“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 175
repairing. A light rain was falling, drumming softly on the tent, the trees, the ground.
Yossarian cooked a can of hot soup to have ready for Orr and ate it all himself as the
time passed. He hard-boiled some eggs for Orr and ate those too. Then he ate a whole
tin of Cheddar cheese from a package of K rations.
Each time he caught himself worrying he made himself remember that Orr could do
everything and broke into silent laughter at the picture of Orr in the raft as Sergeant
Knight had described him, bent forward with a busy, preoccupied smile over the map
and compass in his lap, stuffing one soaking-wet chocolate bar after another into his
grinning, tittering mouth as he paddled away dutifully through the lightning, thunder and
rain with the bright-blue useless toy oar, the fishing line with dried bait trailing out behind
him. Yossarian really had no doubt about Orr’s ability to survive. If fish could be caught
with that silly fishing line, Orr would catch them, and if it was codfish he was after, then
Orr would catch a codfish, even though no codfish had ever been caught in those
waters before. Yossarian put another can of soup up to cook and ate that too when it
was hot. Every time a car door slammed, he broke into a hopeful smile and turned
expectantly toward the entrance, listening for footsteps. He knew that any moment Orr
would come walking into the tent with big, glistening, rain-soaked eyes, cheeks and
buck teeth, looking ludicrously like a jolly New England oysterman in a yellow oilskin rain
hat and slicker numerous sizes too large for him and holding up proudly for Yossarian’s
amusement a great dead codfish he had caught. But he didn’t.
Peckem
There was no word about Orr the next day, and Sergeant Whitcomb, with
commendable dispatch and considerable hope, dropped a reminder in his tickler file to
send a form letter over Colonel Cathcart’s signature to Orr’s next of kin when nine more
days had elapsed. There was word from General Peckem’s headquarters, though, and
Yossarian was drawn to the crowd of officers and enlisted men in shorts and bathing
trunks buzzing in grumpy confusion around the bulletin board just outside the orderly
room.
‘What’s so different about this Sunday, I want to know?’ Hungry Joe was demanding
vociferously of Chief White Halfoat. ‘Why won’t we have a parade this Sunday when we
don’t have a parade every Sunday? Huh?’ Yossarian worked his way through to the
front and let out a long, agonized groan when he read the terse announcement there:
Due to circumstances beyond my control, there will be no big parade this Sunday
afternoon.
Colonel Scheisskopf Dobbs was right. They were indeed sending everyone overseas,
even Lieutenant Scheisskopf, who had resisted the move with all the vigor and wisdom
at his command and who reported for duty at General Peckem’s office in a mood of
grave discontent.
General Peckem welcomed Colonel Scheisskopf with effusive charm and said he was
delighted to have him. An additional colonel on his staff meant that he could now begin
agitating for two additional majors, four additional captains, sixteen additional
lieutenants and untold quantities of additional enlisted men, typewriters, desks, filing
cabinets, automobiles and other substantial equipment and supplies that would
contribute to the prestige of his position and increase his striking power in the war he
had declared against General Dreedle. He now had two full colonels; General Dreedle
had only five, and four of those were combat commanders. With almost no intriguing at
all, General Peckem had executed a maneuver that would eventually double his
strength. And General Dreedle was getting drunk more often. The future looked
wonderful, and General Peckem contemplated his bright new colonel enchantedly with
an effulgent smile.
In all matters of consequence, General P. P. Peckem was, as he always remarked
when he was about to criticize the work of some close associate publicly, a realist. He
was a handsome, pink-skinned man of fifty-three. His manner was