Catch-22(195)
Yossarian found himself listening intently to the fascinating elucidation of details. “I’m not sure I want to make speeches.”
“Then we’ll forget the speeches. The important thing is what you say to people here.” Colonel Korn leaned forward earnestly, no longer smiling. “We don’t want any of the men in the group to know that we’re sending you home as a result of your refusal to fly more missions. And we don’t want General Peckem or General Scheisskopf to get wind of any friction between us, either. That’s why we’re going to become such good pals.”
“What will I say to the men who asked me why I refused to fly more missions?”
“Tell them you had been informed in confidence that you were being returned to the States and that you were unwilling to risk your life for another mission or two. Just a minor disagreement between pals, that’s all.”
“Will they believe it?”
“Of course they’ll believe it, once they see what great friends we’ve become and when they see the press releases and read the flattering things you have to say about me and Colonel Cathcart. Don’t worry about the men. They’ll be easy enough to discipline and control when you’ve gone. It’s only while you’re still here that they may prove troublesome. You know, one good apple can spoil the rest,” Colonel Korn concluded with conscious irony. “You know—this would really be wonderful—you might even serve as an inspiration to them to fly more missions.”
“Suppose I denounce you when I get back to the States?”
“After you’ve accepted our medal and promotion and all the fanfare? No one would believe you, the Army wouldn’t let you, and why in the world should you want to? You’re going to be one of the boys, remember? You’ll enjoy a rich, rewarding, luxurious, privileged existence. You’d have to be a fool to throw it all away just for a moral principle, and you’re not a fool. Is it a deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s that or a court-martial.”
“That’s a pretty scummy trick I’d be playing on the men in the squadron, isn’t it?”
“Odious,” Colonel Korn agreed amiably, and waited, watching Yossarian patiently with a glimmer of private delight.
“But what the hell!” Yossarian exclaimed. “If they don’t want to fly more missions, let them stand up and do something about it the way I did. Right?”
“Of course,” said Colonel Korn.
“There’s no reason I have to risk my life for them, is there?”
“Of course not.”
Yossarian arrived at his decision with a swift grin. “It’s a deal!” he announced jubilantly.
“Great,” said Colonel Korn with somewhat less cordiality than Yossarian had expected, and he slid himself off Colonel Cathcart’s desk to stand on the floor. He tugged the folds of cloth of his pants and undershorts free from his crotch and gave Yossarian a limp hand to shake. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks, Colonel. I—”
“Call me Blackie, John. We’re pals now.”
“Sure, Blackie. My friends call me Yo-Yo. Blackie, I—”
“His friends call him Yo-Yo,” Colonel Korn sang out to Colonel Cathcart. “Why don’t you congratulate Yo-Yo on what a sensible move he’s making?”
“That’s a real sensible move you’re making, Yo-Yo,” Colonel Cathcart said, pumping Yossarian’s hand with clumsy zeal.
“Thank you, Colonel, I—”
“Call him Chuck,” said Colonel Korn.
“Sure, call me Chuck,” said Colonel Cathcart with a laugh that was hearty and awkward. “We’re all pals now.”
“Sure, Chuck.”
“Exit smiling,” said Colonel Korn, his hands on both their shoulders as the three of them moved to the door.
“Come on over for dinner with us some night, Yo-Yo,” Colonel Cathcart invited hospitably. “How about tonight? In the Group dining room.”
“I’d love to, sir.”
“Chuck,” Colonel Korn corrected reprovingly.
“I’m sorry, Blackie. Chuck. I can’t get used to it.”
“That’s all right, pal.”
“Sure, pal.”
“Thanks, pal.”
“Don’t mention it, pal.”
“So long, pal.”
Yossarian waved goodbye fondly to his new pals and sauntered out onto the balcony corridor, almost bursting into song the instant he was alone. He was home free: he had pulled it off; his act of rebellion had succeeded; he was safe, and he had nothing to be ashamed of to anyone. He started toward the staircase with a jaunty and exhilarated air. A private in green fatigues saluted him. Yossarian returned the salute happily, staring at the private with curiosity. He looked strangely familiar. When Yossarian returned the salute, the private in green fatigues turned suddenly into Nately’s whore and lunged at him murderously with a bone-handled kitchen knife that caught him in the side below his upraised arm. Yossarian sank to the floor with a shriek, shutting his eyes in overwhelming terror as he saw the girl lift the knife to strike him again. He was already unconscious when Colonel Korn and Colonel Cathcart dashed out of the office and saved his life by frightening her away.