'I'm cold,' Snowden whimpered. 'I'm cold.'
'There, there,' Yossarian mumbled mechanically in a voice too low to be heard. 'There, there.' Yossarian was cold, too, and shivering uncontrollably. He felt goose pimples clacking all over him as he gazed down despondently at the grim secret Snowden had spilled all over the messy floor. It was easy to read the message in his entrails. Man was matter, that was Snowden's secret. Drop him out a window and he'll fall. Set fire to him and he'll burn. Bury him and he'll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden's secret. Ripeness was all.
'I'm cold,' Snowden said. 'I'm cold.'
'There, there,' said Yossarian. 'There, there.' He pulled the rip cord of Snowden's parachute and covered his body with the white nylon sheets.
'I'm cold.'
'There, there.'
Catch-22
Yossarian
'Colonel Korn says,' said Major Danby to Yossarian with a prissy, gratified smile, 'that the deal is still on. Everything is working out fine.'
'No it isn't.'
'Oh, yes, indeed,' Major Danby insisted benevolently. 'In fact, everything is much better. It was really a stroke of luck that you were almost murdered by that girl. Now the deal can go through perfectly.'
'I'm not making any deals with Colonel Korn.' Major Danby's effervescent optimism vanished instantly, and he broke out all at once into a bubbling sweat. 'But you do have a deal with him, don't you?' he asked in anguished puzzlement. 'Don't you have an agreement?'
'I'm breaking the agreement.'
'But you shook hands on it, didn't you? You gave him your word as a gentleman.'
'I'm breaking my word.'
'Oh, dear,' sighed Major Danby, and began dabbing ineffectually at his careworn brow with a folded white handkerchief. 'But why, Yossarian? It's a very good deal they're offering you.'
'It's a lousy deal, Danby. It's an odious deal.'
'Oh, dear,' Major Danby fretted, running his bare hand over his dark, wiry hair, which was already soaked with perspiration to the tops of the thick, close-cropped waves. 'Oh dear.'
'Danby, don't you think it's odious?' Major Danby pondered a moment. 'Yes, I suppose it is odious,' he conceded with reluctance. His globular, exophthalmic eyes were quite distraught. 'But why did you make such a deal if you didn't like it?'
'I did it in a moment of weakness,' Yossarian wisecracked with glum irony. 'I was trying to save my life.'
'Don't you want to save your life now?'
'That's why I won't let them make me fly more missions.'
'Then let them send you home and you'll be in no more danger.'
'Let them send me home because I flew more than fifty missions,' Yossarian said, 'and not because I was stabbed by that girl, or because I've turned into such a stubborn son of a bitch.' Major Danby shook his head emphatically in sincere and bespectacled vexation. 'They'd have to send nearly every man home if they did that. Most of the men have more than fifty missions. Colonel Cathcart couldn't possibly requisition so many inexperienced replacement crews at one time without causing an investigation. He's caught in his own trap.'
'That's his problem.'
'No, no, no, Yossarian,' Major Danby disagreed solicitously. 'It's your problem. Because if you don't go through with the deal, they're going to institute court-martial proceedings as soon as you sign out of the hospital.' Yossarian thumbed his nose at Major Danby and laughed with smug elation. 'The hell they will! Don't lie to me, Danby. They wouldn't even try.'
'But why wouldn't they?' inquired Major Danby, blinking with astonishment.
'Because I've really got them over a barrel now. There's an official report that says I was stabbed by a Nazi assassin trying to kill them. They'd certainly look silly trying to court-martial me after that.'
'But, Yossarian!' Major Danby exclaimed. 'There's another official report that says you were stabbed by an innocent girl in the course of extensive black-market operations involving acts of sabotage and the sale of military secrets to the enemy.' Yossarian was taken back severely with surprise and disappointment. 'Another official report?'
'Yossarian, they can prepare as many official reports as they want and choose whichever ones they need on any given occasion. Didn't you know that?'
'Oh, dear,' Yossarian murmured in heavy dejection, the blood draining from his face. 'Oh, dear.' Major Danby pressed forward avidly with a look of vulturous well-meaning. 'Yossarian, do what they want and let them send you home. It's best for everyone that way.'
'It's best for Cathcart, Korn and me, not for everyone.'
'For everyone,' Major Danby insisted. 'It will solve the whole problem.'
'Is it best for the men in the group who will have to keep flying more missions?' Major Danby flinched and turned his face away uncomfortably for a second. 'Yossarian,' he replied, 'it will help nobody if you force Colonel Cathcart to court-martial you and prove you guilty of all the crimes with which you'll be charged. You will go to prison for a long time, and your whole life will be ruined.' Yossarian listened to him with a growing feeling of concern. 'What crimes will they charge me with?'
'Incompetence over Ferrara, insubordination, refusal to engage the enemy in combat when ordered to do so, and desertion.' Yossarian sucked his cheeks in soberly. 'They could charge me with all that, could they? They gave me a medal for Ferrara. How could they charge me with incompetence now?'
'Aarfy will swear that you and McWatt lied in your official report.'
'I'll bet the bastard would!'
'They will also find you guilty,' Major Danby recited, 'of rape, extensive black-market operations, acts of sabotage and the sale of military secrets to the enemy.'
'How will they prove any of that? I never did a single one of those things.'
'But they have witnesses who will swear you did. They can get all the witnesses they need simply by persuading them that destroying you is for the good of the country. And in a way, it would be for the good of the country.'
'In what way?' Yossarian demanded, rising up slowly on one elbow with bridling hostility.
Major Danby drew back a bit and began mopping his forehead again. 'Well, Yossarian,' he began with an apologetic stammer, 'it would not help the war effort to bring Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn into disrepute now. Let's face it, Yossarian--in spite of everything, the group does have a very good record. If you were court-martialed and found innocent, other men would probably refuse to fly missions, too. Colonel Cathcart would be in disgrace, and the military efficiency of the unit might be destroyed. So in that way it would be for the good of the country to have you found guilty and put in prison, even though you are innocent.'
'What a sweet way you have of putting things!' Yossarian snapped with caustic resentment.
Major Danby turned red and squirmed and squinted uneasily. 'Please don't blame me,' he pleaded with a look of anxious integrity. 'You know it's not my fault. All I'm doing is trying to look at things objectively and arrive at a solution to a very difficult situation.'
'I didn't create the situation.'
'But you can resolve it. And what else can you do? You don't want to fly more missions.'
'I can run away.' Run away?'
'Desert. Take off I can turn my back on the whole damned mess and start running.' Major Danby was shocked. 'Where to? Where could you go?'
'I could get to Rome easily enough. And I could hide myself there.'
'And live in danger every minute of your life that they would find you? No, no, no, no, Yossarian. That would be a disastrous and ignoble thing to do. Running away from problems never solved them. Please believe me. I am only trying to help you.'
'That's what that kind detective said before he decided to jab his thumb into my wound,' Yossarian retorted sarcastically.
'I am not a detective,' Major Danby replied with indignation, his cheeks flushing again. 'I'm a university professor with a highly developed sense of right and wrong, and I wouldn't try to deceive you.
I wouldn't lie to anyone.'
'What would you do if one of the men in the group asked you about this conversation?'
'I would lie to him.' Yossarian laughed mockingly, and Major Danby, despite his blushing discomfort, leaned back with relief, as though welcoming the respite Yossarian's changing mood promised. Yossarian gazed at him with a mixture of reserved pity and contempt. He sat up in bed with his back resting against the headboard, lit a cigarette, smiled slightly with wry amusement, and stared with whimsical sympathy at the vivid, pop-eyed horror that had implanted itself permanently on Major Danby's face the day of the mission to Avignon, when General Dreedle had ordered him taken outside and shot. The startled wrinkles would always remain, like deep black scars, and Yossarian felt sorry for the gentle, moral, middle-aged idealist, as he felt sorry for so many people whose shortcomings were not large and whose troubles were light.
With deliberate amiability he said, 'Danby, how can you work along with people like Cathcart and Korn? Doesn't it turn your stomach?' Major Danby seemed surprised by Yossarian's question. 'I do it to help my country,' he replied, as though the answer should have been obvious. 'Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn are my superiors, and obeying their orders is the only contribution I can make to the war effort. I work along with them because it's my duty. And also,' he added in a much lower voice, dropping his eyes, 'because I am not a very aggressive person.'
'Your country doesn't need your help any more,' Yossarian reasoned with antagonism. 'So all you're doing is helping them.'
'I try not to think of that,' Major Danby admitted frankly. 'But I try to concentrate on only the big result and to forget that they are succeeding, too. I try to pretend that they are not significant.'
'That's my trouble, you know,' Yossarian mused sympathetically, folding his arms. 'Between me and every ideal I always find Scheisskopfs, Peckems, Korns and Cathcarts. And that sort of changes the ideal.'
'You must try not to think of them,' Major Danby advised affirmatively. 'And you must never let them change your values. Ideals are good, but people are sometimes not so good. You must try to look up at the big picture.' Yossarian rejected the advice with a skeptical shake of his head. 'When I look up, I see people cashing in. I don't see heaven or saints or angels. I see people cashing in on every decent impulse and every human tragedy.'
'But you must try not to think of that, too,' Major Danby insisted. 'And you must try not to let it upset you.'
'Oh, it doesn't really upset me. What does upset me, though, is that they think I'm a sucker. They think that they're smart, and that the rest of us are dumb. And, you know, Danby, the thought occurs to me right now, for the first time, that maybe they're right.'
'But you must try not to think of that too,' argued Major Danby. 'You must think only of the welfare of your country and the dignity of man.'
'Yeah,' said Yossarian.
'I mean it, Yossarian. This is not World War One. You must never forget that we're at war with aggressors who would not let either one of us live if they won.'
'I know that,' Yossarian replied tersely, with a sudden surge of scowling annoyance. 'Christ, Danby, I earned that medal I got, no matter what their reasons were for giving it to me. I've flown seventy goddam combat missions. Don't talk to me about fighting to save my country. I've been fighting all along to save my country. Now I'm going to fight a little to save myself. The country's not in danger any more, but I am.'
'The war's not over yet. The Germans are driving toward Antwerp.'
'The Germans will be beaten in a few months. And Japan will be beaten a few months after that. If I were to give up my life now, it wouldn't be for my country. It would be for Cathcart and Korn. So I'm turning my bombsight in for the duration. From now on I'm thinking only of me.' Major Danby replied indulgently with a superior smile, 'But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way.'
'Then I'd certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?' Yossarian sat up straighter with a quizzical expression. 'You know, I have a queer feeling that I've been through this exact conversation before with someone. It's just like the chaplain's sensation of having experienced everything twice.'
'The chaplain wants you to let them send you home,' Major Danby remarked.
'The chaplain can jump in the lake.'
'Oh, dear.' Major Danby sighed, shaking his head in regretful disappointment. 'He's afraid he might have influenced you.'
'He didn't influence me. You know what I might do? I might stay right here in this hospital bed and vegetate. I could vegetate very comfortably right here and let other people make the decisions.'
'You must make decisions,' Major Danby disagreed. 'A person can't live like a vegetable.'
'Why not?' A distant warm look entered Major Danby's eyes. 'It must be nice to live like a vegetable,' he conceded wistfully.
'It's lousy,' answered Yossarian.
'No, it must be very pleasant to be free from all this doubt and pressure,' insisted Major Danby. 'I think I'd like to live like a vegetable and make no important decisions.'
'What kind of vegetable, Danby?'
'A cucumber or a carrot.'
'What kind of cucumber? A good one or a bad one?'
'Oh, a good one, of course.'
'They'd cut you off in your prime and slice you up for a salad.' Major Danby's face fell. 'A poor one, then.'
'They'd let you rot and use you for fertilizer to help the good ones grow.'
'I guess I don't want to live like a vegetable, then,' said Major Danby with a smile of sad resignation.
'Danby, must I really let them send me home?' Yossarian inquired of him seriously.
Major Danby shrugged. 'It's a way to save yourself.'
'It's a way to lose myself, Danby. You ought to know that.'
'You could have lots of things you want.'
'I don't want lots of things I want,' Yossarian replied, and then beat his fist down against the mattress in an outburst of rage and frustration. 'Goddammit, Danby! I've got friends who were killed in this war. I can't make a deal now. Getting stabbed by that bitch was the best thing that ever happened to me.'
'Would you rather go to jail?'
'Would you let them send you home?'
'Of course I would!' Major Danby declared with conviction. 'Certainly I would,' he added a few moments later, in a less positive manner. 'Yes, I suppose I would let them send me home if I were in your place,' he decided uncomfortably, after lapsing into troubled contemplation. Then he threw his face sideways disgustedly in a gesture of violent distress and blurted out, 'Oh, yes, of course I'd let them send me home! But I'm such a terrible coward I couldn't really be in your place.'
'But suppose you weren't a coward?' Yossarian demanded, studying him closely. 'Suppose you did have the courage to defy somebody?'
'Then I wouldn't let them send me home,' Major Danby vowed emphatically with vigorous joy and enthusiasm. 'But I certainly wouldn't let them court-martial me.'
'Would you fly more missions?'
'No, of course not. That would be total capitulation. And I might be killed.'
'Then you'd run away?' Major Danby started to retort with proud spirit and came to an abrupt stop, his half-opened jaw swinging closed dumbly. He pursed his lips in a tired pout. 'I guess there just wouldn't be any hope for me, then, would there?' His forehead and protuberant white eyeballs were soon glistening nervously again. He crossed his limp wrists in his lap and hardly seemed to be breathing as he sat with his gaze drooping toward the floor in acquiescent defeat. Dark, steep shadows slanted in from the window. Yossarian watched him solemnly, and neither of the two men stirred at the rattling noise of a speeding vehicle skidding to a stop outside and the sound of racing footsteps pounding toward the building in haste.
'Yes, there's hope for you,' Yossarian remembered with a sluggish flow of inspiration. ' Milo might help you. He's bigger than Colonel Cathcart, and he owes me a few favors.' Major Danby shook his head and answered tonelessly. ' Milo and Colonel
Cathcart are pals now. He made Colonel Cathcart a vice-president and promised him an important job after the war.'
'Then ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen will help us,' Yossarian exclaimed. 'He hates them both, and this will infuriate him.' Major Danby shook his head bleakly again. ' Milo and ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen merged last week. They're all partners now in M & M Enterprises.'
'Then there is no hope for us, is there?'
'No hope.'
'No hope at all, is there?'
'No, no hope at all,' Major Danby conceded. He looked up after a while with a half-formed notion. 'Wouldn't it be nice if they could disappear us the way they disappeared the others and relieve us of all these crushing burdens?' Yossarian said no. Major Danby agreed with a melancholy nod, lowering his eyes again, and there was no hope at all for either of them until footsteps exploded in the corridor suddenly and the chaplain, shouting at the top of his voice, came bursting into the room with the electrifying news about Orr, so overcome with hilarious excitement that he was almost incoherent for a minute or two. Tears of great elation were sparkling in his eyes, and Yossarian leaped out of bed with an incredulous yelp when he finally understood.
' Sweden?' he cried.
'Orr!' cried the chaplain.
'Orr?' cried Yossarian.
'Sweden!' cried the chaplain, shaking his head up and down with gleeful rapture and prancing about uncontrollably from spot to spot in a grinning, delicious frenzy. 'It's a miracle, I tell you! A miracle! I believe in God again. I really do. Washed ashore in Sweden after so many weeks at sea! It's a miracle.'
'Washed ashore, hell!' Yossarian declared, jumping all about also and roaring in laughing exultation at the walls, the ceiling, the chaplain and Major Danby. 'He didn't wash ashore in Sweden. He rowed there! He rowed there, Chaplain, he rowed there.' Rowed there?'
'He planned it that way! He went to Sweden deliberately.'
'Well, I don't care!' the chaplain flung back with undiminished zeal. 'It's still a miracle, a miracle of human intelligence and human endurance. Look how much he accomplished!' The chaplain clutched his head with both hands and doubled over in laughter. 'Can't you just picture him?' he exclaimed with amazement. 'Can't you just picture him in that yellow raft, paddling through the Straits of Gibraltar at night with that tiny little blue oar--'
Catch-22 Page 52