“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 205
‘Piltdown Man?’
‘Yes, Piltdown Man. The Smithsonian Institution is not in a position at this time to meet
our price for a second Piltdown Man, but they are looking forward to the death of a
wealthy and beloved donor and—’
‘ Milo.’
‘ France wants all the parsley we can send them, and I think we might as well,
because we’ll need the francs for the lire for the pfennigs for the dates when they get
back. I’ve also ordered a tremendous shipment of Peruvian balsa wood for distribution
to each of the mess halls in the syndicate on a pro rata basis.’
‘Balsa wood? What are the mess halls going to do with balsa wood?’
‘Good balsa wood isn’t so easy to come by these days, Colonel. I just didn’t think it
was a good idea to pass up the chance to buy it.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Colonel Cathcart surmised vaguely with the look of somebody
seasick. ‘And I assume the price was right.’
‘The price,’ said Milo, ‘was outrageous—positively exorbitant! But since we bought it
from one of our own subsidiaries, we were happy to pay it. Look after the hides.’
‘The hives?’
‘The hides.’
‘The hides?’
‘The hides. In Buenos Aires. They have to be tanned.’
‘Tanned?’
‘In Newfoundland. And shipped to Helsinki N.M.I.F. before the spring thaw begins.
Everything to Finland goes N.M.I.F. before the spring thaw begins.’
‘No Money in Front?’ guessed Colonel Cathcart.
‘Good, Colonel. You have a gift, sir. And then there’s the cork.’
‘The cork?’
‘That must go to New York, the shoes for Toulouse, the ham for Siam, the nails from
Wales, and the tangerines for New Orleans.’
‘ Milo.’
‘We have coals in Newcastle, sir.’ Colonel Cathcart threw up his hands. ‘ Milo, stop!’
he cried, almost in tears. ‘It’s no use. You’re just like I am—indispensable!’ He pushed
his pencil aside and rose to his feet in frantic exasperation. ‘ Milo, you can’t fly sixty-four
more missions. You can’t even fly one more mission. The whole system would fall apart
if anything happened to you.’ Milo nodded serenely with complacent gratification. ‘Sir,
are you forbidding me to fly any more combat missions?’
‘ Milo, I forbid you to fly any more combat missions,’ Colonel Cathcart declared in a
tone of stern and inflexible authority.
‘But that’s not fair, sir,’ said Milo. ‘What about my record? The other men are getting
all the fame and medals and publicity. Why should I be penalized just because I’m doing
such a good job as mess officer?’
‘No, Milo, it isn’t fair. But I don’t see anything we can do about it.’
‘Maybe we can get someone else to fly my missions for me.’
‘But maybe we can get someone else to fly your missions for you,’ Colonel Cathcart
suggested. ‘How about the striking coal miners in Pennsylvania and West Virginia?’ Milo
shook his head. ‘It would take too long to train them. But why not the men in the
squadron, sir? After all, I’m doing this for them. They ought to be willing to do something
for me in return.’
‘But why not the men in the squadron, Milo?’ Colonel Cathcart exclaimed. ‘After all,
you’re doing all this for them. They ought to be willing to do something for you in return.’
‘What’s fair is fair.’
‘What’s fair is fair.’
‘They could take turns, sir.’
‘They might even take turns flying your missions for you, Milo.’
‘Who gets the credit?’
‘You get the credit, Milo. And if a man wins a medal flying one of your missions, you