“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 58
bombed the squadron with every plane he had accumulated in his M & M syndicate, and
the airfield, bomb dump and repair hangars as well, and all the survivors were outside
hacking cavernous shelters into the solid ground and roofing them over with sheets of
armor plate stolen from the repair sheds at the field and with tattered squares of
waterproof canvas stolen from the side flaps of each other’s tents. Chief White Halfoat
was transferred out of Colorado at the first rumor of oil and came to rest finally in
Pianosa as a replacement for Lieutenant Coombs, who had gone out on a mission as a
guest one day just to see what combat was like and had died over Ferrara in the plane
with Kraft. Yossarian felt guilty each time he remembered Kraft, guilty because Kraft had
been killed on Yossarian’s second bomb run, and guilty because Kraft had got mixed up
innocently also in the Splendid Atabrine Insurrection that had begun in Puerto Rico on
the first leg of their flight overseas and ended in Pianosa ten days later with Appleby
striding dutifully into the orderly room the moment he arrived to report Yossarian for
refusing to take his Atabrine tablets. The sergeant there invited him to be seated.
‘Thank you, Sergeant, I think I will,’ said Appleby. ‘About how long will I have to wait?
I’ve still got a lot to get done today so that I can be fully prepared bright and early
tomorrow morning to go into combat the minute they want me to.’
‘Sir?’
‘What’s that, Sergeant?’
‘What was your question?’
‘About how long will I have to wait before I can go in to see the major?’
‘Just until he goes out to lunch,’ Sergeant Towser replied. ‘Then you can go right in.’
‘But he won’t be there then. Will he?’
‘No, sir. Major Major won’t be back in his office until after lunch.’
‘I see,’ Appleby decided uncertainly. ‘I think I’d better come back after lunch, then.’
Appleby turned from the orderly room in secret confusion. The moment he stepped
outside, he thought he saw a tall, dark officer who looked a little like Henry Fonda come
jumping out of the window of the orderly-room tent and go scooting out of sight around
the corner. Appleby halted and squeezed his eyes closed. An anxious doubt assailed
him. He wondered if he were suffering from malaria, or, worse, from an overdose of
Atabrine tablets. Appleby had been taking four times as many Atabrine tablets as the
amount prescribed because he wanted to be four times as good a pilot as everyone
else. His eyes were still shut when Sergeant Towser tapped him lightly on the shoulder
and told him he could go in now if he wanted to, since Major Major had just gone out.
Appleby’s confidence returned.
‘Thank you, Sergeant. Will he be back soon?’
‘He’ll be back right after lunch. Then you’ll have to go right out and wait for him in front
till he leaves for dinner. Major Major never sees anyone in his office while he’s in his
office.’
‘Sergeant, what did you just say?’
‘I said that Major Major never sees anyone in his office while he’s in his office.’
Appleby stared at Sergeant Towser intently and attempted a firm tone. ‘Sergeant, are
you trying to make a fool out of me just because I’m new in the squadron and you’ve
been overseas a long time?’
‘Oh, no, sir,’ answered the sergeant deferentially. ‘Those are my orders. You can ask
Major Major when you see him.’
‘That’s just what I intend to do, Sergeant. When can I see him?’
‘Never.’ Crimson with humiliation, Appleby wrote down his report about Yossarian and
the Atabrine tablets on a pad the sergeant offered him and left quickly, wondering if
perhaps Yossarian were not the only man privileged to wear an officer’s uniform who
was crazy.
By the time Colonel Cathcart had raised the number of missions to fifty-five, Sergeant
Towser had begun to suspect that perhaps every man who wore a uniform was crazy.
Sergeant Towser was lean and angular and had fine blond hair so light it was almost
without color, sunken cheeks, and teeth like large white marshmallows. He ran the