“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 107
now he loathed and distrusted him. He experienced a keen premonition of danger and
wondered if the chaplain too were plotting against him, if the chaplain’s reticent,
unimpressive manner were really just a sinister disguise masking a fiery ambition that,
way down deep, was crafty and unscrupulous. There was something funny about the
chaplain, and the colonel soon detected what it was. The chaplain was standing stiffly at
attention, for the colonel had forgotten to put him at ease. Let him stay that way, the
colonel decided vindictively, just to show him who was boss and to safeguard himself
against any loss of dignity that might devolve from his acknowledging the omission.
Colonel Cathcart was drawn hypnotically toward the window with a massive, dull stare
of moody introspection. The enlisted men were always treacherous, he decided. He
looked downward in mournful gloom at the skeet-shooting range he had ordered built for
the officers on his headquarters staff, and he recalled the mortifying afternoon General
Dreedle had tongue-lashed him ruthlessly in front of Colonel Korn and Major Danby and
ordered him to throw open the range to all the enlisted men and officers on combat duty.
The skeet-shooting range had been a real black eye for him, Colonel Cathcart was
forced to conclude. He was positive that General Dreedle had never forgotten it, even
though he was positive that General Dreedle didn’t even remember it, which was really
very unjust, Colonel Cathcart lamented, since the idea of a skeet-shooting range itself
should have been a real feather in his cap, even though it had been such a real black
eye. Colonel Cathcart was helpless to assess exactly how much ground he had gained
or lost with his goddam skeet-shooting range and wished that Colonel Korn were in his
office right then to evaluate the entire episode for him still one more time and assuage
his fears.
It was all very perplexing, all very discouraging. Colonel Cathcart took the cigarette
holder out of his mouth, stood it on end inside the pocket of his shirt, and began
gnawing on the fingernails of both hands grievously. Everybody was against him, and he
was sick to his soul that Colonel Korn was not with him in this moment of crisis to help
him decide what to do about the prayer meetings. He had almost no faith at all in the
chaplain, who was still only a captain. ‘Do you think,’ he asked, ‘that keeping the
enlisted men out might interfere with our chances of getting results?’ The chaplain
hesitated, feeling himself on unfamiliar ground again. ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied finally. ‘I think
it’s conceivable that such an action could interfere with your chances of having the
prayers for a tighter bomb pattern answered.’
‘I wasn’t even thinking about that!’ cried the colonel, with his eyes blinking and
splashing like puddles. ‘You mean that God might even decide to punish me by giving
us a looser bomb pattern?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the chaplain. ‘It’s conceivable He might.’
‘The hell with it, then,’ the colonel asserted in a huff of independence. ‘I’m not going to
set these damned prayer meetings up just to make things worse than they are.’ With a
scornful snicker, he settled himself behind his desk, replaced the empty cigarette holder
in his mouth and lapsed into parturient silence for a few moments. ‘Now I think about it,’
he confessed, as much to himself as to the chaplain, ‘having the men pray to God
probably wasn’t such a hot idea anyway. The editors of The Saturday Evening Post
might not have co-operated.’ The colonel abandoned his project with remorse, for he
had conceived it entirely on his own and had hoped to unveil it as a striking
demonstration to everyone that he had no real need for Colonel Korn. Once it was gone,
he was glad to be rid of it, for he had been troubled from the start by the danger of
instituting the plan without first checking it out with Colonel Korn. He heaved an
immense sigh of contentment. He had a much higher opinion of himself now that his
idea was abandoned, for he had made a very wise decision, he felt, and, most
important, he had made this wise decision without consulting Colonel Korn.
‘Will that be all, sir?’ asked the chaplain.
‘Yeah,’ said Colonel Cathcart. ‘Unless you’ve got something else to suggest.’
‘No, sir. Only…’ The colonel lifted his eyes as though affronted and studied the
chaplain with aloof distrust. ‘Only what, Chaplain?’