“Catch-22” By Joseph - Khamkoo

“Catch-22” By Joseph Heller 77
‘I don’t know!’ Kid Sampson shot back in anguish, wailing excitedly. ‘Someone said
we’re bailing out! Who is this, anyway? Who is this?’
‘This is Yossarian in the nose! Yossarian in the nose. I heard you say there was
something the matter. Didn’t you say there was something the matter?’
‘I thought you said there was something wrong. Everything seems okay. Everything is
all right.’ Yossarian’s heart sank. Something was terribly wrong if everything was all right
and they had no excuse for turning back. He hesitated gravely.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he said.
‘I said everything is all right.’ The sun was blinding white on the porcelain-blue water
below and on the flashing edges of the other airplanes. Yossarian took hold of the
colored wires leading into the jackbox of the intercom system and tore them loose.
‘I still can’t hear you,’ he said.
He heard nothing. Slowly he collected his map case and his three flak suits and
crawled back to the main compartment. Nately, sitting stiffly in the co-pilot’s seat, spied
him through the corner of his eye as he stepped up on the flight deck behind Kid
Sampson. He smiled at Yossarian wanly, looking frail and exceptionally young and
bashful in the bulky dungeon of his earphones, hat, throat mike, flak suit and parachute.
Yossarian bent close to Kid Sampson’s ear.
‘I still can’t hear you,’ he shouted above the even drone of the engines.
Kid Sampson glanced back at him with surprise. Kid Sampson had an angular,
comical face with arched eyebrows and a scrawny blond mustache.
‘What?’ he called out over his shoulder.
‘I still can’t hear you,’ Yossarian repeated.
‘You’ll have to talk louder,’ Kid Sampson said. ‘I still can’t hear you.’
‘I said I still can’t hear you!’ Yossarian yelled.
‘I can’t help it,’ Kid Sampson yelled back at him. ‘I’m shouting as loud as I can.’
‘I couldn’t hear you over my intercom,’ Yossarian bellowed in mounting helplessness.
‘You’ll have to turn back.’
‘For an intercom?’ asked Kid Sampson incredulously.
‘Turn back,’ said Yossarian, ‘before I break your head.’ Kid Sampson looked for moral
support toward Nately, who stared away from him pointedly. Yossarian outranked them
both. Kid Sampson resisted doubtfully for another moment and then capitulated eagerly
with a triumphant whoop.
‘That’s just fine with me,’ he announced gladly, and blew out a shrill series of whistles
up into his mustache. ‘Yes sirree, that’s just fine with old Kid Sampson.’ He whistled
again and shouted over the intercom, ‘Now hear this, my little chickadees. This is
Admiral Kid Sampson talking. This is Admiral Kid Sampson squawking, the pride of the
Queen’s marines. Yessiree. We’re turning back, boys, by crackee, we’re turning back!’
Nately ripped off his hat and earphones in one jubilant sweep and began rocking back
and forth happily like a handsome child in a high chair. Sergeant Knight came
plummeting down from the top gun turret and began pounding them all on the back with
delirious enthusiasm. Kid Sampson turned the plane away from the formation in a wide,
graceful arc and headed toward the airfield. When Yossarian plugged his headset into
one of the auxiliary jackboxes, the two gunners in the rear section of the plane were
both singing ‘La Cucaracha.’ Back at the field, the party fizzled out abruptly. An uneasy
silence replaced it, and Yossarian was sober and self-conscious as he climbed down
from the plane and took his place in the jeep that was already waiting for them. None of
the men spoke at all on the drive back through the heavy, mesmerizing quiet blanketing
mountains, sea and forests. The feeling of desolation persisted when they turned off the
road at the squadron. Yossarian got out of the car last. After a minute, Yossarian and a
gentle warm wind were the only things stirring in the haunting tranquillity that hung like a
drug over the vacated tents. The squadron stood insensate, bereft of everything human
but Doc Daneeka, who roosted dolorously like a shivering turkey buzzard beside the
closed door of the medical tent, his stuffed nose jabbing away in thirsting futility at the
hazy sunlight streaming down around him. Yossarian knew Doc Daneeka would not go