“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 162
Yossarian that he would not permit his patients to take indecent liberties with his nurses.
‘What do you want from him?’ Dunbar asked plaintively from the floor, wincing at the
vibrating pains in his temples that his voice set up. ‘He didn’t do anything.’
‘I’m talking about you!’ the thin, dignified colonel bellowed as loudly as he could.
‘You’re going to be punished for what you did.’
‘What do you want from him?’ Yossarian called out. ‘All he did was fall on his head.’
‘And I’m talking about you too!’ the colonel declared, whirling to rage at Yossarian.
‘You’re going to be good and sorry you grabbed Nurse Duckett by the bosom.’
‘I didn’t grab Nurse Duckett by the bosom,’ said Yossarian.
‘I grabbed her by the bosom,’ said Dunbar.
‘Are you both crazy?’ the doctor cried shrilly, backing away in paling confusion.
‘Yes, he really is crazy, Doc,’ Dunbar assured him. ‘Every night he dreams he’s
holding a live fish in his hands.’ The doctor stopped in his tracks with a look of elegant
amazement and distaste, and the ward grew still. ‘He does what?’ he demanded.
‘He dreams he’s holding a live fish in his hand.’
‘What kind of fish?’ the doctor inquired sternly of Yossarian.
‘I don’t know,’ Yossarian answered. ‘I can’t tell one kind of fish from another.’
‘In which hand do you hold them?’
‘It varies,’ answered Yossarian.
‘It varies with the fish,’ Dunbar added helpfully.
The colonel turned and stared down at Dunbar suspiciously with a narrow squint.
‘Yes? And how come you seem to know so much about it?’
‘I’m in the dream,’ Dunbar answered without cracking a smile.
The colonel’s face flushed with embarrassment. He glared at them both with cold,
unforgiving resentment. ‘Get up off the floor and into your bed,’ he directed Dunbar
through thin lips. ‘And I don’t want to hear another word about this dream from either
one of you. I’ve got a man on my staff to listen to disgusting bilge like this.’
‘Just why do you think,’ carefully inquired Major Sanderson, the soft and thickset
smiling staff psychiatrist to whom the colonel had ordered Yossarian sent, ‘that Colonel
Ferredge finds your dream disgusting?’ Yossarian replied respectfully. ‘I suppose it’s
either some quality in the dream or some quality in Colonel Ferredge.’
‘That’s very well put,’ applauded Major Sanderson, who wore squeaking GI shoes and
had charcoal-black hair that stood up almost straight. ‘For some reason,’ he confided,
‘Colonel Ferredge has always reminded me of a sea gull. He doesn’t put much faith in
psychiatry, you know.’
‘You don’t like sea gulls, do you?’ inquired Yossarian.
‘No, not very much,’ admitted Major Sanderson with a sharp, nervous laugh and pulled
at his pendulous second chin lovingly as though it were a long goatee. ‘I think your
dream is charming, and I hope it recurs frequently so that we can continue discussing it.
Would you like a cigarette?’ He smiled when Yossarian declined. ‘Just why do you
think,’ he asked knowingly, ‘that you have such a strong aversion to accepting a
cigarette from me?’
‘I put one out a second ago. It’s still smoldering in your ash tray.’ Major Sanderson
chuckled. ‘That’s a very ingenious explanation. But I suppose we’ll soon discover the
true reason.’ He tied a sloppy double bow in his opened shoelace and then transferred a
lined yellow pad from his desk to his lap. ‘This fish you dream about. Let’s talk about
that. It’s always the same fish, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Yossarian replied. ‘I have trouble recognizing fish.’
‘What does the fish remind you of?’
‘Other fish.’
‘And what do other fish remind you of?’
‘Other fish.’ Major Sanderson sat back disappointedly. ‘Do you like fish?’
‘Not especially.’
‘Just why do you think you have such a morbid aversion to fish?’ asked Major
Sanderson triumphantly.