Catch-22 (9 page)

   Lieutenant Scheisskopf’s preparations were elaborate and
clandestine. All the cadets in his squadron were sworn to secrecy and rehearsed
in the dead of night on the auxiliary parade-ground. They marched in darkness
that was pitch and bumped into each other blindly, but they did not panic, and
they were learning to march without swinging their hands. Lieutenant
Scheisskopf’s first thought had been to have a friend of his in the sheet metal
shop sink pegs of nickel alloy into each man’s thighbones and link them to the
wrists by strands of copper wire with exactly three inches of play, but there
wasn’t time—there was never enough time—and good copper wire was hard to come
by in wartime. He remembered also that the men, so hampered, would be unable to
fall properly during the impressive fainting ceremony preceding the marching
and that an inability to faint properly might affect the unit’s rating as a
whole.

   And all week long he chortled with repressed delight at the
officers’ club. Speculation grew rampant among his closest friends.

   ‘I wonder what that Shithead is up to,’ Lieutenant Engle
said.

   Lieutenant Scheisskopf responded with a knowing smile to the
queries of his colleagues. ‘You’ll find out Sunday,’ he promised. ‘You’ll find
out.’ Lieutenant Scheisskopf unveiled his epochal surprise that Sunday with all
the aplomb of an experienced impresario. He said nothing while the other
squadrons ambled past the reviewing stand crookedly in their customary manner.
He gave no sign even when the first ranks of his own squadron hove into sight
with their swingless marching and the first stricken gasps of alarm were
hissing from his startled fellow officers. He held back even then until the
bloated colonel with the big fat mustache whirled upon him savagely with a
purpling face, and then he offered the explanation that made him immortal.

   ‘Look, Colonel,’ he announced. ‘No hands.’ And to an audience
stilled with awe, he distributed certified photostatic copies of the obscure
regulation on which he had built his unforgettable triumph. This was Lieutenant
Scheisskopf’s finest hour. He won the parade, of course, hands down, obtaining
permanent possession of the red pennant and ending the Sunday parades
altogether, since good red pennants were as hard to come by in wartime as good
copper wire. Lieutenant Scheisskopf was made First Lieutenant Scheisskopf on
the spot and began his rapid rise through the ranks. There were few who did not
hail him as a true military genius for his important discovery.

   ‘That Lieutenant Scheisskopf,’ Lieutenant Travels remarked.
‘He’s a military genius.’

   ‘Yes, he really is,’ Lieutenant Engle agreed. ‘It’s a pity
the schmuck won’t whip his wife.’

   ‘I don’t see what that has to do with it,’ Lieutenant Travers
answered coolly.

   ‘Lieutenant Bemis whips Mrs. Bemis beautifully every time
they have sexual intercourse, and he isn’t worth a farthing at parades.’

   ‘I’m talking about flagellation,’ Lieutenant Engle retorted.
‘Who gives a damn about parades?’ Actually, no one but Lieutenant Scheisskopf
really gave a damn about the parades, least of all the bloated colonel with the
big fat mustache, who was chairman of the Action Board and began bellowing at
Clevinger the moment Clevinger stepped gingerly into the room to plead innocent
to the charges Lieutenant Scheisskopf had lodged against him. The colonel beat
his fist down upon the table and hurt his hand and became so further enraged
with Clevinger that he beat his fist down upon the table even harder and hurt
his hand some more. Lieutenant Scheisskopf glared at Clevinger with tight lips,
mortified by the poor impression Clevinger was making.

   ‘In sixty days you’ll be fighting Billy Petrolle,’ the
colonel with the big fat mustache roared. ‘And you think it’s a big fat joke.’

   ‘I don’t think it’s a joke, sir,’ Clevinger replied.

   ‘Don’t interrupt.’

   ‘Yes, sir.’

   ‘And say “sir” when you do,’ ordered Major Metcalf.

   ‘Yes, sir.’

   ‘Weren’t you just ordered not to interrupt?’ Major Metcalf
inquired coldly.

   ‘But I didn’t interrupt, sir,’ Clevinger protested.

   ‘No. And you didn’t say “sir,” either. Add that to
the charges against him,’ Major Metcalf directed the corporal who could take
shorthand. ‘Failure to say “sir” to superior officers when not
interrupting them.’

   ‘Metcalf,’ said the colonel, ‘you’re a goddam fool. Do you
know that?’ Major Metcalf swallowed with difficulty. ‘Yes, Sir.’

   ‘Then keep your goddam mouth shut. You don’t make sense.’
There were three members of the Action Board, the bloated colonel with the big
fat mustache, Lieutenant Scheisskopf and Major Metcalf, who was trying to
develop a steely gaze. As a member of the Action Board, Lieutenant Scheisskopf
was one of the judges who would weigh the merits of the case against Clevinger
as presented by the prosecutor. Lieutenant Scheisskopf was also the prosecutor.
Clevinger had an officer defending him. The officer defending him was
Lieutenant Scheisskopf It was all very confusing to Clevinger, who began
vibrating in terror as the colonel surged to his feet like a gigantic belch and
threatened to rip his stinking, cowardly body apart limb from limb. One day he
had stumbled while marching to class; the next day he was formally charged with
‘breaking ranks while in formation, felonious assault, indiscriminate behavior,
mopery, high treason, provoking, being a smart guy, listening to classical
music and so on’. In short, they threw the book at him, and there he was, standing
in dread before the bloated colonel, who roared once more that in sixty days he
would be fighting Billy Petrolle and demanded to know how the hell he would
like being washed out and shipped to the Solomon Islands to bury bodies.
Clevinger replied with courtesy that he would not like it; he was a dope who
would rather be a corpse than bury one. The colonel sat down and settled back,
calm and cagey suddenly, and ingratiatingly polite.

   ‘What did you mean,’ he inquired slowly, ‘when you said we
couldn’t punish you?’

   ‘When, sir?’

   ‘I’m asking the questions. You’re answering them.’

   ‘Yes, sir. I—’

   ‘Did you think we brought you here to ask questions and for
me to answer them?’

   ‘No, sir. I—’

   ‘What did we bring you here for?’

   ‘To answer questions.’

   ‘You’re goddam right,’ roared the colonel. ‘Now suppose you
start answering some before I break your goddam head. Just what the hell did
you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn’t punish you?’

   ‘I don’t think I ever made that statement, sir.’

   ‘Will you speak up, please? I couldn’t hear you.’

   ‘Yes, sir. I—’

   ‘Will you speak up, please? He couldn’t hear you.’

   ‘Yes, sir. I—’

   ‘Metcalf.’

   ‘Sir?’

   ‘Didn’t I tell you to keep your stupid mouth shut?’

   ‘Yes, sir.’

   ‘Then keep your stupid mouth shut when I tell you to keep
your stupid mouth shut. Do you understand? Will you speak up, please? I
couldn’t hear you.’

   ‘Yes, sir. I—’

   ‘Metcalf, is that your foot I’m stepping on?’

   ‘No, sir. It must be Lieutenant Scheisskopf’s foot.’

   ‘It isn’t my foot,’ said Lieutenant Scheisskopf.

   ‘Then maybe it is my foot after all,’ said Major Metcalf.

   ‘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 fingertips. ‘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 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.’

   ‘Oh, my God! Read me back his last line, stupid. Say, what
the hell’s your name, anyway?’

   ‘Popinjay, sir.’

   ‘Well, you’re next, Popinjay. As soon as his trial ends, your
trial begins. Get it?’

   ‘Yes, sir. What will I be charged with?’

   ‘What the hell difference does that make? Did you hear what
he asked me? You’re going to learn, Popinjay—the minute we finish with
Clevinger you’re going to learn. Cadet Clevinger, what did—You are Cadet
Clevinger, aren’t you, and not Popinjay?’

   ‘Yes, sir.’

   ‘Good. What did—’

   ‘I’m Popinjay, sir.’

   ‘Popinjay, is your father a millionaire, or a member of the
Senate?’

   ‘No, sir.’

   ‘Then you’re up shit creek, Popinjay, without a paddle. He’s
not a general or a high-ranking member of the Administration, is he?’

   ‘No, sir.’

   ‘That’s good. What does your father do?’

   ‘He’s dead, sir.’

   ‘That’s very good. You really are up the creek, Popinjay. Is
Popinjay really your name? Just what the hell kind of a name is Popinjay
anyway? I don’t like it.’

   ‘It’s Popinjay’s name, sir,’ Lieutenant Scheisskopf
explained.

   ‘Well, I don’t like it, Popinjay, and I just can’t wait to
rip your stinking, cowardly body apart limb from limb. Cadet Clevinger, will
you please repeat what the hell it was you did or didn’t whisper to Yossarian
late last night in the latrine?’

   ‘Yes, sir. I said that you couldn’t find me guilty—’

   ‘We’ll take it from there. Precisely what did you mean, Cadet
Clevinger, when you said we couldn’t find you guilty?’

   ‘I didn’t say you couldn’t find me guilty, sir.’

   ‘When?’

   ‘When what, sir?’

   ‘Goddammit, are you going to start pumping me again?’

   ‘No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’

   ‘Then answer the question. When didn’t you say we couldn’t
find you guilty?’

   ‘Late last night in the latrine, sir.’

   ‘Is that the only time you didn’t say it?’

   ‘No, sir. I always didn’t say you couldn’t find me guilty,
sir. What I did say to Yossarian was—’

   ‘Nobody asked you what you did say to Yossarian. We asked you
what you didn’t say to him. We’re not at all interested in what you did say to
Yossarian. Is that clear?’