Catch-22 (14 page)

   ‘There is no light. I don’t feel like starting my generator.
I used to get a big kick out of saving people’s lives. Now I wonder what the
hell’s the point, since they all have to die anyway.

   ‘Oh, there’s a point, all right,’ Dunbar assured him.

   ‘Is there? What is the point?’

   ‘The point is to keep them from dying for as long as you
can.’

   ‘Yeah, but what’s the point, since they all have to die
anyway?’

   ‘The trick is not to think about that.’

   ‘Never mind the trick. What the hell’s the point?’ Dunbar
pondered in silence for a few moments. ‘Who the hell knows?’ Dunbar didn’t
know. Bologna should have exulted Dunbar, because the minutes dawdled and the
hours dragged like centuries. Instead it tortured him, because he knew he was
going to be killed.

   ‘Do you really want some more codeine?’ Dr. Stubbs asked.

   ‘It’s for my friend Yossarian. He’s sure he’s going to be
killed.’

   ‘Yossarian? Who the hell is Yossarian? What the hell kind of
a name is Yossarian, anyway? Isn’t he the one who got drunk and started that
fight with Colonel Korn at the officers’ club the other night?’

   ‘That’s right. He’s Assyrian.’

   ‘That crazy bastard.’

   ‘He’s not so crazy,’ Dunbar said. ‘He swears he’s not going
to fly to Bologna.’

   ‘That’s just what I mean,’ Dr. Stubbs answered. ‘That crazy
bastard may be the only sane one left.’

   Corporal Kolodny learned about it first in
a phone call from Group and was so shaken by the news that he crossed the intelligence
tent on tiptoe to Captain Black, who was resting drowsily with his bladed shins
up on the desk, and relayed the information to him in a shocked whisper.

   Captain Black brightened immediately. ‘ Bologna?’ he
exclaimed with delight. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ He broke into loud laughter. ‘
Bologna, huh?’ He laughed again and shook his head in pleasant amazement. ‘Oh,
boy! I can’t wait to see those bastards’ faces when they find out they’re going
to Bologna. Ha, ha, ha!’ It was the first really good laugh Captain Black had
enjoyed since the day Major Major outsmarted him and was appointed squadron
commander, and he rose with torpid enthusiasm and stationed himself behind the
front counter in order to wring the most enjoyment from the occasion when the bombardiers
arrived for their map kits.

   ‘That’s right, you bastards, Bologna,’ he kept repeating to
all the bombardiers who inquired incredulously if they were really going to
Bologna. ‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Eat your livers, you bastards. This time you’re really in
for it.’ Captain Black followed the last of them outside to observe with relish
the effect of the knowledge upon all of the other officers and enlisted men who
were assembling with their helmets, parachutes and flak suits around the four
trucks idling in the center of the squadron area. He was a tall, narrow,
disconsolate man who moved with a crabby listlessness. He shaved his pinched,
pale face every third or fourth day, and most of the time he appeared to be
growing a reddish-gold mustache over his skinny upper lip. He was not
disappointed in the scene outside. There was consternation darkening every
expression, and Captain Black yawned deliciously, rubbed the last lethargy from
his eyes and laughed gloatingly each time he told someone else to eat his liver.

   Bologna turned out to be the most rewarding event in Captain
Black’s life since the day Major Duluth was killed over Perugia and he was
almost selected to replace him. When word of Major Duluth’s death was radioed
back to the field, Captain Black responded with a surge of joy. Although he had
never really contemplated the possibility before, Captain Black understood at
once that he was the logical man to succeed Major Duluth as squadron commander.
To begin with, he was the squadron intelligence officer, which meant he was
more intelligent than everyone else in the squadron. True, he was not on combat
status, as Major Duluth had been and as all squadron commanders customarily
were; but this was really another powerful argument in his favor, since his life
was in no danger and he would be able to fill the post for as long as his
country needed him. The more Captain Black thought about it, the more
inevitable it seemed. It was merely a matter of dropping the right word in the
right place quickly. He hurried back to his office to determine a course of
action. Settling back in his swivel chair, his feet up on the desk and his eyes
closed, he began imagining how beautiful everything would be once he was
squadron commander.

   While Captain Black was imagining, Colonel Cathcart was
acting, and Captain Black was flabbergasted by the speed with which, he
concluded, Major Major had outsmarted him. His great dismay at the announcement
of Major Major’s appointment as squadron commander was tinged with an embittered
resentment he made no effort to conceal. When fellow administrative officers
expressed astonishment at Colonel Cathcart’s choice of Major Major, Captain
Black muttered that there was something funny going on; when they speculated on
the political value of Major Major’s resemblance to Henry Fonda, Captain Black
asserted that Major Major really was Henry Fonda; and when they remarked that
Major Major was somewhat odd, Captain Black announced that he was a Communist.

   ‘They’re taking over everything,’ he declared rebelliously.
‘Well, you fellows can stand around and let them if you want to, but I’m not
going to. I’m going to do something about it. From now on I’m going to make
every son of a bitch who comes to my intelligence tent sign a loyalty oath. And
I’m not going to let that bastard Major Major sign one even if he wants to.’
Almost overnight the Glorious Loyalty Oath Crusade was in full flower, and
Captain Black was enraptured to discover himself spearheading it. He had really
hit on something. All the enlisted men and officers on combat duty had to sign
a loyalty oath to get their map cases from the intelligence tent, a second
loyalty oath to receive their flak suits and parachutes from the parachute
tent, a third loyalty oath for Lieutenant Balkington, the motor vehicle
officer, to be allowed to ride from the squadron to the airfield in one of the
trucks. Every time they turned around there was another loyalty oath to be
signed. They signed a loyalty oath to get their pay from the finance officer,
to obtain their PX supplies, to have their hair cut by the Italian barbers. To
Captain Black, every officer who supported his Glorious Loyalty Oath Crusade
was a competitor, and he planned and plotted twenty-four hours a day to keep
one step ahead. He would stand second to none in his devotion to country. When
other officers had followed his urging and introduced loyalty oaths of their
own, he went them one better by making every son of a bitch who came to his
intelligence tent sign two loyalty oaths, then three, then four; then he
introduced the pledge of allegiance, and after that ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’
one chorus, two choruses, three choruses, four choruses. Each time Captain
Black forged ahead of his competitors, he swung upon them scornfully for their failure
to follow his example. Each time they followed his example, he retreated with
concern and racked his brain for some new stratagem that would enable him to
turn upon them scornfully again.

   Without realizing how it had come about, the combat men in the
squadron discovered themselves dominated by the administrators appointed to
serve them. They were bullied, insulted, harassed and shoved about all day long
by one after the other. When they voiced objection, Captain Black replied that
people who were loyal would not mind signing all the loyalty oaths they had to.
To anyone who questioned the effectiveness of the loyalty oaths, he replied
that people who really did owe allegiance to their country would be proud to
pledge it as often as he forced them to. And to anyone who questioned the
morality, he replied that ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ was the greatest piece of
music ever composed. The more loyalty oaths a person signed, the more loyal he
was; to Captain Black it was as simple as that, and he had Corporal Kolodny
sign hundreds with his name each day so that he could always prove he was more
loyal than anyone else.

   ‘The important thing is to keep them pledging,’ he explained
to his cohorts. ‘It doesn’t matter whether they mean it or not. That’s why they
make little kids pledge allegiance even before they know what
“pledge” and “allegiance” mean.’ To Captain Piltchard and
Captain Wren, the Glorious Loyalty Oath Crusade was a glorious pain in the ass,
since it complicated their task of organizing the crews for each combat
mission. Men were tied up all over the squadron signing, pledging and singing,
and the missions took hours longer to get under way. Effective emergency action
became impossible, but Captain Piltchard and Captain Wren were both too timid to
raise any outcry against Captain Black, who scrupulously enforced each day the
doctrine of ‘Continual Reaffirmation’ that he had originated, a doctrine
designed to trap all those men who had become disloyal since the last time they
had signed a loyalty oath the day before. It was Captain Black who came with
advice to Captain Piltchard and Captain Wren as they pitched about in their
bewildering predicament. He came with a delegation and advised them bluntly to
make each man sign a loyalty oath before allowing him to fly on a combat
mission.

   ‘Of course, it’s up to you,’ Captain Black pointed out.
‘Nobody’s trying to pressure you. But everyone else is making them sign loyalty
oaths, and it’s going to look mighty funny to the F.B.I. if you two are the
only ones who don’t care enough about your country to make them sign loyalty
oaths, too. If you want to get a bad reputation, that’s nobody’s business but
your own. All we’re trying to do is help.’ Milo was not convinced and
absolutely refused to deprive Major Major of food, even if Major Major was a
Communist, which Milo secretly doubted. Milo was by nature opposed to any
innovation that threatened to disrupt the normal course of affairs. Milo took a
firm moral stand and absolutely refused to participate in the Glorious Loyalty
Oath Crusade until Captain Black called upon him with his delegation and
requested him to.

   ‘National defense is everybody’s job,’ Captain Black replied
to Milo’s objection. ‘And this whole program is voluntary, Milo —don’t forget
that. The men don’t have to sign Piltchard and Wren’s loyalty oath if they
don’t want to. But we need you to starve them to death if they don’t. It’s just
like Catch-22. Don’t you get it? You’re not against Catch-22, are you?’ Doc
Daneeka was adamant.

   ‘What makes you so sure Major Major is a Communist?’

   ‘You never heard him denying it until we began accusing him,
did you? And you don’t see him signing any of our loyalty oaths.’

   ‘You aren’t letting him sign any.’

   ‘Of course not,’ Captain Black explained. ‘That would defeat
the whole purpose of our crusade. Look, you don’t have to play ball with us if
you don’t want to. But what’s the point of the rest of us working so hard if
you’re going to give Major Major medical attention the minute Milo begins starving
him to death? I just wonder what they’re going to think up at Group about the
man who’s undermining our whole security program. They’ll probably transfer you
to the Pacific.’ Doc Daneeka surrendered swiftly. ‘I’ll go tell Gus and Wes to
do whatever you want them to.’ Up at Group, Colonel Cathcart had already begun
wondering what was going on.

   ‘It’s that idiot Black off on a patriotism binge,’ Colonel
Korn reported with a smile. ‘I think you’d better play ball with him for a
while, since you’re the one who promoted Major Major to squadron commander.’

   ‘That was your idea,’ Colonel Cathcart accused him
petulantly. ‘I never should have let you talk me into it.’

   ‘And a very good idea it was, too,’ retorted Colonel Korn,
‘since it eliminated that superfluous major that’s been giving you such an
awful black eye as an administrator. Don’t worry, this will probably run its
course soon. The best thing to do now is send Captain Black a letter of total
support and hope he drops dead before he does too much damage.’ Colonel Korn
was struck with a whimsical thought. ‘I wonder! You don’t suppose that imbecile
will try to turn Major Major out of his trailer, do you?’

   ‘The next thing we’ve got to do is turn that bastard Major
Major out of his trailer,’ Captain Black decided. ‘I’d like to turn his wife
and kids out into the woods, too. But we can’t. He has no wife and kids. So
we’ll just have to make do with what we have and turn him out. Who’s in charge
of the tents?’

   ‘He is.’

   ‘You see?’ cried Captain Black. ‘They’re taking over
everything! Well, I’m not going to stand for it. I’ll take this matter right to
Major—de Coverley himself if I have to. I’ll have Milo speak to him about it
the minute he gets back from Rome.’ Captain Black had boundless faith in the
wisdom, power and justice of Major—de Coverley, even though he had never spoken
to him before and still found himself without the courage to do so. He
deputized Milo to speak to Major—de Coverley for him and stormed about
impatiently as he waited for the tall executive officer to return. Along with
everyone else in the squadron, he lived in profound awe and reverence of the
majestic, white-haired major with craggy face and Jehovean bearing, who came
back from Rome finally with an injured eye inside a new celluloid eye patch and
smashed his whole Glorious Crusade to bits with a single stroke.

   Milo carefully said nothing when Major—de Coverley stepped
into the mess hall with his fierce and austere dignity the day he returned and
found his way blocked by a wall of officers waiting in line to sign loyalty
oaths. At the far end of the food counter, a group of men who had arrived
earlier were pledging allegiance to the flag, with trays of food balanced in
one hand, in order to be allowed to take seats at the table. Already at the
tables, a group that had arrived still earlier was singing ‘The Star-Spangled
Banner’ in order that they might use the salt and pepper and ketchup there. The
hubbub began to subside slowly as Major—de Coverley paused in the doorway with
a frown of puzzled disapproval, as though viewing something bizarre. He started
forward in a straight line, and the wall of officers before him parted like the
Red Sea. Glancing neither left nor right, he strode indomitably up to the steam
counter and, in a clear, full-bodied voice that was gruff with age and resonant
with ancient eminence and authority, said: ‘Gimme eat.’ Instead of eat,
Corporal Snark gave Major—de Coverley a loyalty oath to sign. Major—de Coverley
swept it away with mighty displeasure the moment he recognized what it was, his
good eye flaring up blindingly with fiery disdain and his enormous old
corrugated face darkening in mountainous wrath.

   ‘Gimme eat, I said,’ he ordered loudly in harsh tones that
rumbled ominously through the silent tent like claps of distant thunder.

   Corporal Snark turned pale and began to tremble. He glanced
toward Milo

   pleadingly for guidance. For several terrible seconds there
was not a sound. Then Milo nodded.

   ‘Give him eat,’ he said.

   Corporal Snark began giving Major—de Coverley eat. Major—de
Coverley turned from the counter with his tray full and came to a stop. His
eyes fell on the groups of other officers gazing at him in mute appeal, and,
with righteous belligerence, he roared: ‘Give everybody eat!’