Catch-22(56)
“My God, it’s true!” Yossarian shrieked, and collapsed against Nately in terror.
“There is no God,” answered Dunbar calmly, coming up with a slight stagger.
“Hey, give me a hand with him, will you? I’ve got to get him back in his tent.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. Gee, look at the rain.”
“We’ve got to get a car.”
“Steal Captain Black’s car,” said Yossarian. “That’s what I always do.”
“We can’t steal anybody’s car. Since you began stealing the nearest car every time you wanted one, nobody leaves the ignition on.”
“Hop in,” said Chief White Halfoat, driving up drunk in a covered jeep. He waited until they had crowded inside and then spurted ahead with a suddenness that rolled them all over backward. He roared with laughter at their curses. He drove straight ahead when he left the parking lot and rammed the car into the embankment on the other side of the road. The others piled forward in a helpless heap and began cursing him again. “I forgot to turn,” he explained.
“Be careful, will you?” Nately cautioned. “You’d better put your headlights on.”
Chief White Halfoat pulled back in reverse, made his turn and shot away up the road at top speed. The wheels were sibilant on the whizzing black-top surface.
“Not so fast,” urged Nately.
“You’d better take me to your squadron first so I can help you put him to bed. Then you can drive me back to my squadron.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Dunbar.”
“Hey, put your headlights on,” Nately shouted. “And watch the road!”
“They are on. Isn’t Yossarian in this car? That’s the only reason I let the rest of you bastards in.” Chief White Halfoat turned completely around to stare into the back seat.
“Watch the road!”
“Yossarian? Is Yossarian in here?”
“I’m here, Chief. Let’s go home. What makes you so sure? You never answered my question.”
“You see? I told you he was here.”
“What question?”
“Whatever it was we were talking about.”
“Was it important?”
“I don’t remember if it was important or not. I wish to God I knew what it was.”
“There is no God.”
“That’s what we were talking about,” Yossarian cried. “What makes you so sure?”
“Hey, are you sure your headlights are on?” Nately called out.
“They’re on, they’re on. What does he want from me? It’s all this rain on the windshield that makes it look dark from back there.”
“Beautiful, beautiful rain.”
“I hope it never stops raining. Rain, rain, go a—”
“—way. Come a—”
“—gain some oth—”
“—er day. Little Yo-Yo wants—”
“—to play. In—”
“—the meadow, in—”
Chief White Halfoat missed the next turn in the road and ran the jeep all the way up to the crest of a steep embankment. Rolling back down, the jeep turned over on its side and settled softly in the mud. There was a frightened silence.
“Is everyone all right?” Chief White Halfoat inquired in a hushed voice. No one was injured, and he heaved a long sigh of relief. “You know, that’s my trouble,” he groaned. “I never listen to anybody. Somebody kept telling me to put my headlights on, but I just wouldn’t listen.”
“I kept telling you to put your headlights on.”
“I know, I know. And I just wouldn’t listen, would I? I wish I had a drink. I do have a drink. Look. It’s not broken.”
“It’s raining in,” Nately noticed. “I’m getting wet.”
Chief White Halfoat got the bottle of rye open, drank and handed it off. Lying tangled up on top of each other, they all drank but Nately, who kept groping ineffectually for the door handle. The bottle fell against his head with a clunk, and whiskey poured down his neck. He began writhing convulsively.
“Hey, we’ve got to get out of here!” he cried. “We’ll all drown.”
“Is anybody in there?” asked Clevinger with concern, shining a flashlight down from the top.
“It’s Clevinger!” they shouted, and tried to pull him in through the window as he reached down to aid them.
“Look at them!” Clevinger exclaimed indignantly to McWatt, who sat grinning at the wheel of the staff car. “Lying there like a bunch of drunken animals. You too, Nately? You ought to be ashamed! Come on—help me get them out of there before they all die of pneumonia.”