Catch-22(192)

“You’re goddam right!” Colonel Cathcart blurted out, lumbering back and forth gracelessly like a winded bull, puffing and pouting angrily. “I’d like to tie him up hand and foot and throw him aboard a plane on every mission. That’s what I’d like to do.”

Colonel Korn motioned Colonel Cathcart to be silent and smiled at Yossarian. “You know, you really have been making things terribly difficult for Colonel Cathcart,” he observed with flip good humor, as though the fact did not displease him at all. “The men are unhappy and morale is beginning to deteriorate. And it’s all your fault.”

“It’s your fault,” Yossarian argued, “for raising the number of missions.”

“No, it’s your fault for refusing to fly them,” Colonel Korn retorted. “The men were perfectly content to fly as many missions as we asked as long as they thought they had no alternative. Now you’ve given them hope, and they’re unhappy. So the blame is all yours.”

“Doesn’t he know there’s a war going on?” Colonel Cathcart, still stamping back and forth, demanded morosely without looking at Yossarian.

“I’m quite sure he does,” Colonel Korn answered. “That’s probably why he refuses to fly them.”

“Doesn’t it make any difference to him?”

“Will the knowledge that there’s a war going on weaken your decision to refuse to participate in it?” Colonel Korn inquired with sarcastic seriousness, mocking Colonel Cathcart.

“No, sir,” Yossarian replied, almost returning Colonel Korn’s smile.

“I was afraid of that,” Colonel Korn remarked with an elaborate sigh, locking his fingers together comfortably on top of his smooth, bald, broad, shiny brown head. “You know, in all fairness, we really haven’t treated you too badly, have we? We’ve fed you and paid you on time. We gave you a medal and even made you a captain.”

“I never should have made him a captain,” Colonel Cathcart exclaimed bitterly. “I should have given him a court-martial after he loused up that Ferrara mission and went around twice.”

“I told you not to promote him,” said Colonel Korn, “but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No you didn’t. You told me to promote him, didn’t you?”

“I told you not to promote him. But you just wouldn’t listen.”

“I should have listened.”

“You never listen to me,” Colonel Korn persisted with relish. “That’s the reason we’re in this spot.”

“All right, gee whiz. Stop rubbing it in, will you?” Colonel Cathcart burrowed his fists down deep inside his pockets and turned away in a slouch. “Instead of picking on me, why don’t you figure out what we’re going to do about him?”

“We’re going to send him home, I’m afraid.” Colonel Korn was chuckling triumphantly when he turned away from Colonel Cathcart to face Yossarian. “Yossarian, the war is over for you. We’re going to send you home. You really don’t deserve it, you know, which is one of the reasons I don’t mind doing it. Since there’s nothing else we can risk doing to you at this time, we’ve decided to return you to the States. We’ve worked out this little deal to—”

“What kind of deal?” Yossarian demanded with defiant mistrust.

Colonel Korn tossed his head back and laughed. “Oh, a thoroughly despicable deal, make no mistake about that. It’s absolutely revolting. But you’ll accept it quickly enough.”

“Don’t be too sure.”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt you will, even though it stinks to high heaven. Oh, by the way. You haven’t told any of the men you’ve refused to fly more missions, have you?”

“No, sir,” Yossarian answered promptly.

Colonel Korn nodded approvingly. “That’s good. I like the way you lie. You’ll go far in this world if you ever acquire some decent ambition.”

“Doesn’t he know there’s a war going on?” Colonel Cathcart yelled out suddenly, and blew with vigorous disbelief into the open end of his cigarette holder.

“I’m quite sure he does,” Colonel Korn replied acidly, “since you brought that identical point to his attention just a moment ago.” Colonel Korn frowned wearily for Yossarian’s benefit, his eyes twinkling swarthily with sly and daring scorn. Gripping the edge of Colonel Cathcart’s desk with both hands, he lifted his flaccid haunches far back on the corner to sit with both short legs dangling freely. His shoes kicked lightly against the yellow oak wood, his sludge-brown socks, garterless, collapsed in sagging circles below ankles that were surprisingly small and white. “You know, Yossarian,” he mused affably in a manner of casual reflection that seemed both derisive and sincere, “I really do admire you a bit. You’re an intelligent person of great moral character who has taken a very courageous stand. I’m an intelligent person with no moral character at all, so I’m in an ideal position to appreciate it.”