“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 204
damned good, Milo, damned good, really. Six missions is an increase of twenty per cent
in just a couple of minutes, which is not bad at all, Milo, not bad at all.’
‘Many of the other men have seventy missions,’ Milo pointed out.
‘But they never produced any chocolate-covered cotton, did they? Milo, you’re doing
more than your share.’
‘But they’re getting all the fame and opportunity,’ Milo persisted with a petulance that
bordered on sniveling. ‘Sir, I want to get in there and fight like the rest of the fellows.
That’s what I’m here for. I want to win medals, too.’
‘Yes, Milo, of course. We all want to spend more time in combat. But people like you
and me serve in different ways. Look at my own record,’ Colonel Cathcart uttered a
deprecatory laugh. ‘I’ll bet it’s not generally known, Milo, that I myself have flown only
four missions, is it?’
‘No, sir,’ Milo replied. ‘It’s generally known that you’ve flown only two missions. And
that one of those occurred when Aarfy accidentally flew you over enemy territory while
navigating you to Naples for a black-market water cooler.’ Colonel Cathcart, flushing
with embarrassment, abandoned all further argument. ‘All right, Milo. I can’t praise you
enough for what you want to do. If it really means so much to you, I’ll have Major Major
assign you to the next sixty-four missions so that you can have seventy, too.’
‘Thank you, Colonel, thank you, sir. You don’t know what this means.’
‘Don’t mention it, Milo. I know exactly what it means.’
‘No, Colonel, I don’t think you do know what it means,’ Milo disagreed pointedly.
‘Someone will have to begin running the syndicate for me right away. It’s very
complicated, and I might get shot down at any time.’ Colonel Cathcart brightened
instantly at the thought and began rubbing his hands with avaricious zest. ‘You know,
Milo, I think Colonel Korn and I might be willing to take the syndicate off your hands,’ he
suggested in an offhand manner, almost licking his lips in savory anticipation. ‘Our
experience in black-market plum tomatoes should come in very useful. Where do we
begin?’ Milo watched Colonel Cathcart steadily with a bland and guileless expression.
‘Thank you, sir, that’s very good of you. Begin with a salt-free diet for General Peckem
and a fat-free diet for General Dreedle.’
‘Let me get a pencil. What’s next?’
‘The cedars.’
‘Cedars?’
‘From Lebanon.’
‘ Lebanon?’
‘We’ve got cedars from Lebanon due at the sawmill in Oslo to be turned into shingles
for the builder in Cape Cod. C.O.D. And then there’s the peas.’
‘Peas?’
‘That are on the high seas. We’ve got boatloads of peas that are on the high seas
from Atlanta to Holland to pay for the tulips that were shipped to Geneva to pay for the
cheeses that must go to Vienna M.I.F.’
‘M.I.F.?’
‘Money in Front. The Hapsburgs are shaky.’
‘ Milo.’
‘And don’t forget the galvanized zinc in the warehouse at Flint. Four carloads of
galvanized zinc from Flint must be flown to the smelters in Damascus by noon of the
eighteenth, terms F.O.B. Calcutta two per cent ten days E.O.M. One Messerschmitt full
of hemp is due in Belgrade for a C-47 and a half full of those semi-pitted dates we stuck
them with from Khartoum. Use the money from the Portuguese anchovies we’re selling
back to Lisbon to pay for the Egyptian cotton we’ve got coming back to us from
Mamaroneck and to pick up as many oranges as you can in Spain. Always pay cash for
naranjas.’
‘Naranjas?’
‘That’s what they call oranges in Spain, and these are Spanish oranges. And—oh,
yes. Don’t forget Piltdown Man.’