unit citations and more oak leaf clusters for your Air Medal? Where’s your ‘sprit de corps?’ Don’t you want to contribute further to this great record by flying more combat missions? It’s your last chance to answer yes.”

“No.”

“In that case, you have us over a barrel-“ said Colonel Korn without rancor.

“He ought to be ashamed of himself!”

“-and we have to send you home. Just do a few little things for us, and-“

“What sort of things?” Yossarian interrupted with belligerent misgiving.

“Oh, tiny, insignificant things. Really, this is a very generous deal we’re making with you. We will issue orders returning you to the States-really, we will-and all you have to do in return is…”

“What? What must I do?”

Colonel Korn laughed curtly. “Like us.”

Yossarian blinked. “Like you?”

“Like us.”

“Like you?”

“That’s right,” said Colonel Korn, nodding, gratified immeasurably by Yossarian’s guileless surprise and bewilderment. “Like us. Join us. Be our pal. Say nice things about us here and back in the States. Become one of the boys. Now, that isn’t asking too much, is it?”

“You just want me to like you? Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Just find it in your heart to like us.”

Yossarian wanted to laugh confidently when he saw with amazement that Colonel Korn was telling the truth. “That isn’t going to be too easy,” he sneered.

“Oh, it will be a lot easier than you think,” Colonel Korn taunted in return, undismayed by Yossarian’s barb. “You’ll be surprised at how easy you’ll find it to like us once you begin.” Colonel Korn hitched up the waist of his loose, voluminous trousers. The deep black grooves isolating his square chin from his jowls were bent again in a kind of jeering and reprehensible mirth. “You see, Yossarian, we’re going to put you on easy street. We’re going to promote you to major and even give you another medal. Captain Flume is already working on glowing press releases describing your valor over Ferrara, your deep and abiding loyalty to your outfit and your consummate dedication to duty. Those phrases are all actual quotations, by the way. We’re going to glorify you and send you home a hero, recalled by the Pentagon for morale and public-relations purposes. You’ll live like a millionaire. Everyone will lionize you. You’ll have parades in your honor and make speeches to raise money for war bonds. A whole new world of luxury awaits you once you become our pal. Isn’t it lovely?”

Yossarian found himself listening intently to the fascinating elucidation of details. “I’m not sure I want to make speeches.”

“Then we’ll forget the speeches. The important thing is what you say to people here.” Colonel Korn leaned forward earnestly, no longer smiling. “We don’t want any of the men in the group to know that we’re sending you home as a result of your refusal to fly more missions. And we don’t want General Peckem or General Scheisskopf to get wind of any friction between us, either. That’s why we’re going to become such good pals.”

“What will I say to the men who asked me why I refused to fly more missions?”

“Tell them you had been informed in confidence that you were being returned to the States and that you were unwilling to risk your life for another mission or two. Just a minor disagreement between pals, that’s all.”

“Will they believe it?”

“Of course they’ll believe it, once they see what great friends we’ve become and when they see the press releases and read the flattering things you have to say about me and Colonel Cathcart. Don’t worry about the men. They’ll be easy enough to discipline and control when you’ve gone. It’s only while you’re still here that they may prove troublesome. You know, one good apple can spoil the rest,” Colonel Korn concluded with conscious irony. “You know-this would really be wonderful-you might even serve as an inspiration to them to fly more missions.”

“Suppose I denounce you when I get back to the States?”

“After you’ve accepted our medal and promotion and all the fanfare? No one would believe you, the Army wouldn’t let you, and why in the world should you want to? You’re going to be one of the boys, remember? You’ll enjoy a rich, rewarding, luxurious, privileged existence. You’d have to be a fool to throw it all away just for a moral principle, and you’re not a fool. Is it a deal?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s that or a court-martial.”

“That’s a pretty scummy trick I’d be playing on the men in the squadron, isn’t it?”

“Odious,” Colonel Korn agreed amiably, and waited, watching Yossarian patiently with a glimmer of private delight.

“But what the hell!” Yossarian exclaimed. “If they don’t want to fly more missions, let them stand up and do something about it the way I did. Right?”

“Of course,” said Colonel Korn.

“There’s no reason I have to risk my life for them, is there?”

“Of course not.”

Yossarian arrived at his decision with a swift grin. “It’s a deal!” he announced jubilantly.

“Great,” said Colonel Korn with somewhat less cordiality than Yossarian had expected, and he slid himself off Colonel Cathcart’s desk to stand on the floor. He tugged the folds of cloth of his pants and undershorts free from his crotch and gave Yossarian a limp hand to shake. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks, Colonel. I-“

“Call me Blackie, John. We’re pals now.”

“Sure, Blackie. My friends call me Yo-Yo. Blackie, I-“

“His friends call him Yo-Yo,” Colonel Korn sang out to Colonel Cathcart. “Why don’t you congratulate Yo-Yo on what a sensible move he’s making?”

“That’s a real sensible move you’re making, Yo-Yo,” Colonel Cathcart said, pumping Yossarian’s hand with clumsy zeal.

“Thank you, Colonel, I-“

“Call him Chuck,” said Colonel Korn.

“Sure, call me Chuck,” said Colonel Cathcart with a laugh that was hearty and awkward. “We’re all pals now.”

“Sure, Chuck.”

“Exit smiling,” said Colonel Korn, his hands on both their shoulders as the three of them moved to the door.

“Come on over for dinner with us some night, Yo-Yo,” Colonel Cathcart invited hospitably. “How about tonight? In the group dining room.”

“I’d love to, sir.”

“Chuck,” Colonel Korn corrected reprovingly.

“I’m sorry, Blackie. Chuck. I can’t get used to it.”

“That’s all right, pal.”

“Sure, pal.”

“Thanks, pal.”

“Don’t mention it, pal.”

“So long, pal.”

Yossarian waved goodbye fondly to his new pals and sauntered out onto the balcony corridor, almost bursting into song the instant he was alone. He was home free: he had pulled it off; his act of rebellion had succeeded; he was safe, and he had nothing to be ashamed of to anyone. He started toward the staircase with a jaunty and exhilarated air. A private in green fatigues saluted him. Yossarian returned the salute happily, staring at the private with curiosity. He looked strangely familiar. When Yossarian returned the salute, the private in green fatigues turned suddenly into Nately’s whore and lunged at him murderously with a bone-handled kitchen knife that caught him in the side below his upraised arm. Yossarian sank to the floor with a shriek, shutting his eyes in overwhelming terror as he saw the girl lift the knife to strike at him again. He was already unconscious when Colonel Korn and Colonel Cathcart dashed out of the office and saved his life by frightening her away.