“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 239
shameful, scandalous deal, isn’t it?’
‘Odious,’ Yossarian answered, staring up woodenly at the ceiling with just the back of
his head resting on the pillow. ‘I think "odious" is the word we decided on.’
‘Then how could you agree to it?’
‘It’s that or a court-martial, Chaplain.’
‘Oh,’ the chaplain exclaimed with a look of stark remorse, the back of his hand
covering his mouth. He lowered himself into his chair uneasily. ‘I shouldn’t have said
anything.’
‘They’d lock me in prison with a bunch of criminals.’
‘Of course. You must do whatever you think is right, then.’ The chaplain nodded to
himself as though deciding the argument and lapsed into embarrassed silence.
‘Don’t worry,’ Yossarian said with a sorrowful laugh after several moments had
passed. ‘I’m not going to do it.’
‘But you must do it,’ the chaplain insisted, bending forward with concern. ‘Really, you
must. I had no right to influence you. I really had no right to say anything.’
‘You didn’t influence me.’ Yossarian hauled himself over onto his side and shook his
head in solemn mockery. ‘Christ, Chaplain! Can you imagine that for a sin? Saving
Colonel Cathcart’s life! That’s one crime I don’t want on my record.’ The chaplain
returned to the subject with caution. ‘What will you do instead? You can’t let them put
you in prison.’
‘I’ll fly more missions. Or maybe I really will desert and let them catch me. They
probably would.’
‘And they’d put you in prison. You don’t want to go to prison.’
‘Then I’ll just keep flying missions until the war ends, I guess. Some of us have to
survive.’
‘But you might get killed.’
‘Then I guess I won’t fly any more missions.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will you let them send you home?’
‘I don’t know. Is it hot out? It’s very warm in here.’
‘It’s very cold out,’ the chaplain said.
‘You know,’ Yossarian remembered, ‘a very funny thing happened—maybe I dreamed
it. I think a strange man came in here before and told me he’s got my pal. I wonder if I
imagined it.’
‘I don’t think you did,’ the chaplain informed him. ‘You started to tell me about him
when I dropped in earlier.’
‘Then he really did say it. "We’ve got your pal, buddy," he said. "We’ve got your pal."
He had the most malignant manner I ever saw. I wonder who my pal is.’
‘I like to think that I’m your pal, Yossarian,’ the chaplain said with humble sincerity.
‘And they certainly have got me. They’ve got my number and they’ve got me under
surveillance, and they’ve got me right where they want me. That’s what they told me at
my interrogation.’
‘No, I don’t think it’s you he meant,’ Yossarian decided. ‘I think it must be someone like
Nately or Dunbar. You know, someone who was killed in the war, like Clevinger, Orr,
Dobbs, Kid Sampson or McWatt.’ Yossarian emitted a startled gasp and shook his head.
‘I just realized it,’ he exclaimed. ‘They’ve got all my pals, haven’t they? The only ones
left are me and Hungry Joe.’ He tingled with dread as he saw the chaplain’s face go
pale. ‘Chaplain, what is it?’
‘Hungry Joe was killed.’
‘God, no! On a mission?’
‘He died in his sleep while having a dream. They found a cat on his face.’
‘Poor bastard,’ Yossarian said, and began to cry, hiding his tears in the crook of his
shoulder. The chaplain left without saying goodbye. Yossarian ate something and went
to sleep. A hand shook him awake in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes and