“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 119
Cathcart was free, to force their men to fly sixty missions if they chose, and they were
free, as Yossarian had been free, to stand in formation naked if they wanted to, although
General Dreedle’s granite jaw swung open at the sight and he went striding dictatorially
right down the line to make certain that there really was a man wearing nothing but
moccasins waiting at attention in ranks to receive a medal from him. General Dreedle
was speechless. Colonel Cathcart began to faint when he spied Yossarian, and Colonel
Korn stepped up behind him and squeezed his arm in a strong grip. The silence was
grotesque. A steady warm wind flowed in from the beach, and an old cart filled with dirty
straw rumbled into view on the main road, drawn by a black donkey and driven by a
farmer in a flopping hat and faded brown work clothes who paid no attention to the
formal military ceremony taking place in the small field on his right.
At last General Dreedle spoke. ‘Get back in the car,’ he snapped over his shoulder to
his nurse, who had followed him down the line. The nurse toddled away with a smile
toward his brown staff car, parked about twenty yards away at the edge of the
rectangular clearing. General Dreedle waited in austere silence until the car door
slammed and then demanded, ‘Which one is this?’ Colonel Moodus checked his roster.
‘This one is Yossarian, Dad. He gets a Distinguished Flying Cross.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ mumbled General Dreedle, and his ruddy monolithic face
softened with amusement. ‘Why aren’t you wearing clothes, Yossarian?’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘What do you mean you don’t want to? Why the hell don’t you want to?’
‘I just don’t want to, sir.’
‘Why isn’t he wearing clothes?’ General Dreedle demanded over his shoulder of
Colonel Cathcart.
‘He’s talking to you,’ Colonel Korn whispered over Colonel Cathcart’s shoulder from
behind, jabbing his elbow sharply into Colonel Cathcart’s back.
‘Why isn’t he wearing clothes?’ Colonel Cathcart demanded of Colonel Korn with a
look of acute pain, tenderly nursing the spot where Colonel Korn had just jabbed him.
‘Why isn’t he wearing clothes?’ Colonel Korn demanded of Captain Piltchard and
Captain Wren.
‘A man was killed in his plane over Avignon last week and bled all over him,’ Captain
Wren replied. ‘He swears he’s never going to wear a uniform again.’
‘A man was killed in his plane over Avignon last week and bled all over him,’ Colonel
Korn reported directly to General Dreedle. ‘His uniform hasn’t come back from the
laundry yet.’
‘Where are his other uniforms?’
‘They’re in the laundry, too.’
‘What about his underwear?’ General Dreedle demanded.
‘All his underwear’s in the laundry, too,’ answered Colonel Korn.
‘That sounds like a lot of crap to me,’ General Dreedle declared.
‘It is a lot of crap, sir,’ Yossarian said.
‘Don’t you worry, sir,’ Colonel Cathcart promised General Dreedle with a threatening
look at Yossarian. ‘You have my personal word for it that this man will be severely
punished.’
‘What the hell do I care if he’s punished or not?’ General Dreedle replied with surprise
and irritation. ‘He’s just won a medal. If he wants to receive it without any clothes on,
what the hell business is it of yours?’
‘Those are my sentiments exactly, sir!’ Colonel Cathcart echoed with resounding
enthusiasm and mopped his brow with a damp white handkerchief. ‘But would you say
that, sir, even in the light of General Peckem’s recent memorandum on the subject of
appropriate military attire in combat areas?’
‘Peckem?’ General Dreedle’s face clouded.
‘Yes, sir, sir,’ said Colonel Cathcart obsequiously. ‘General Peckem even
recommends that we send our men into combat in full-dress uniform so they’ll make a
good impression on the enemy when they’re shot down.’