Catch-22(33)
“Move it.”
“Yes, sir. You’ll have to move your foot first, Colonel. It’s on top of mine.”
“Are you telling me to move my foot?”
“No, sir. Oh, no, sir.”
“Then move your foot and keep your stupid mouth shut. Will you speak up, please? I still couldn’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir. I said that I didn’t say that you couldn’t punish me.”
“Just what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m answering your question, sir.”
“What question?”
“ ‘Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn’t punish you?’ ” said the corporal who could take shorthand, reading from his steno pad.
“All right,” said the colonel. “Just what the hell did you mean?”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t punish me, sir.”
“When?” asked the colonel.
“When what, sir?”
“Now you’re asking me questions again.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand your question.”
“When didn’t you say we couldn’t punish you? Don’t you understand my question?”
“No, sir. I don’t understand.”
“You’ve just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question.”
“But how can I answer it?”
“That’s another question you’re asking me.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But I don’t know how to answer it. I never said you couldn’t punish me.”
“Now you’re telling us when you did say it. I’m asking you to tell us when you didn’t say it.”
Clevinger took a deep breath. “I always didn’t say you couldn’t punish me, sir.”
“That’s much better, Mr. Clevinger, even though it is a barefaced lie. Last night in the latrine. Didn’t you whisper that we couldn’t punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don’t like? What’s his name?”
“Yossarian, sir,” Lieutenant Scheisskopf said.
“Yes, Yossarian. That’s right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of a name is Yossarian?”
Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his finger tips. “It’s Yossarian’s name, sir,” he explained.
“Yes, I suppose it is. Didn’t you whisper to Yossarian that we couldn’t punish you?”
“Oh, no, sir. I whispered to him that you couldn’t find me guilty—”
“I may be stupid,” interrupted the colonel, “but the distinction escapes me. I guess I am pretty stupid, because the distinction escapes me.”
“W—”
“You’re a windy son of a bitch, aren’t you? Nobody asked you for clarification and you’re giving me clarification. I was making a statement, not asking for clarification. You are a windy son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir? Are you calling me a goddam liar?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
“Then you’re a windy son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you a windy son of a bitch?”
“No, sir.”
“Goddammit, you are trying to pick a fight with me. For two stinking cents I’d jump over this big fat table and rip your stinking, cowardly body apart limb from limb.”
“Do it! Do it!” cried Major Metcalf.
“Metcalf, you stinking son of a bitch. Didn’t I tell you to keep your stinking, cowardly, stupid mouth shut?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Then suppose you do it.”
“I was only trying to learn, sir. The only way a person can learn is by trying.”
“Who says so?”
“Everybody says so, sir. Even Lieutenant Scheisskopf says so.”
“Do you say so?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lieutenant Scheisskopf. “But everybody says so.”
“Well, Metcalf, suppose you try keeping that stupid mouth of yours shut, and maybe that’s the way you’ll learn how. Now, where were we? Read me back the last line.”
“ ‘Read me back the last line,’ ” read back the corporal who could take shorthand.
“Not my last line, stupid!” the colonel shouted. “Somebody else’s.”
“ ‘Read me back the last line,’ ” read back the corporal.
“That’s my last line again!” shrieked the colonel, turning purple with anger.
“Oh, no, sir,” corrected the corporal. “That’s my last line. I read it to you just a moment ago. Don’t you remember, sir? It was only a moment ago.”