“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 128
wish you’d try to be of more help to me. I really was disappointed when you ran off with
those two tramps in Catania yesterday.’ Yossarian stared at Milo in quizzical disbelief. ‘
Milo, you told me to go with them. Don’t you remember?’
‘That wasn’t my fault,’ Milo answered with dignity. ‘I had to get rid of Orr some way
once we reached town. It will be a lot different in Palermo. When we land in Palermo, I
want you and Orr to leave with the girls right from the airport.’
‘With what girls?’
‘I radioed ahead and made arrangements with a four-year-old pimp to supply you and
Orr with two eight-year-old virgins who are half Spanish. He’ll be waiting at the airport in
a limousine. Go right in as soon as you step out of the plane.’
‘Nothing doing,’ said Yossarian, shaking his head. ‘The only place I’m going is to
sleep.’ Milo turned livid with indignation, his slim long nose flickering spasmodically
between his black eyebrows and his unbalanced orange-brown mustache like the pale,
thin flame of a single candle. ‘Yossarian, remember your mission,’ he reminded
reverently.
‘To hell with my mission,’ Yossarian responded indifferently. ‘And to hell with the
syndicate too, even though I do have a share. I don’t want any eight-year-old virgins,
even if they are half Spanish.’
‘I don’t blame you. But these eight-year-old virgins are really only thirty-two. And
they’re not really half Spanish but only one-third Estonian.’
‘I don’t care for any virgins.’
‘And they’re not even virgins,’ Milo continued persuasively. ‘The one I picked out for
you was married for a short time to an elderly schoolteacher who slept with her only on
Sundays, so she’s really almost as good as new.’ But Orr was sleepy, too, and
Yossarian and Orr were both at Milo’s side when they rode into the city of Palermo from
the airport and discovered that there was no room for the two of them at the hotel there
either, and, more important, that Milo was mayor.
The weird, implausible reception for Milo began at the airfield, where civilian laborers
who recognized him halted in their duties respectfully to gaze at him with full
expressions of controlled exuberance and adulation. News of his arrival preceded him
into the city, and the outskirts were already crowded with cheering citizens as they sped
by in their small uncovered truck. Yossarian and Orr were mystified and mute and
pressed close against Milo for security.
Inside the city, the welcome for Milo grew louder as the truck slowed and eased
deeper toward the middle of town. Small boys and girls had been released from school
and were lining the sidewalks in new clothes, waving tiny flags. Yossarian and Orr were
absolutely speechless now. The streets were jammed with joyous throngs, and strung
overhead were huge banners bearing Milo’s picture. Milo had posed for these pictures in
a drab peasant’s blouse with a high collar, and his scrupulous, paternal countenance
was tolerant, wise, critical and strong as he stared out at the populace omnisciently with
his undisciplined mustache and disunited eyes. Sinking invalids blew kisses to him from
windows. Aproned shopkeepers cheered ecstatically from the narrow doorways of their
shops. Tubas crumped. Here and there a person fell and was trampled to death.
Sobbing old women swarmed through each other frantically around the slow-moving
truck to touch Milo’s shoulder or press his hand. Milo bore the tumultuous celebrations
with benevolent grace. He waved back to everyone in elegant reciprocation and
showered generous handfuls of foilcovered Hershey kisses to the rejoicing multitudes.
Lines of lusty young boys and girls skipped along behind him with their arms linked,
chanting in hoarse and glassy-eyed adoration, ‘ Milo! Mi-lo! Mi-lo!’ Now that his secret
was out, Milo relaxed with Yossarian and Orr and inflated opulently with a vast, shy
pride. His cheeks turned flesh-colored. Milo had been elected mayor of Palermo —and
of nearby Carini, Monreale, Bagheria, Termini Imerese, Cefalu, Mistretta and Nicosia as
well—because he had brought Scotch to Sicily.
Yossarian was amazed. ‘The people here like to drink Scotch that much?’
‘They don’t drink any of the Scotch,’ Milo explained. ‘Scotch is very expensive, and