“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 221
I’m not too happy about flying so many missions any more either. Isn’t there some way I
can get out of it, too?’ Yossarian snickered ironically and joked, ‘Put a gun on and start
marching with me.’ Havermeyer shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Nah, I couldn’t do that. I
might bring some disgrace on my wife and kid if I acted like a coward. Nobody likes a
coward. Besides, I want to stay in the reserves when the war is over. You get five
hundred dollars a year if you stay in the reserves.’
‘Then fly more missions.’
‘Yeah, I guess I have to. Say, do you think there’s any chance they might take you off
combat duty and send you home?’
‘No.’
‘But if they do and let you take one person with you, will you pick me? Don’t pick
anyone like Appleby. Pick me.’
‘Why in the world should they do something like that?’
‘I don’t know. But if they do, just remember that I asked you first, will you? And let me
know how you’re doing. I’ll wait for you here in these bushes every night. Maybe if they
don’t do anything bad to you, I won’t fly any more missions either. Okay?’ All the next
evening, people kept popping up at him out of the darkness to ask him how he was
doing, appealing to him for confidential information with weary, troubled faces on the
basis of some morbid and clandestine kinship he had not guessed existed. People in the
squadron he barely knew popped into sight out of nowhere as he passed and asked him
how he was doing. Even men from other squadrons came one by one to conceal
themselves in the darkness and pop out. Everywhere he stepped after sundown
someone was lying in wait to pop out and ask him how he was doing. People popped
out at him from trees and bushes, from ditches and tall weeds, from around the corners
of tents and from behind the fenders of parked cars. Even one of his roommates popped
out to ask him how he was doing and pleaded with him not to tell any of his other
roommates he had popped out. Yossarian drew near each beckoning, overly cautious
silhouette with his hand on his gun, never knowing which hissing shadow would finally
turn dishonestly into Nately’s whore or, worse, into some duly constituted governmental
authority sent to club him ruthlessly into insensibility. It began to look as if they would
have to do something like that. They did not want to court-martial him for desertion in
the face of the enemy because a hundred and thirty-five miles away from the enemy
could hardly be called the face of the enemy, and because Yossarian was the one who
had finally knocked down the bridge at Ferrara by going around twice over the target
and killing Kraft—he was always almost forgetting Kraft when he counted the dead men
he knew. But they had to do something to him, and everyone waited grimly to see what
horrible thing it would be.
During the day, they avoided him, even Aarfy, and Yossarian understood that they
were different people together in daylight than they were alone in the dark. He did not
care about them at all as he walked about backward with his hand on his gun and
awaited the latest blandishments, threats and inducements from Group each time
Captains Piltchard and Wren drove back from another urgent conference with Colonel
Cathcart and Colonel Korn. Hungry Joe was hardly around, and the only other person
who ever spoke to him was Captain Black, who called him ‘Old Blood and Guts’ in a
merry, taunting voice each time he hailed him and who came back from Rome toward
the end of the week to tell him Nately’s whore was gone. Yossarian turned sorry with a
stab of yearning and remorse. He missed her.
‘Gone?’ he echoed in a hollow tone.
‘Yeah, gone.’ Captain Black laughed, his bleary eyes narrow with fatigue and his
peaked, sharp face sprouting as usual with a sparse reddish-blond stubble. He rubbed
the bags under his eyes with both fists. ‘I thought I might as well give the stupid broad
another boff just for old times’ sake as long as I was in Rome anyway. You know, just to
keep that kid Nately’s body spinning in his grave, ha, ha! Remember the way I used to
needle him? But the place was empty.’
‘Was there any word from her?’ prodded Yossarian, who had been brooding