“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 155
amicably. ‘Corporal Whitcomb brought me this basic form letter that takes care of just
about every situation. Listen: "Dear Mrs., Mr., Miss, or Mr. and Mrs.: Words cannot
express the deep personal grief I experienced when your husband, son, father or
brother was killed, wounded or reported missing in action." And so on. I think that
opening sentence sums up my sentiments exactly. Listen, maybe you’d better let
Corporal Whitcomb take charge of the whole thing if you don’t feel up to it.’ Colonel
Cathcart whipped out his cigarette holder and flexed it between both hands like an onyx
and ivory riding crop. ‘That’s one of the things that’s wrong with you, Chaplain. Corporal
Whitcomb tells me you don’t know how to delegate responsibility. He says you’ve got no
initiative either. You’re not going to disagree with me, are you?’
‘No, sir.’ The chaplain shook his head, feeling despicably remiss because he did not
know how to delegate responsibility and had no initiative, and because he really had
been tempted to disagree with the colonel. His mind was a shambles. They were
shooting skeet outside, and every time a gun was fired his senses were jarred. He could
not adjust to the sound of the shots. He was surrounded by bushels of plum tomatoes
and was almost convinced that he had stood in Colonel Cathcart’s office on some
similar occasion deep in the past and had been surrounded by those same bushels of
those same plum tomatoes. Déjà vu again. The setting seemed so
familiar; yet it also seemed so distant. His clothes felt grimy and old, and he was deathly
afraid he smelled.
‘You take things too seriously, Chaplain,’ Colonel Cathcart told him bluntly with an air
of adult objectivity. ‘That’s another one of the things that’s wrong with you. That long
face of yours gets everybody depressed. Let me see you laugh once in a while. Come
on, Chaplain. You give me a belly laugh now and I’ll give you a whole bushel of plum
tomatoes.’ He waited a second or two, watching, and then chortled victoriously. ‘You
see, Chaplain, I’m right. You can’t give me a belly laugh, can you?’
‘No, sir,’ admitted the chaplain meekly, swallowing slowly with a visible effort. ‘Not
right now. I’m very thirsty.’
‘Then get yourself a drink. Colonel Korn keeps some bourbon in his desk. You ought
to try dropping around the officers’ club with us some evening just to have yourself a
little fun. Try getting lit once in a while. I hope you don’t feel you’re better than the rest of
us just because you’re a professional man.’
‘Oh, no, sir,’ the chaplain assured him with embarrassment. ‘As a matter of fact, I have
been going to the officers’ club the past few evenings.’
‘You’re only a captain, you know,’ Colonel Cathcart continued, paying no attention to
the chaplain’s remark. ‘You may be a professional man, but you’re still only a captain.’
‘Yes, sir. I know.’
‘That’s fine, then. It’s just as well you didn’t laugh before. I wouldn’t have given you the
plum tomatoes anyway. Corporal Whitcomb tells me you took a plum tomato when you
were in here this morning.’
‘This morning? But, sir! You gave it to me.’ Colonel Cathcart cocked his head with
suspicion. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t give it to you, did I? I merely said you took it. I don’t see
why you’ve got such a guilty conscience if you really didn’t steal it. Did I give it to you?’
‘Yes, sir. I swear you did.’
‘Then I’ll just have to take your word for it. Although I can’t imagine why I’d want to
give you a plum tomato.’ Colonel Cathcart transferred a round glass paperweight
competently from the right edge of his desk to the left edge and picked up a sharpened
pencil. ‘Okay. Chaplain, I’ve got a lot of important work to do now if you’re through. You
let me know when Corporal Whitcomb has sent out about a dozen of those letters and
we’ll get in touch with the editors of The Saturday Evening Post.’ A sudden inspiration
made his face brighten. ‘Say! I think I’ll volunteer the group for Avignon again. That
should speed things up!’
‘For Avignon?’ The chaplain’s heart missed a beat, and all his flesh began to prickle
and creep.
‘That’s right,’ the colonel explained exuberantly. ‘The sooner we get some casualties,