“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 184
Yossarian never be assigned to his plane again, just as Yossarian had gone
surreptitiously to speak to them about Dobbs and Huple and Orr and, unsuccessfully,
about Aarfy. He had never seen McWatt look displeased before, had never seen him in
any but the most lighthearted mood, and he wondered whether he had just lost another
friend.
But McWatt winked at him reassuringly as he climbed down from the plane and joshed
hospitably with the credulous new pilot and bombardier during the jeep ride back to the
squadron, although he did not address a word to Yossarian until all four had returned
their parachutes and separated and the two of them were walking side by side toward
their own row of tents. Then McWatt’s sparsely freckled tan Scotch-Irish face broke
suddenly into a smile and he dug his knuckles playfully into Yossarian’s ribs, as though
throwing a punch.
‘You louse,’ he laughed. ‘Were you really going to kill me up there?’ Yossarian grinned
penitently and shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘I didn’t realize you got it so bad. Boy! Why don’t you talk to somebody about it?’
‘I talk to everybody about it. What the hell’s the matter with you? Don’t you ever hear
me?’
‘I guess I never really believed you.’
‘Aren’t you ever afraid?’
‘Maybe I ought to be.’
‘Not even on the missions?’
‘I guess I just don’t have brains enough.’ McWatt laughed sheepishly.
‘There are so many ways for me to get killed,’ Yossarian commented, ‘and you had to
find one more.’ McWatt smiled again. ‘Say, I bet it must really scare you when I buzz
your tent, huh?’
‘It scares me to death. I’ve told you that.’
‘I thought it was just the noise you were complaining about.’ McWatt made a resigned
shrug. ‘Oh, well, what the hell,’ he sang. ‘I guess I’ll just have to give it up.’ But McWatt
was incorrigible, and, while he never buzzed Yossarian’s tent again, he never missed an
opportunity to buzz the beach and roar like a fierce and low-flying thunderbolt over the
raft in the water and the secluded hollow in the sand where Yossarian lay feeling up
Nurse Duckett or playing hearts, poker or pinochle with Nately, Dunbar and Hungry Joe.
Yossarian met Nurse Duckett almost every afternoon that both were free and came with
her to the beach on the other side of the narrow swell of shoulder-high dunes separating
them from the area in which the other officers and enlisted men went swimming nude.
Nately, Dunbar and Hungry Joe would come there, too. McWatt would occasionally join
them, and often Aarfy, who always arrived pudgily in full uniform and never removed any
of his clothing but his shoes and his hat; Aarfy never went swimming. The other men
wore swimming trunks in deference to Nurse Duckett, and in deference also to Nurse
Cramer, who accompanied Nurse Duckett and Yossarian to the beach every time and
sat haughtily by herself ten yards away. No one but Aarfy ever made reference to the
naked men sun-bathing in full view farther down the beach or jumping and diving from
the enormous white-washed raft that bobbed on empty oil drums out beyond the silt
sand. Nurse Cramer sat by herself because she was angry with Yossarian and
disappointed in Nurse Duckett.
Nurse Sue Ann Duckett despised Aarfy, and that was another one of the numerous
fetching traits about Nurse Duckett that Yossarian enjoyed. He enjoyed Nurse Sue Ann
Duckett’s long white legs and supple, callipygous ass; he often neglected to remember
that she was quite slim and fragile from the waist up and hurt her unintentionally in
moments of passion when he hugged her too roughly. He loved her manner of sleepy
acquiescence when they lay on the beach at dusk. He drew solace and sedation from
her nearness. He had a craving to touch her always, to remain always in physical
communication. He liked to encircle her ankle loosely with his fingers as he played cards
with Nately, Dunbar and Hungry Joe, to lightly and lovingly caress the downy skin of her
fair, smooth thigh with the backs of his nails or, dreamily, sensuously, almost