Catch-22: A Dramatization
Based on the Novel Catch-22

Praise for the book

“Any thought that Catch-22 might be a victim of overexposure is dispelled by the stage version that Joseph Heller has adapted from his novel.... Heller’s play accents the humor, the Marx Brothers side, of the novel ... and can stand alone.”

—Mel Gussow, The New York Times

Synopsis

Few books have had the impact of Catch-22; it has become a classic in its own time and the yardstick by which every comic and every anti-war novel is measured. It has sold nearly six million copies in this country alone.

Now Joseph Heller has captured its hilarity and depth for the stage. The essence is here: Yossarian’s mad sanity; Major Major’s unique office technique; Luciana, the whore who refuses to marry anyone willing to marry her; ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen, who really runs the army; Milo Minderbinder, the black market genius who invented chocolate-covered cotton; the publicity-crazed officers; the demented doctors; the chaplain who may have important papers hidden in a tomato; and Doc Daneeka, who has difficulty convincing people he’s still alive.

The new foreword by the author explains how the play came to be, why certain scenes were included and others deleted, and recounts the history of the production. In addition, Heller discusses the major themes of Catch-22 and draws astonishing parallels between the events in the book and the events in today’s newspapers.

 

JOSEPH HELLER wasborn in Brooklyn. During World War II he was decorated for his sixty missions as a B-25 bombardier in the Mediterranean Theater of Operations. He received his Bachelor’s degree from New York University, his Master’s from Columbia University, and he attended Oxford on a Fulbright scholarship. His first novel, Catch-22, has become an international bestseller, and it has been translated into every language in the civilized world. Joseph Heller is also the author of the play We Bombed in New Haven. Mr. Heller teaches creative writing and is currently a professor of English at City College of New York. He is married, has two children, and lives in Manhattan.

 

Also by Joseph Heller

 

 

Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that CATCH-22 is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, the British Empire, including the Dominion of Canada, and all other countries of the Copyright Union. All rights, including performance rights, whether professional, amateur, motion pictures, recitations, lecturing, public hearings, radio broadcasting, television and the rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved. In its present form the play is published for the use of the reading public only.

Permission for any other use, including, without limitation, readings or performances whether by professionals or amateurs, must be obtained in writing and royalties paid. Applications for such permission and for royalty rates should be made to Samuel French Inc., 25 West 45 St., New York, N.Y. 10036, or to Robert Lantz-Candida Donadio Literary Agency, Inc., in West 57 St, New York, N.Y. 10019.

 

 

Foreword

THE first performance of Catch—22 as a play was given at the John Drew Theater in East Hampton, New York, on July 13, 1971. It was directed by Larry Arrick, who had introduced my earlier play, We Bombed in New Haven, at the Yale School of Drama in 1967.

For me, for the John Drew Repertory Company, and for most of the audience and critics, the production was a success. There was praise from Alan Wallach in Newsday and William Raidy in the Long Island Star and other Newhouse newspapers, and a long and very favorable review by Mel Gussow appeared in the New York Times. Requests for permission to present the play began to arrive from college theater groups and other amateur and stock companies in different cities. Before the summer was over, a second production was in preparation in Chicago, by the Kingston Mines Theater Company under the direction of Gary Houston, where it played, triumphantly, I choose to assume, for twelve or sixteen weekends. There have been numerous productions since, in this country and abroad.

It was largely due to Larry Arrick that I completed the dramatization when I did. Arrick and I met again in early 1971 in connection with the videotaping of part of Ike Bombed in New Haven for National Education Television’s program “The Great American Dream Machine.” I remarked that I was busy with the final sections of my new novel and that in spare-time evenings I had been taking parts of Catch-22 and attempting to transform them into some kind of dramatic form. (The motion picture was finished, and the stage and television dramatization rights had reverted to me. ) Arrick disclosed that he would be directing the program for the John Drew Theater that summer and would be interested in including Catch-22 among his productions, if there was anything of Catch-22 to include.

Our agreement was simple. I would endeavor to hand him the first draft of a play within a month; he would produce and direct if he thought it worthwhile. At my insistence, all creative control was to be his, including the right to delete as much as he wanted to. All I had to do in return was come see the play after it had been running a few days. From his point of view, the arrangement was ideal: stage directors have learned that the most cooperative playwright is a dead one whose works are already in the public domain.

As it turned out, I had much the better of it, I feel. The play opened on a weekday to an audience, I was told by telephone, that was expectant and appreciative. The reviews in the two Long Island newspapers were laudatory. On Saturday, my wife and I, together with my nephew and his wife, drove to East Hampton from Fire Island, had a good dinner in a cozy restaurant, and enjoyed a brand-new thrilling play—Catch-22!—glittering (to my narcissistic eyes, anyway) with countless delightful staging and acting surprises I could not possibly have anticipated by keeping such distance. Most of these have been incorporated in the script. The theater was full. The audience was awake and responsive, in step with the quick tempo of the work from the start, and laughed and applauded generously; if anything, the play possibly was “too funny,” a bit more humorous in that first presentation than either I or Arrick had intended or would have wished.

A few days afterward the review in the daily edition of the influential New York Times appeared, praising both script and production extensively and, along with Raidy and Wallach earlier, authenticating, I felt, the adaptation as a bona fide theater work, as a play with an identity of its own apart from the novel and the movie. For me, there was a happy ending to an experience that had been gratifying and comfortable throughout. (Backstage, however, an air of fatigue was present, and it was easy to detect that some members of the company were no longer on congenial terms with all of the others. They worked a schedule that summer that was unimaginably hard.)

Though the idea of finishing Catch-22 as a play had come from Larry Arrick, the idea of starting it had been in my mind about ten years, from the time of the publication of the novel back in October, 1961: even while still writing the book I had the strong impression that many of the dialogues had a potential for effective staging, and other sections equally so if their content could be externalized competently into spoken words. This feeling was reinforced soon after publication by interest from people active in the theater. Strangers wrote, asking to be allowed to turn the novel into tragedies, comedies, and musicals, or certain chapters into one-act plays. Others did their dramatizations first and then asked permission. The book was soon a widely used source of exercise material for actors and directors working with training groups. Since so many people were already dramatizing Catch-22, I felt it made some sense for me to think seriously about doing it someday too. From David Merrick came a lenient and extremely liberal offer that would have let me try the adaptation without the help of a more experienced collaborator. At that time, though, I had neither the confidence nor the ambition to commit myself to a stage play. Nor did I wish to postpone the possibility of a sale of motion picture rights that would have enabled me to leave my advertising job with McCall’s magazine.

In August of 1962, therefore, with something like a month’s vacation on my hands, with no idea for a second novel in mind, and with much titillating chatter about Broadway buzzing in my ears, I began, purely as an experiment, a diversion, and a test, to take sections from the book almost at random and turn them into play-script form. At the end of August, the motion picture rights were sold, and I stopped. I reserved the stage and television dramatization rights for myself, but they were not to be used until after the release of the motion picture. By the time I stopped, I had transposed five scenes for the stage to my initial satisfaction: the trial of Clevinger, p. 76 (all page references are to the Dell paperback edition of the novel ) ; the seizure and trial of the Chaplain by three officers who refuse to identify themselves or state their sources of authority, p. 387; the interrogation of Yossarian by two of these same three mysterious officers after he has been stabbed by Nately’s whore and is lying in the hospital in need of medical attention, p. 439; a moody, intimate love scene on the beach between Yossarian and Nurse Duckett, which, in the novel, is portrayed in most general terms and contains no dialogue, PP- 345–347, 355; and the futile, desperate efforts of Doc Daneeka to establish that he is alive after an erroneous entry in a flight log places him aboard a plane that has crashed, p. 350. Tn the novel, the chapter about Doc Daneeka also contains almost no usable dialogue, although the progression of actions leading to his ultimate failure is stated specifically.

Already, one could diagnose in these five scenes, presumably picked with indifference, an unconscious partiality I was showing toward subjects I felt important. Four of the five are about law and repression. The other is about death.

Things have changed in the nine years since, but they have not changed much, and all but one of these scenes are included in the play. The exception is the trial of Clevinger, which was omitted for reasons of length and not of substance. By the time I went back to the play in 1971 the war in Viet Nam had been escalating openly for seven years, and the largest and most lethal belligerent in that devastating conflict was ... us.

There is much about law in the novel. Catch-22 itself, unread, unseen, perhaps even non-existent, becomes a handy edict for overriding all safeguards to individual liberty and safety, the key element in a tricky paradigm of democratic government that allows the law to do legitimately what the law expressly prohibits itself from doing. “Catch-22 says they have a right to do anything we can’t stop them from doing,” the old woman in the whorehouse explains to Yossarian (p. 416), and, in practice, she is shown to be correct. Throughout the novel, there are inquisitions, trials, sneaky undercover investigations, bullying interrogations, and numerous more cruel, unpunished acts of intimidation and persecution by people in positions of power, no matter how small, against others who are decent, innocent, and harmless, or whose offenses, if committed at all, are trivial. Many of these episodes are in the play. Thematically, in fact, the play is structured around such unchecked misuses of authority in an atmosphere of war.

Much of our national experience in recent years has been characterized by the same.

Anyone in touch with the news these past few years must be aware of the many legal actions of major scope and doubtful merit that have been launched against people who have been conspicuous critics of our military actions in Indochina or active opponents of racial discrimination here at home. With heavyweight champion Muhammed Ali (Cassius Clay), who was denied conscientious objector status as a Black Muslim and subsequently found guilty in the lower courts of violating the Selective Service Act, we had an example of both. One ought to note also the many times jurors have refused to convict in these trials and the other times convictions were set aside on appeal or prosecutions discontinued — often because of illegal eavesdropping activities by law-enforcement officials. The suspicion has often been strong from the start that the true motives behind these court proceedings were not lofty but selectively spiteful: to inflict severe, disabling punishments upon these individuals more for their irreverent opposition to official policy than for actions seriously criminal. The suspicion has been substantiated by the outcomes. Legally, these cases have been fiascoes. From the vindictive point of view of the prosecution, however, they have not been entirely wasteful, for the power to put people on trial is itself the power to punish heavily. Such trials, however, are rank persecutions.

In the trial of the Black Panthers in New Haven on charges of murdering one of their members, as in the charges against Angela Davis in California in connection with the shootings outside the Marin County courthouse, people were killed; but in so many of the others, it has been difficult to locate a crime that took place and impossible to identify a victim who suffered by it. Where acts were committed, they were acts more of impertinence than destruction. It is doubtless true that Father Philip Berrigan, Father Daniel Berrigan, and seven other people, who all together came to be known as the Catonsville 9, poured animal blood over records in a Selective Service office in Maryland. It is difficult, however, to measure this soberly as a “crime” against the people or to believe that society has been grievously crippled as a result. Who suffered?

For want of anything more concrete, the abstract charge of conspiracy has often been lodged, that rare and heinous crime of doing nothing more than talking about doing something illicit. (What illegal conspiracies have been formed more likely originate inside the halls of justice and more likely exist in the courtroom between prosecutor, judge, and policeman, who draw their paychecks from the same bank account and depend for promotion on the same political superiors.) The public announcements at the beginning have been grandiose, and the allegations are frequently wild.

Believe it or not, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, recently, with John Mitchell as U.S. Attorney General, Father Philip Berrigan, who had been in prison all the while for his role in the Catonsville action, Sister Elizabeth McAllister, and four other adults, collectively known as the Harrisburg 6, were indicted and tried, at an estimated cost to the federal government of two million dollars, on charges of conspiring to kidnap Henry Kissinger, a presidential aide, as a gesture of protest against the American war in Viet Nam and, furthermore, of conspiring to blow up the underground heating system in Washington, D.C.

The charges sounded preposterous. Their credibility was not enlarged by the evidence presented in court by the federal prosecutor. (In one of those beguiling coincidences that chance constantly takes pains to provide, his name was Lynch.{1}) The chief witness for the government in Harrisburg was a fellow-inmate of Father Berrigan’s in Lewisburg Prison, an habitual criminal working as a paid informer for the FBI for an asking price, it was revealed, of $50,000 tax free, though he received less. His testimony was unimpressive, even in Harrisburg. The jury voted ten to two for acquittal. The jurors in Harrisburg, a tranquil and conservative area selected as the site of the trial for precisely those qualities, either did not believe the government’s case or did not feel that conspiring to kidnap presidential aide Henry Kissinger and hold him hostage for a week was much of a crime.

In Boston earlier, Dr. Benjamin Spock, Reverend William Coffin of Yale, author Mitchell Goodman, and Michael Ferber, a graduate student, were brought to trial for attempting to build public resistance to government operations in the matter of the draft and the war. Here the charges were true. The activities and goals of the group were stated openly from the beginning and widely advertised. All went free.

As an outgrowth of the street disturbances during the National Democratic Convention in 1968, there was the trial of the Chicago 7 on very vague charges of conspiring to cross state lines for the purpose of creating those disturbances. Some of the seven were scarcely acquainted with the others if at all, and there had been no plans or communications in which all had participated. Yet, they were brought to court together, again under Attorney General John Mitchell, in a trial presided over by a distasteful old man whose crude and insulting bias soon made people stop wondering how he’d ever become a judge and start wondering how he’d ever gotten through law school. The jury acquitted the defendants of all the major charges. Because of the verdict, Black Panther leader Bobby Seale, whose case had been severed from the rest, will not be brought to trial.

Seale was acquitted also in New Haven with other Black Panthers on charges arising from the murder of one of their members. In New York City, some fifteen or so Black Panthers were tried and found not guilty of conspiring to detonate bombs in, among other places, Bloomingdale’s department store. By the time of their acquittal, most had spent nearly twenty months in prison. Bail averaging about $100,000 had been set for each, an amount widely viewed as excessive for a situation in which no acts of violence had been attempted, and it would have required approximately a million and a half dollars for all to be freed during the long wait for trial. Verdicts of not guilty do not necessarily signify that Blacks get fair trials; they get fair juries—if they are lucky.

Muhammed Ali was not lucky and was found guilty. He was deprived of his heavyweight championship and he paid millions for his principles before the verdict was reversed by the U.S. Supreme Court. Active and prospering again, and brash and wise as ever, he remains perplexing to his staid peers and superiors, for in this free-enterprise culture of ours, reputable citizens are not supposed to pay for their principles; they are supposed to profit from them. Otherwise, what good are they?

In California now Daniel Ellsberg and Anthony Russo, Jr., are slated to go on trial someday for espionage, theft, conspiracy, and whatnot for releasing classified government documents now known as the Pentagon Papers, a voluminous effort undertaken to assemble as history the private records leading to this country’s increasing involvement in the war in Indochina. One stark conclusion to be derived from the Pentagon Papers is that Lyndon Johnson and his staff cruelly and systematically lied to the press, to the American people, and to both houses of Congress about what was happening in Viet Nam and what they intended to do. (They could not lie so successfully to our “enemies” in Viet Nam, who knew the truth through experiencing it and were therefore less naive than Congress and most of the country.)

Another utterly appalling revelation is that none of these distinguished gentlemen, these models of rectitude who were welcome in second-best homes everywhere, seemed to have experienced any compelling discomfort over playing the parts of liars in a deception about a bloody enterprise that has already produced more American dead and wounded than World War I. None resigned in disgust to denounce the others. When McGeorge Bundy left, it was for a better-paying job with the Ford Foundation.{2}

As to the Ellsberg trial itself, the legal possibilities, as of this date, are intriguing. The defendants were authorized to have the material; they did not steal, but photocopied, it; they did not deliver it to a foreign power but made it available to the American public through the medium of the press. A number of other copies of the entire study were in the possession of people who no longer held government position. Is this espionage? In the aftermath, it is clear that nothing was damaged but the reputation for efficiency and probity of a Democratic administration that was already sunk in disdain. Astonishing as it may be, rumor has it that no law exists that was broken by the release of this information. So, while Ellsberg and Russo still may go on trial in California for violating laws that might not exist, a grand jury in Boston continues hearing secret testimony on the same matter in an investigation to find some, or at least turn up somebody who is guilty of something! (“The case against Clevinger was open and shut. The only thing missing was something to charge him with.” p. 73.)

Ellsberg is really being tried for embarrassment, for bringing confusion and ridicule to the present Nixon administration, which is not otherwise implicated by the Pentagon Papers. The charge against him and Russo is effrontery. as legally defined the crime of effrontery lies in a failure to show respect to people in high office who will never feel sure they deserve any.

Catch-22 begins with a secret investigation. In the play, which is shorter, it is introduced more quickly and made more explicit. An undercover search takes place to find the person or persons guilty of writing Washington Irving’s name on the envelopes of censored letters of enlisted men. Preposterous? Of course. But any more preposterous than maintaining in court with a straight face that the Harrisburg group was seriously engaged in a plot to kidnap Henry Kissinger, a presidential aide, and blow up the underground heating system of Washington, D.C.? The investigation widens, and in Act II the suspicion is voiced that the Chaplain has been concealing stolen secret documents inside a plum tomato. This is preposterous too, but hardly more improbable than the real-life event that suggested it: the Whittaker Chambers-Alger Hiss case of the 1940s in which the former produced evidence he declared had been hidden inside a pumpkin.

What all these illustrations of due process gone awry have to do with the adaptation that follows may seem somewhat remote. Reference to them, however, may help explain several of the fundamental choices made in taking subject matter from a complicated and perhaps rather long novel published ten years earlier for use in a play that must by necessity be shorter, swifter, simpler, and more direct.

It was clear from the outset that large changes would have to be made. Plays and motion pictures, unlike novels, I feel, require a distinct, prominent narrative line accelerating toward a climactic resolution that, at best, is both surprising and inevitable. Much of the book would be eliminated or compressed. Characters must be omitted or combined, and their relative importance different in the play than in the novel. The chronology was put in order. The need for unity and consolidation seemed obvious.

The first draft of the play was two hundred typewritten pages. The second, completed in time for the production in East Hampton, was down to an acceptable one hundred and thirty-one. Apart from a large number of small changes made after seeing the play performed, it is very much the same script that is published now and the one currently used in commercial and amateur productions.

Many well-known passages from the novel were excluded simply because they could not fit closely enough with what came before and what would follow. Some were discarded with joy, others abandoned reluctantly. For reasons alluded to earlier involving Reverend Coffin, both brothers Berrigan, and protest activities by other members of the clergy, I was pleased to be able to include almost in its entirety the callous arrest and trial of the Chaplain, and pleased as well to find room for the heartless insistence upon a security clearance for Yossarian before he is permitted to receive the medical care he needs. Each, in fact, helps justify the other. It was with relief that I set aside almost all of the “The Eternal City” (p. 413) and decided to omit entirely the character Orr. The former, a pivotal chapter in the novel, would, I felt, be superfluous and pedagogical in the smaller and more energetic context of the play; in addition, there would be staging problems requiring solutions that would depart egregiously_ from the stylistic nature of the rest. Orr, I thought, was intrinsically undramatic, for his true purposes are disguised from everyone until long after he is gone. I could have made him comical but only that, and he would have taken up space extravagantly in a narrative form in which the need for economy, I feel, is especially stringent.

The trial of Clevinger was taken out because it was too long. (As countless acting classes have discovered, the chapter “plays beautifully,” and possibly I will offer it soon as a one-act play, since most of the work of dramatizing it is done.) The scene ran nearly twenty pages, too many for a secondary character whose basic function in the total organization is to come on stage as a trusting, idealistic young man and be slaughtered.

Milo Minderbinder’s role is smaller; Wintergreen’s larger; and Major Major and Major Danby are combined.

Milo has fewer scenes in the play, but enough to demonstrate how virtue and viciousness can exist harmoniously within one soul—if that one soul is simple and determined enough—and to epitomize the ascendance of profits over people and even patriotism. At the end, Yossarian is a fugitive, and Babbit has the bomb.

Wintergreen is unimportant as a character but indispensable as a channel of expository information necessary to make other scenes operable. He is the nucleus of the lively segment in which Doc Daneeka strives fruitlessly to convince people he is alive; I cannot think how else this passage could have been dramatized without introducing Wintergreen into it as an all-knowing mail clerk who reads everything that passes through his hand. On each of the occasions Yossarian seeks him out for help, and is, of course, refused, Wintergreen supplies the audience, through remarks to Yossarian, with details preparing the way for much larger scenes involving the Chaplain, Milo, Colonel Cathcart, Major Major, and others.

Major Major and Major Danby are compatible people in the book. Several scenes were planned for Major Major, only one for Danby—the last. I thought it better to combine them than to bring a strange character on stage for that important discussion just before the end.

There are forty parts in the play and more scenes than I have counted, to be performed by a smaller number of actors playing multiple roles. The cast at East Hampton totaled twelve, ten males and two females. Michael Lombard played such dissimilar people as the whining hypochondriac Doc Daneeka, the mocking Colonel Korn, and a nervous, frantically determined C.I.D. man zooming down like a guided missile on a startled Major Major, shifting adroitly from one part to the other with just a slight change of outer garment. Anthony Holland was a comic delight as the snarling, sexually obsessed psychiatrist and frail and touching as the Chaplain, while Adam Arkin was cast as all five young men who die. The two actresses in the cast played the eight female parts. John Pleshette played only Yossarian, and it is probably better that the person playing Yossarian do only that part.

The play is consciously cinematographic. Characters come in sight when they are ready to speak or be spoken to and leave the stage as soon as they are through, commanding attention to themselves in much the same way that a movie camera directs the gaze of an audience from one person to another. Locales change rapidly.

Both novel and play begin and end in the hospital. The war continues. The effort to “look good” supplants all other military objectives in importance. A few trifling and whimsical actions by Yossarian at the start touch off irrational investigations threatening others ceaselessly. At the end, Yossarian must choose between alternatives that are dangerous or repugnant. There is no prospect of reprieve.

“No hope,” is the judgment agreed upon near the end. “No hope at all.”

Minna Diskow in Twentieth Century Literature (Vol. 12, January, 1967, pp. 186–193) has explained more .lucidly than I can how these words, which are repeated, relate to Yossarian’s “Night Journey” through Rome earlier (p. 420) and how both passages can be associated with Dante’s Inferno and that ominous warning at the entrance to Hell: “All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

Yossarian turns back in defiance, and it is with a feeling of optimism and exultation that he elects the difficult course of escape.

“At least,” he says, “I’ll be trying.”

There’ve been optimistic signs in recent events that suggest such rebellious efforts at preserving one’s body and one’s soul may prove successful. [There is cause for pessimism too in events that are even more recent. J. H.] Outstanding among these favorable omens, I feel, are those startling, those amazing jurors, selected to the extent permissible for their built-in aversions to the defendants and the philosophies they are presumed to represent, who refuse to convict only because they are asked to. (I am aware that there have been countless cases receiving less attention in which atrocious penalties have been imposed for infractions that are petty or understandable. I am also aware that beyond a certain point there is no lawful remedy for these injustices perpetrated by the courts. )

There was that jury in San Jose, California, just a few weeks back that found Angela Davis not guilty on all counts charged! The key factors were against her: she was Black, she was educated, she was a Communist, she was militant, and she could be linked with at least one of the persons who

were involved in the killings and with the weapons used. Local hostility was virulent: a white dairy farmer who advanced bail was ostracized and put out of business. But the case against her must have been lamely, despicably weak: not once in the several ballots inside the jury room was there a single vote for conviction!

When put to the test, twelve ordinary people in upper California whose names I never even bothered to note displayed more intelligence and moral sensibility in a courtroom than the prosecution gave them credit for possessing, transcended those instinctual fears and prejudices that lurk inside all of us, braved the enmity and displeasure of others in their communities, and unanimously and emphatically declared: “Not guilty!”

Bravo to them.

Catch-22: A Dramatization

Joseph Heller’s dramatization of Catch-22 was first performed by The John Drew Repertory Company at Guild Hall, East Hampton, Long Island, New York.

Cast of Characters

JOHN PLESHETTE	Yossarian
DAVID ACKROYD	Major Major, Colonel Cathcart
ROSE ARRICK	Luciana, Patient’s Mother, Nately’s Mother, Old Woman, Daneeka’s Mother-in-Law
JAMES BRICK	Ex-PFC Wintergreen, Nately’s Father, Old Man, Investigating Major
ANTHONY HOLLAND	Chaplain, Psychiatrist
MARCIA JEAN KURTZ	Nurse Duckett, Nately’s Whore, Mrs. Daneeka
MICHAEL LOMBARD	Doc Daneeka, Lieutenant Colonel Korn, C.I.D. Man
JEFFREY NIELSON	Texan, English Intern, Captain Black
LOUIS PLANTE	Milo Minderbinder, Patient’s Father, Aarfy
ADAM ARKIN	Clevinger, Patient, Nately, McWatt
NEIL MOSS	Second Doctor, Corporal Whitcomb, Gus
WILLIAM REILLY	Sergeant Towser, First Doctor, Patient’s Brother, Wes, Investigating Captain

Stage Set

Two desks, telephones, two beds, some chairs, a table. A door frame and a window frame. A few upright coat racks. The furniture is grouped in a loose semicircle, leaving stage space on both sides and in front.

Action within the area of furniture will be action that takes place indoors. Action outside it occurs outdoors.

The doorway is used for formal entrances and exits. At other times actors move as convenient directly to where they have to go.

Act-1

[The CHAPLAIN enters carrying a pad and moves to one of the desks]

Dear wife. In the hospital today I met a likable young man ...

[Entering]

Me.

[YOSSARIAN wears flight gear. He hangs his parachute harness and flight jacket on a coat rack and puts on a hospital bathrobe]

... who has a very simple wish. He wants to live forever.

Or at least die in the attempt.

[Lies down on bed and begins censoring letters]

The trouble is—

[The TEXAN enters, wearing pajamas and a robe, and pulls a chair up to the side of YOSSARIAN’s bed]

Hi, there. I’m from Texas. Thought I’d mosey on down the ward and get neighborly with you. What are you doing?

Censoring letters.

Say, I bet that’s exciting—reading other people’s mail.

Monotonous.

Ever hear of an officer here named ... Washington?

George?

Irving.

[YOSSARIAN shakes his head]

Ever run into a guy named ... Irving?

Irving what?

That’s his last name.

[Unhappily, as YOSSARIAN stares at him]

Washington.

Washington?

Irving.

[YOSSARIAN shakes his head]

He’s been censoring letters in a most peculiar way. You’re not him, are you?

I’m Yossarian.

I’m mighty glad to hear that. I’ll let you in on something. I’m an undercover agent, a C.I.D. man. Keep that quiet. I don’t want anybody to know.

Everybody knows.

Who told them?

You told them. You tell everyone. Why don’t you censor letters like the rest of us if you don’t want anybody to suspect?

It’s too monotonous. I’d much rather sit here and talk important topics with you. Would you like to know what I think about the republic?

[YOSSARIAN leaves the bed with a weary groan and hangs up his bathrobe]

I think that people of means ... decent folk ... should be given more votes than indecent folk ... people without means. Don’t you? It stands to reason that ...

[The TEXAN exits talking as YOSSARIAN retreats from him toward the CHAPLAIN, who rises to walk with him]

The Texan turned out to be good-natured, generous, and likable.

In three minutes I couldn’t stand him. He drove me out.

It’s still going on, isn’t it? Men go mad—and are rewarded with medals. And when I try to warn them, they think I’m crazy. Even Clevinger ...

[CLEVINGER enters and goes to the table]

... who you’d think would know better, says ...

[Shouting]

You’re crazy!

[YOSSARIAN spins around and joins CLEVINGER at the table as the CHAPLAIN continues offstage]

They’re trying to kill me.

No one’s trying to kill you.

Then why are they shooting at me?

They’re shooting at everyone. They’re trying to kill everyone.

And what difference does that make? Clevinger, as far back as I can remember, somebody has always been hatching a plot that will kill me. And do you know why?

Because you’re crazy.

Because I’m Assyrian.

See? You are crazy. There are no Assyrians. The race is extinct.

There’s one left—me. And I want very much to preserve him. Clevinger, my friend, you are one of those people with lots of intelligence ... and no brains. In short, you are a dope.

Am I?

Because your life is in danger—and you don’t seem to care. Well, I know what to do about mine.

What?

I’m going to see Doc Daneeka and have him take me off combat duty and send me home. He’ll help.

He’ll laugh in your face. He’ll think you’re crazy.

Let’s hope so.

[DOC DANEEKA enters, a thermometer in his mouth, a blood-pressure apparatus on his arm]

Ha ha ha.

[YOSSARIAN turns back to DOC DANEEKA as CLEVINGER continues offstage]

What’s so funny?

You. You’re wasting your time if you expect me to help you.

You must be crazy.

Okay. Can’t you ground someone who’s crazy?

Oh, sure. There’s a rule saying I have to ground anyone who’s crazy.

There is?

[Removes thermometer]

Sure. I don’t feel so good. See? My temperature’s low.

Then why don’t you ground me? I’m crazy.

Why don’t you ask me to? Squeeze this.

I have to ask?

That’s what the rule says.

[Reads blood-pressure gauge and shakes his head]

First you have to ask. Look into my ears.

That’s all I have to do?

That’s all. Just ask. The other ear, too.

And then you can ground me?

No. Then I can’t ground you. Now listen to my heart.

You mean there’s a catch?

Sure there’s a catch. Catch—22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy.

Wow! I think I’m starting to get it. I’m crazy and can be grounded. All I have to do is ask, right?

Tap my chest. Lower.

[More and more rapidly]

But as soon as I do ask, I will no longer be crazy and will have to fly more missions. I’ll be crazy to fly more missions and sane if I don’t. But if I’m sane, I have to fly them.

Now tap my back.

If I fly them, I’m crazy and don’t have to, but if I don’t want to, I’m sane and—wowee! That’s some catch, that Catch-22.

It’s the best there is.

Doc, you’ve got to help me. I’m afraid.

Of what?

I’m afraid you’re not going to help me. I get screaming nightmares. Don’t you hear me?

I’ve got to laugh. I’ve really got to laugh when I hear you screaming your brains out every night. What about me?

What about you?

What about me? My precious medical skills!

What about them?

What about them? They’re rusting away here, while other doctors back home are cleaning up. Do you think I enjoy hanging around here day after day refusing to help you? I wouldn’t mind it so much if I could refuse to help you back in a nice plush Park Avenue office. But saying no to you here isn’t easy for me, either.

Then stop saying no. Ground me and send me home.

I can’t. Where are you going?

[Waving a wooden tongue depressor]

I want to say “Aaaaah.”

To see Major Major. If my flight surgeon won’t help me, my squadron commander will.

[Exits]

That’s what you think! He won’t even see ...

[Exits after YOSSARIAN as MAJOR MAJOR enters wearing a false mustache and large sunglasses, climbs through the window, and moves to a desk, taking off his disguise]

Towser!

[SERGEANT TOWSER enters through the doorway, goes to MAJOR MAJOR, and salutes]

Sir?

Sergeant Towser. From now on I don’t want anyone to come into my office to see me while I’m here. Is that clear?

Yes, sir. Does that include me?

Yes.

I see. Will that be all?

Yes.

What shall I say to people who come to see you while you are here?

Tell them I’m in and ask them to wait.

Yes, sir. For how long?

Until I’ve left.

How will you be able to leave, sir, when someone is waiting outside to see you?

Through the window. From now on I’ll be coming and going through the window. I don’t want to see anyone anymore, and I don’t want anyone to see me. Is that clear?

Yes, sir. And once you’ve left, sir, what shall I do with them?

I don’t care.

May I send them in to see you after you’ve left?

Yes.

But you won’t be here then, will you?

No. That will be all.

Yes, sir. Will that be all?

Yes. No. Tell Milo Minderbinder I won’t be coming to the mess hall anymore. Tell him to have all my meals delivered to my trailer and left outside my door.

Yes, sir. Good-by, sir.

Good-by, sergeant. And thank you. For everything.

[TOWSER leaves, MAJOR MAJOR puts on his mustache and sunglasses, climbs out the window, and starts away, yos-

Sarian springs out of concealment and brings MAJOR MAJOR and himself to the ground with a pouncing tackle]

[Saluting]

Sir! Captain Yossarian requests permission to speak to the Major at once about a matter of life or death.

Let me up, please. I can’t return your salute while I’m lying on my arm.

[YOSSARIAN releases him. Both men rise, MAJOR MAJOR returns YOSSARIAN’s salute]

I don’t think this is the best place to talk. Go around the front and tell Sergeant Towser to send you in to see me.

Yes, sir.

[MAJOR MAJOR climbs back into the office through his window, YOSSARIAN starts around toward the doorway. MAJOR MAJOR counts a few seconds and then dashes suddenly back to the window and jumps out. YOSSARIAN comes dashing back around in time to tackle him again.]

[Saluting]

Sir! Captain Yossarian requests permission to speak to the Major at once about a matter of life or death.

Permission denied.

No, sir. That won’t do.

[Both men rise]

All right. Jump inside my office.

After you.

[MAJOR MAJOR climbs back inside through the window and removes his disguise, YOSSARIAN climbs in after him]

Well? What seems to be the trouble?

I don’t want to fly any more combat missions.

Why not?

I’m afraid.

That’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re all afraid.

I’m not ashamed. I’m just afraid.

You wouldn’t be normal if you were never afraid. One of the biggest jobs we face in combat is to overcome our fear.

Oh, come on, Major. Can’t we do without that horseshit?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I’ve flown enough combat missions and can go home.

How many have you flown?

Fifty-one. A man was killed in my plane on the mission to Avignon.

You’ve only got four more.

Colonel Cathcart will raise them again. He always raises them. He wants to be a general.

Perhaps he won’t this time. Why don’t you fly the four more missions and see what happens?

I don’t want to. I think I’d rather die than be killed.

But suppose everybody on our side felt that way?

Then I’d certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way. Wouldn’t I?

There’s nothing I can do.

You’re a major and my squadron commander.

And there’s nothing I can do. Except sympathize with you secretly. I could send you to Rome.

What for?

On a rest leave. You could find a girl, get drunk, have some fun. Maybe the war will be over by the time you get back. It won’t, but that’s all I can do.

It’s better than nothing.

[YOSSARIAN exits through the window and walks, while MAJOR MAJOR replaces his mustache and sunglasses, climbs through the window, and leaves, LUCIANA enters and calls out to YOSSARIAN in an Italian accent]

Hey, Joe. Come here. I’m not so bad-looking.

My name isn’t Joe.

I’m Luciana. Why don’t you pick me up?

My name is Yo-Yo.

Okay, Joe-Joe. You picked me up. I’ll go dancing with you. But I won’t let you sleep with me.

Who asked you?

[LUCIANA pulls him to her and makes him dance with her]

You don’t want to sleep with me?

I don’t want to dance with you.

Okay, Joe-Joe. Then I will let you buy me dinner. But I won’t let you sleep with me.

Who asked you?

You don’t want to sleep with me?

I don’t want to buy you dinner.

Let’s go.

[She takes his hand, pulls him to the chairs at the table. She leans back with a sigh and pats her mouth daintily]

You ate like a goddamn horse.

Grazie. Now I feel better. Okay, Joe-Joe. Now I will let you sleep with me.

[Pulls away in alarm as YOSSARIAN grabs for her]

No—not here! Come.

[Takes his hand and leads him to one of the beds]

Aaaah—now.

[They embrace, YOSSARIAN’s attention is caught by something he feels on her back beneath her blouse]

It’s long, isn’t it.

[Tensing]

Si.

I guess this must be just about the longest and deepest scar I ever felt.

It’s the longest one I ever felt.

Where did you get it?

In an air raid.

Germans?

Americani.

I was afraid you were going to say that. Luciana, I would like you to marry me.

Tu sei pazzo.

Why am I crazy?

Perchè non posso sposare.

Why can’t you get married?

Because I am not a virgin. Who will marry me?

I will.

Ma non posso sposarti.

Why can’t you marry me?

Perchè sei pazzo.

Why am I crazy?

Perchè vuoi sposarmi.

You won’t marry me because I’m crazy, and you say I’m crazy because I want to marry you. Is that right?

Si.

Tu sei pazzo.

Perchè! Why am I crazy?

Because you won’t marry me. Carina, ti amo. Ti amo molto.

How can you love a girl who is not a virgin?

It’s easy. Because I can’t marry you.

[Heatedly]

Why can’t you marry me? Just because I am not a virgin?

No. Because you’re crazy!

[LUCIANA laughs and they embrace again. She rises, smooths her hair, straightens her dress]

Hey, Joe-Joe. Wake up. I have to leave now and go to work at my typewriter in my office.

[Takes his hand and walks with him]

Why don’t you ask me to write my name and address on a piece of paper so that you will be able to find me again when you come to Rome?

Why don’t you write your name and address down for me on a piece of paper?

[Haughtily]

Why? So you can tear it up into little pieces as soon as I leave?

Who’s going to tear it up?

You will. And then go walking away like a big shot because a young, beautiful girl like me, Luciana, let you sleep with her and did not ask you for money.

How much money are you asking me for?

Stupido! I am not asking you for money!

[She thrusts a slip of paper at him]

Here, don’t forget. Don’t forget to tear it into tiny pieces as soon as I am gone.

[Relenting, affectioNATELY]

Addio.

[Kisses him and starts away, YOSSARIAN hesitates, then tears the slip of paper into tiny pieces and scatters them. He starts away jauntily in the opposite direction]

[At the side of the stage, exiting]

Tu sei pazzoi

[YOSSARIAN halts abruptly. He returns to the bits of paper and stares down at them hopelessly, WINTERGREEN walks on stage smoking a cigar and carrying a sack labeled “U.S. Mail”]

Wintergreen!

Hiyah, buddy.

Wintergreen, I’m trying to find the name and address of a girl I met in Rome.

Forget it. Come on inside, pal. I’ve got great news for you.

[WINTERGREEN settles himself at a desk and begins sorting correspondence, writing on some papers, tearing up others, YOSSARIAN follows]

I got my promotion. I’m a Pfc. now. Do you know what that means?

You’re a private first class.

I’m an officer now, just like you. It means lots more money and prestige. I get to travel in the highest social circles now, just like you. I’m gonna go into business, compete with Milo.

Milo won’t like that.

Good. I like to needle that bastard. Well, what can I do for you?

Cathcart raised the number of missions again.

I know that. I read all the mail he writes.

Do you ever get to see any of the directives from Headquarters?

Yo-Yo, I don’t just see them. I print them up on my mimeograph machine and distribute them—if I approve. Nothing gets done without my okay. I was going to cancel the Normandy invasion, until Eisenhower committed more armor.

How many missions am I supposed to fly?

Forty missions is all you have to fly as far as we here at Headquarters are concerned.

Then I can go home, right? I’ve got fifty-one.

No, you can’t go home. There’s a catch.

Twenty-two?

Sure. Catch-22 says you’ve always got to do what your commanding officer tells you to.

But regulations say I can go home with forty missions.

But regulations don’t say you have to go home. That’s the catch. Even if the colonel were disobeying an order by mak-

ing you fly more missions, you’d still have to fly them or you’d be guilty of disobeying an order of his. And then we would really jump on you.

Then I really have to fly those fifty-five missions, don’t I?

Sixty. See? He’s just raised them again.

Goddamn him! What would they do to me if I refused to fly them?

We would probably shoot you.

Wei What do you mean, we? Since when are you on their side?

[Collecting his stuff and preparing to leave]

If you’re going to be shot, whose side do you expect me to be on?

[WINTERGREEN walks off in one direction as MILO MINDERBINDER enters from another, carrying a dozen eggs]

Milo! Have you heard the bad news?

I certainly have. Wintergreen’s cutting prices.

That’s not what I meant. Colonel Cathcart just raised the missions to sixty.

Then I’m afraid you’ll just have to fly them. We all have to do what we can.

What about you?

Me? I happen to be tied down at present with my responsibilities as mess officer. I have to go to Egypt to buy cotton.

Cotton?

Yes, I have this great chance to corner the market on Egyptian cotton. It’s a big opportunity for the syndicate. And don’t forget—everybody has a share.

Do I have a share?

Everybody has a share.

[Pleased]

Gee, that’s really something. I always wanted to own a share.

[Sobering]

Does Snowden own a share?

Of course. Everybody in the squadron owns a share.

Snowden isn’t in the squadron anymore. He was killed on the mission to Avignon.

That’s part of his share.

There was no morphine in the first-aid kit. There was nothing I could give him for the pain.

I needed the morphine to trade for these fresh eggs. You get your share, don’t you?

I don’t want my share. I’m going back into the hospital.

No, Yossarian. The best thing for us to do is for you to fly

your sixty missions, even if you get killed. You can’t keep running into the hospital like a crybaby every time—

Oh yes I can.

[MILO shakes his head disapprovingly and exits as NURSE DUCKETT and FIRST DOCTOR take places at the desks inside the circle of furniture, YOSSARIAN moves around to the doorway and knocks. They pay no attention to him. He enters]

Hi. Hey!

[As they finally glance up]

I have this sharp, persistent, throbbing pain in the lower right side of my abdomen. I think it’s appendicitis.

Beat it.

We can’t tell him to beat it. We have to keep all abdominal complaints under observation for five days because so many of them have been dying after we make them beat it.

[Leaving]

All right, Nurse Duckett. Put him under observation for five

days and then make him beat it. Give him an ice bag just to play safe.

[YOSSARIAN puts on a hospital robe]

I think you’re faking.

[YOSSARIAN shrugs, moves to one of the two beds, and lies down, NURSE DUCKETT hands him an ice bag and leaves as English intern enters]

Well, old boy. How is your liver?

I think it’s my appendix.

[Pressing YOSSARIAN’^ abdomen]

No, I’m afraid your appendix is no good, no good at all. If your appendix goes wrong, we can take it out and have you back on active duty in no time at all. But come to us with a liver complaint and you can fool us for weeks. Let’s throw this silly ice bag away before you die of pneumonia. The Ever, you see, is a large, ugly mystery to us. If you’ve ever eaten liver, you know what I mean.

What’s an English medical officer doing on duty here?

[Leaving]

I’ll tell you about that in the morning if I ever see you again. The way they whisk us around here, I never know where I’m going to—

[Arms reach in and pull him offstage on one side as NURSE DUCKETT and FIRST DOCTOR enter from the other]

Well, good morning. Good morning, good morning, good morning. How is that sick appendix of yours?

There’s nothing wrong with my appendix. It’s my liver.

It was your appendix yesterday.

It’s my liver today. I ought to know.

Maybe it is his liver. What does his blood count show?

He hasn’t had a blood count.

Have one taken right away. We can’t afford to take chances

with a patient in his condition. We’ve got to keep ourselves covered in case he dies.

[Starting away]

In the meantime, keep that ice bag on. It’s very important.

I don’t have an ice bag.

No? Well, maybe it’s not so important. Just let someone know if the pain becomes unendurable.

[FIRST DOCTOR and NURSE DUCKETT exit as SECOND DOCTOR appears]

Well, Yossarian, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. You’re in perfect health and have to go back to combat duty. Isn’t that good?

[Leaves. Suddenly, a PATIENT sits up in the next bed and shouts]

I see everything twice!

[Reappearing]

What?

I see everything twice!

[FIRST DOCTOR comes running back in with alarm]

He sees everything twice!

What?

He says he sees everything twice!

Swell! Then it’s meningitis, I’d say.

Why pick meningitis? Why not, let’s say, acute nephritis?

Because I’m a meningitis man, that’s why, and not an acute nephritis man.

Well I was here first.

Why don’t we just roll him away into an isolation room and see what develops if he takes a turn for the worse?

Suits me. There’s enough of him to go around.

[The bed is rolled off a few yards. The DOCTORS and NURSE DUCKETT start away]

[Calling back toward YOSSARIAN]

And get that one out of here. He’s fit for duty.

[Sits up in bed and shouts]

I see everything twice!

[The DOCTORS and NURSE DUCKETT rush back to yos- sarian’s bed]

Hold it! I got here first again.

That’s not fair.

I don’t care whether it’s fair or not. You aren’t getting this one away from me, too.

[To YOSSARIAN, holding one finger up directly before him]

How many fingers do you see?

Two.

[Holding up two fingers]

How many fingers do you see now?

Two.

[Holds up none]

And how many now?

Two.

[Beaming]

By Jove, he’s right! He does see everything twice! Roll him away with that other one.

[YOSSARIAN’s bed is rolled beside the other bed. All but the SECOND DOCTOR stride away]

I see everything twice!

[Winking at him]

I see everything twice!

The walls! The walls! Move back the walls!

The walls! The walls! Move back the walls!

[The PATIENT emits a loud groan and flops back on the bed with his eyes shut, YOSSARIAN emits a loud groan and falls back, also. The SECOND DOCTOR feels the PATIENT’s pulse, shakes his head grimly, and draws the sheet over his face]

What are you doing?

He’s dead.

[Sitting up in bed and shouting]

I see everything once!

[The FIRST DOCTOR and NURSE DUCKETT come running back]

Lemme have him.

Oh, no—you had him last time. I wanna do it. So shut up now—and be a good sport.

[Holding up one finger]

How many fingers do you see?

One.

[Holding up two fingers]

How many fingers do you see now?

One.

[Holding up ten fingers]

And how many now?

One.

I made him all better! Oh, boy—that calls for a drink.

[He exits with NURSE DUCKETT, leaving the FIRST DOCTOR behind]

And just in time, too. Yossarian, some relatives are here to see you. Oh, don’t worry, not yours. It’s the mother, father,

and brother of that chap who died. They’ve traveled all the way from New York to see a dying soldier.

I’m not dying.

Of course you’re dying. Where else do you think you’re heading?

They came to see their son.

They’ll have to take what they can get.

Suppose they start crying?

I’ll come right in. All you’ve got to do is lie here a few minutes and die a little. Is that asking so much?

All right. If it’s just for a few minutes. Why don’t you wrap a bandage around my head for effect?

That sounds like a splendid idea.

[He hands a molded head bandage to YOSSARIAN, who fits it on]

Why don’t you get some flowers? Old ones.

We haven’t got time.

At least darken the room.

Shhhh!

[He exits. A poorly dressed OLD COUPLE enters with a belligerent young man in a sailor’s uniform. They approach timidly until they arrive at the side of the bed. They are Italian-American and reflect it in their speech]

He looks terrible.

He’s sick, Pa.

Giuseppe.

My name is Yossarian.

His name is Yossarian, Ma. Yossarian, don’t you recognize me? I m your brother John. Don’t you know who I am?

You’re my brother John.

He does recognize me! Pa, he knows who I am. Yossarian, here’s Papa. Say hello to Papa.

Hello, Papa.

Hello, Giuseppe.

His name is Yossarian, Pa.

I can’t get over how terrible he looks.

He’s very sick, Pa. The doctor says he’s going to die.

I didn’t know whether to believe the doctor or not. You know how crooked those guys are.

Giuseppe.

His name is Yossarian, Ma. She don’t remember things too

good anymore. How’re they treating you in here, kid? They treating you pretty good?

Pretty good.

That’s good. Just don’t let anybody in here push you around. You’re just as good as anybody else that’s dying, even though you are an Italian. You’ve got rights, too.

[YOSSARIAN winces and closes his eyes}

Now see how terrible he looks.

Giuseppe.

Ma, his name is Yossarian. Can’t you remember?

It’s all right. She can call me Giuseppe if she wants to.

Giuseppe.

Don’t worry, Yossarian. Everything is going to be all right.

Don’t worry, Ma. Everything is going to be all right.

Did you have a priest?

Sure.

That’s good. Just as long as you’re getting everything you’ve got coming to you. We were afraid we wouldn’t get here in time.

In time for what?

In time to see you before you died.

What difference would it make?

We didn’t want you to die by yourself.

What difference would it make?

He must be getting delirious. He keeps repeating the same thing over and over again.

That’s really very funny. All the time I thought his name

was Giuseppe, and now I find out his name is Yossarian. That’s really very funny.

Ma, make him feel good. Say something to cheer him up.

Giuseppe.

It’s not Giuseppe, Ma. It’s Yossarian.

What difference does it make? He’s dying.

[She starts to cry. The FATHER and brother start to cry, also]

What are you crying about?

You’re dying.

[YOSSARIAN starts crying. The FIRST DOCTOR enters quickly, shooting YOSSARIAN a dirty look]

It’s time to go now.

[Pulling himself together]

Giuseppe.

Yossarian.

Yossarian.

Giuseppe.

Soon you’re going to die.

[YOSSARIAN begins to sob again]

Hey! Cut that out!

[To the others]

Have you any last words?

When you talk to the man upstairs, I want you to tell Him it ain’t right for people to die when they’re young. Tell Him if they got to die at all, they got to die when they’re old. I don’t think He knows it ain’t right, because He’s supposed to be good, and it’s been going on for a long time. Okay?

And don’t let anybody up there push you around. You’ll be

just as good as anybody else in heaven, even though you are an Italian.

Dress warm.

[They exit]

Thanks, kid. You did that real well. I think we’re going to have you die for us all the time.

I think I’m going to get the hell out of here.

[YOSSARIAN goes to the coat rack and hangs up his bathrobe. The TEXAN enters]

Hi there, fella. I heard you were dying.

That was somebody else.

[The CHAPLAIN comes on stage, and YOSSARIAN moves forward to meet him]

[To himself, ominously]

Don’t be too sure.

[Exits]

It’s all Colonel Cathcart’s fault. Why don’t you do something? You’re the Chaplain. You’re supposed to help.

Should I go see him? All right, I will. Even though I’m afraid of him. He’s so ...

[They exit.]

colonel cathcart enters wearing a black circle around one eye and an Indian headdress with several feathers. He has an empty cigarette holder in his mouth and carries a small box of tomatoes. He removes his black eye and headdress and presses a button on his desk. A deafening bell rings]

Korn! Colonel Korn!

[Dryly as he enters]

You rang, sir?

Come in, Korn. I need your advice. What do you think of this cigarette holder?

It’s imitation black onyx with inlaid chips of imitation ivory.

That’s not what I mean. Will it help me become a general?

It might. With someone like General Dreedle, it could be a terrible black eye ...

[CATHCART’S face falls]

... while with someone like General Peckem ...

It could be another feather in my cap! I think I’ll take that risk. Now what about that farmhouse of mine in the hills?

A feather in your cap. But only if you use it.

I hate it there. I’ve got nothing to do. I’m not even sure where that farmhouse came from or who’s paying for it. How’d I get it, anyway?

You stole it.

Is that legal?

Sure.

Well, you’re the lawyer and you ought to know. How about these black-market tomatoes we’re buying up and selling to Milo illegally?

That’s legal, too.

Currency manipulation?

Legal.

Income-tax evasion?

That’s legal, also.

Well, if you say so. 1 wish you’d gone to Harvard or Yale, though, instead of a state university. It’s very degrading for someone like me to have to depend on someone like you.

I understand. That’s why I try to be so helpful.

I appreciate that. Get the Chaplain up here. There’s something I want to discuss with him.

He’s already here. There’s something he wants to discuss with you.

That’s what I call a real meeting of the minds, eh? Send him in.

[KORN exits. The CHAPLAIN enters]

Come on in, Chaplain.

Thank you, sir. Sir, I want to speak—

Take a look at this copy of Life magazine. Here’s a big photograph of a colonel in England who has his chaplain say prayers in the briefing room before each mission. Do you think that prayers will work here as well as they do for these people in England?

Yes, sir. I should think they would.

Then I’d like to give it a try. Maybe if we say prayers, they’ll put my picture in Life magazine. What are you staring at?

Tomatoes—I think.

Wanna buy some?

No, sir. I don’t think so.

That’s all right. Milo is glad to snap up all we can produce. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?

Sir, I—

We’ll begin with the next mission. Now, I don’t want any of this Kingdom of God or Valley of Death stuff. That’s all too negative. What are you making such a face for?

I’m sorry, sir. I happened to be thinking of the twenty-third Psalm as you said that.

How does that one go?

That’s the one you were just referring to, sir. “The Lord is my shepherd; I—”

That’s the one I was just referring to. It’s out. What else have you got?

“Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto—”

No waters. I don’t like waters. Why don’t we try something musical? How about the harps on the willows?

That has the rivers of Babylon in it, sir. ■ .. there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.”

Zion? Let’s forget that one right now. I wonder how it even got in there. I’d like to keep away from the subject of religion altogether if we can.

I’m sorry, sir. But just about all the prayers I know make at least some passing reference to God.

Then let’s get some new ones. Why can’t we take a more positive approach? Why can’t we all pray for something good, like a direct hit with all our bombs? Couldn’t we pray for a direct hit with all our bombs?

Well, yes, sir, I suppose so.

Then that’s what we’ll do. It will be a feather in our cap if we pray for a direct hit with all our bombs—even if we get

a direct miss. We can slip you in while we’re synchronizing the watches. I don’t think there’s anything secret about the right time. Will a minute and a half be enough?

Yes, sir. If it doesn’t include the time necessary to excuse the atheists and admit the enlisted men.

What atheists? There are no atheists in my outfit. Atheism is against the law, isn’t it?

No, sir.

Then it’s un-American, isn’t it?

I’m not sure, sir.

Well, I am! I’m not going to disrupt our religious services just to accommodate a bunch of lousy atheists. They can stay right where they are and pray with the rest of us. And what’s all this about enlisted men? Just how the hell do they get into this act?

I’m sorry, sir. I just assumed you would want the enlisted men to be present.

Well, I don’t. They’ve got a God and a chaplain of their own, haven’t they?

No, sir.

You mean they pray to the same God we do?

Yes, sir.

And He listens?

I think so, sir.

Well, I’ll be damned. I’d like to keep them out, anyway. Honestly, Chaplain, you wouldn’t want your sister to marry an enlisted man, would you?

My sister is an enlisted man.

Are you trying to be funny?

Oh, no, sir. She’s a master sergeant in the marines.

I see. Well, now that I think about it, having the men pray to God probably wasn’t such a hot idea, anyway. The editors of Life might not cooperate.

Will that be all, sir?

Yeah. Unless you’ve got something else to say.

Yes, sir, I have. Sir, some of the men are very upset since you raised the number of missions to sixty. They’ve asked me to speak to you about it.

Well, you just spoke to me about it.

They wonder why they have to keep flying more and more missions.

That’s an administrative matter, Chaplain. Tell them it’s none of their business.

Yes, sir.

Help yourself to a tomato, Chaplain. Go ahead, it’s on me. That’s an order.

[Takes a tomato]

Thank you, sir. Sir—

Thanks for dropping around.

Yes, sir.

[Bracing himself]

Sir, I’m particularly concerned about one of the bombardiers. Captain Yossarian.

Who?

Yossarian, sir. A man was killed in his plane recently and—

That’s a funny name.

He’s in a very bad way, sir. I’m afraid he won’t be able to suffer much longer without doing something desperate.

Is that a fact, Chaplain?

Yes, sir. I’m afraid it is.

[Ponders]

Tell him to trust in God.

[Giving up]

Thank you, sir. I will.

[CHAPLAIN exits, CATHCART puts on his headdress and BLACK eye and paces nervously]

[Wailing suddenly]

I want to be a general!

[Rings the clangorous bell]

Korn! Korn!

[Entering]

You rang, sir?

We may have a problem. There is a captain named Yossarian who doesn’t want to fly the sixty missions.

Yossarian? That’s a funny name.

It’s a terrible name, isn’t it? There are too many esses in it, like ...

Odious, and insidious.

Subversive. It’s not one of those good, crisp, clean-cut

American names like—

[Getting it in first]

Korn.

[Eyeing him resentfully]

Or Cathcart. I wonder how he ever got to be a captain, anyway.

You probably promoted him.

You probably told me to.

I probably told you not to. But you wouldn’t listen.

I should have listened.

You never listen.

From now on I’ll listen. Stop picking on me, will you? Maybe sixty missions are too many. Should I lower them?

Raise them. You won’t impress anybody by fighting less.

A man was killed in his plane.

One man? Colonel, if we’re going to start waxing sentimental about every man who might be killed ... we might just as well not have a war.

Korn, you’re right! I’ll raise them ... to seventy.

Put another feather in your cap.

It certainly won’t be a black eye, will it? Here—have one for your cap. And do you know what else? I’m going to volunteer the men for Bologna.

Bologna? That’s very brave of you.

Yes, it is. But I have confidence in my men. And I believe that no target in the world is too dangerous for them to attack. Tell Captain Black the good news. And let’s get these damn tomatoes over to Milo. Before the Chaplain snatches another one.

[They exit as CAPTAIN BLACK enters, rubbing his hands with glee]

Bologna? Oh, boy! Ha, ha! I can’t wait to see those sons of bitches eat their liver when they find out about this one. Ha, ha, ha!

[The CHAPLAIN enters, carrying his tomato. Exiting]

Hey, Chaplain! Did you hear the good news? The men are going to Bologna. Ha, ha, ha. I can’t wait to tell those bastards.

[The CHAPLAIN glares disapprovingly and moves through the doorway to a desk. He clears his throat and calls out hesitantly]

Whitcomb! Corporal Whitcomb. Come in please.

[CORPORAL WHITCOMB slouches onstage insolently]

What’s new?

There’s nothing new. Was anyone here to see me?

No. Just that crackpot Yossarian again.

I’m not so sure he’s a crackpot.

That’s right, take his part.

[CORPORAL WHITCOMB stamps out. He walks back in again]

You always side with the other people. That’s one of the things that’s wrong with you.

I didn’t intend to side with him. I was just making a statement.

What did Colonel Cathcart want?

Nothing important. He just wanted to discuss the idea of saying prayers in the briefing room before each mission.

All right, don’t tell me.

[He stamps out. He walks back in]

You don’t have confidence in your men. That’s another one of the things that’s wrong with you.

Yes, I do. I have lots of confidence in you.

Then what about those letters?

What letters?

How about letting me send out form letters to the next of kin of all the men we lose in combat?

No, no. Not. while I’m in charge.

Is that so? It’s easy for you to sit there and shake your head while I do all the work. Didn’t you see that guy from Texas outside in the purple bathrobe? That was a C.I.D. man down from the hospital on official business. He’s conducting an investigation.

I hope you’re not in any trouble.

No, I’m not in any trouble. You are. They’re going to crack down on you for signing Washington Irving’s name to all those letters.

What letters?

All those letters you’ve been signing Washington Irving’s name to.

I haven’t been signing Washington Irving’s name to any letters.

You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not the one you have to convince.

I’m not lying.

I don’t care whether you’re lying or not. A lot of that correspondence you’ve been tampering with is classified information.

I haven’t been tampering with any correspondence.

You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not the one you have to convince.

I’m not lying!

I don’t see why you have to shout at me.

[Walks out. Walks back in]

That’s what I get for sticking my neck out to warn you.

[Walks out. Walks back in]

I just did you the biggest favor anybody ever did you in your whole life, and you don’t even know it. You don’t know how to show your appreciation. That’s another one of the things that’s wrong with you.

I’m sorry. I’m really ver) grateful to you.

Then how about letting me send out those form letters?

No, no, no. Let’s not talk about it now. Please.

I’m the best friend you’ve got in the whole world, and you

don’t even know it. Don’t you know what trouble you’re in? That C.I.D. man has gone back to the hospital to write a brand-new report about that tomato.

What tomato?

The tomato you were hiding in your hand when you showed up here. The tomato you’re still hiding in your hand right this very minute!

I’m not hiding it. I got this tomato from Colonel Cathcart.

You don’t have to lie to me. I don’t care whether you stole it from him or not.

Stole it? Why should I steal a tomato from Colonel Cathcart?

That’s exactly what had us both stumped. And then the C.I.D. man figured out why. He figured out that you might have some important secret papers hidden away inside it.

In a tomato? Here, see for yourself.

Not me. I don’t want it.

Please take it. I didn’t even want it.

Oh, no. Don’t think you’re going to stick me with it.

I’m not trying to stick you with it.

I’m not going to forget this!

[He stamps out. He stamps back in. He stamps back out, grinning with satisfaction once his back is to the CHAPLAIN]

Dear wife. There is so much unhappiness in the world, and there does not seem to be anything I can do about anybody’s, not even my own. I have managed to offend Corporal Whitcomb again, and I don’t know how. And now the Colonel has increased the number of missions again and volunteered the men for Bologna.

[Exits as YOSSARIAN, CLEVINGER, and CAPTAIN BLACK enter]

[Glumly]

Bologna?

That’s right. Eat your liver, you bastards. This time you sons of bitches are really in for it. Ha, ha, ha!

[Exits, calling offstage]

Hey, you sons of bitches! Did you hear the good news? Ha, ha, ha.

I don’t want to go.

You have to.

Tm going to be killed at Bologna. You’re going to be killed.

We have to go, anyway.

Are you crazy?

We’re at war, Yossarian. And we have to obey orders.

Then I’ll change the orders. I’ve got influence. You’ll see.

[He moves inside the circle of furniture toward one of the desks]

Wintergreen! Hey, Wintergreen!

[WINTERGREEN enters with his mail sack and sits down. He begins sorting and marking letters, reading some, tearing others up]

I need your help.

Everybody does. I’m the most crucial figure in this whole theater of operations.

You’re only a mail clerk and a Pfc.

Ex-Pfc. I was busted. For talking to generals by their first names. Now I’m just a poor buck private again.

What are you doing?

Sorting letters.

You just tore one up.

I didn’t like it. It was too long. I like the way you censor letters when you’re in the hospital. Why’d you sign Washington Irving’s name to them?

How’d you know it was me?

I recognized the handwriting. I recognize everybody’s handwriting. They’ve got a C.I.D. man in the hospital trying to find you.

I know that. How’d you find out?

I throw away all his reports. Then I throw away all the orders asking him for reports. They think he’s missing in action. They’ve got another secret agent poking around who think’s it’s Major Major.

That’s funny.

Yeah. Because Major Major has been signing Washington Irving’s name. See? You wrote the Chaplain’s name once, too, didn’t you?

For variety.

I remember the message. “Dear Mary. I yearn for you tragically. A. C. Tappman. Group Chaplain.” That really brought tears to my eyes. Say—do you want to buy some

Zippo cigarette lighters cheap? They were stolen right from quartermaster.

Milo’s selling those, too. And his aren’t stolen.

That’s what you think. I’m selling mine for a buck apiece. What’s he getting for his?

A dollar and a penny.

[Laughing]

I beat him all the time, don’t I?

He’s pretty sore at you for going into competition with him.

He’s pretty sore at everyone since he cornered the market on Egyptian cotton and can’t get rid of any of it. Okay, pal. Now what can I do for you?

We have to fly to Bologna.

Oh, I know that. I printed the orders.

Listen—you’ve got a mimeograph machine, and you sort the mail. Couldn’t you print up orders canceling the mission and send them out to everybody involved?

Oh, sure. I could do that.

What would happen?

The mission would be canceled.

Will you do it?

Oh, no! I wouldn’t do anything like that. There’s a war on, Yossarian, and we all have our jobs to do. My job is to unload these Zippo lighters at a profit if I can. Your job is to bomb the ammunition dumps at Bologna.

But I might be killed.

Then you’ll just have to be killed. Why can’t you be a fatalist about it, the way I am? If I’m destined to unload these lighters at a profit, then that’s what I’m going to do. And if you’re destined to be killed over Bologna, then you’re going to be killed, so you might just as well go out and die

like a man. Gimme a buck, will you? For the lighter. I hate to say this, Yossarian, but you’re turning into a chronic complainer.

[Exits as CLEVINGER comes on stage, YOSSARIAN moves downstage to join him]

Wintergreen is right.

Clevinger, you’re crazy. The only reason we’re going is because Cathcart volunteered us.

Unfortunately, that’s none of our business.

Do you really mean that? Do you really mean that it’s none of my business how or why I get killed and that it is Colonel Cathcart’s?

Yes, I guess I do. There are men in a better position than we are to decide how to win the war.

Clevinger, open your eyes. It doesn’t make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who’s dead.

Congratulations! I can’t think of another attitude that would give greater comfort to the enemy.

The enemy is anybody who’s going to get you killed, no matter which side he’s on. And don’t you—

[Entering]

Okay, boys. Let’s go. It’s time for Bologna.

And don’t you forget that, because the longer you remember it, the longer you might live.

I’m going to Bologna.

[CLEVINGER takes a parachute harness from the coat rack]

Move it along, you bastards. Move it along.

[YOSSARIAN hesitates, takes a parachute harness from the coat rack, and starts away with CLEVINGER]

Okay, okay. But I’m warning you. I’m warning you all.

This is the last time I’m letting myself—

[Exits with CLEVINGER]

Ha, ha, ha! Eat your liver, kid. That’s what I like to see.

Eat your liver.

[The CHAPLAIN enters, reading aloud from his stationery pad]

My dear wife. Clevinger is dead.

[BLACK takes the news with an indifferent shrug and walks out as YOSSARIAN returns wearily]

Poor bastard.

That was the tragic flaw in all his trust and idealism, I suppose ...

I warned him. I told him. But ... he wouldn’t believe me, and now ...

... he is dead.

[The CHAPLAIN exits with his head bowed, as MILO enters, carrying a box of candy, and approaches YOSSARIAN nervously]

I’ve been looking all over for you.

You should have looked here.

Yossarian, I want you to help me, because you and I are friends, and that’s what friends are for. Please taste this and let me know what you think. I want to serve it to the men.

[Taking a big bite]

What is it?

Chocolate-covered cotton.

[Gagging]

What? Take it back! Jesus Christ! You didn’t even take the goddamn seeds out.

Give it a chance, will you? It can’t be that bad. Is it really that bad?

It’s even worse.

But I’ve got to make the mess halls feed it to the men. I’ve got all this cotton and—

[Pointing]

Hey! Look at that, look at that! That’s the Chaplain. That’s a funeral. Isn’t it?

They’re burying Clevinger.

Clevinger? What happened to him?

He got killed.

Clevinger? Oh, that’s terrible. A fellow never had a better buddy than good old Clevinger. It really is terrible. And it will get even worse if the mess halls don’t buy my cotton. Yossarian, what’s the matter with them? Don’t they understand that what’s good for me is good for the country? How was I supposed to know there would be a glut? I’m still not even sure what a glut is.

Ask Doc Daneeka.

Who ever thought the Nile Valley would be so fertile? Is it my fault I saw this wonderful opportunity to—oh, the coffin! They’re lowering the coffin! I can’t watch. I just can’t stand here and watch those mess halls let my syndicate die. Yossarian, try eating the rest of this chocolate-covered cotton. Maybe it will taste delicious now.

Give up, Milo. People can’t eat cotton.

It isn’t really cotton. It’s really cotton candy, delicious cotton candy. Who will buy my delicious cotton candy? Try it and see.

Now you’re lying.

I never lie!

You’re lying now.

I only lie when it’s necessary. This is better than cotton candy. It’s made out of real cotton. Egyptian cotton is the finest cotton in the world.

It’s indigestible. It will make them sick. Why don’t you try living on it yourself if you don’t believe me?

I did.

And?

It made me sick.

It’s all over.

It’s the end. We’re ruined. And all because I left them free to make their own decisions.

Why don’t you sell your cotton to the government?

The government? Oh, no. The government has no business in business. But, wait—the business of government is business. Calvin Coolidge said that, and Calvin Coolidge was a president, so it must be true. And the government does have the responsibility of buying all the Egyptian cotton I’ve got that no one else wants. But how will I get the government to do it?

Bribe it.

Bribe it? Yossarian, shame on you! Bribery is against the law. But wait—it’s not against the law to make a profit, is it? So it can’t be against the law for me to bribe someone in order to make a fair profit, can it? But how will I know who to bribe?

Oh, don’t worry about that. Make the bribe big enough and they’ll find you. Just do everything right out in the open. Don’t act guilty or ashamed.

I wish you’d come with me. I won’t feel safe among people who take my bribes. They’re no better than a bunch of crooks.

You’ll be all right. Just tell everybody that the security of the country requires a strong domestic Egyptian cottonspeculating industry.

It does. A strong Egyptian cotton-speculating industry means a much stronger America.

Of course it does. And point out the great number of families that depend on it for jobs and income.

A great many families do depend on it.

You see? You’re much better at it than I am. You almost make it sound true.

It is true.

Now you’re ready.

You’re sure you won’t come with me?

You won’t need me.

Good-by, Yossarian. Wish me luck. I’ll never forget you for your help in this.

[Exits. The CHAPLAIN returns as YOSSARIAN goes to the clothes rack, puts on a bathrobe, and lies down on a bed]

And Yossarian has gone back into the hospital.

[NURSE DUCKETT enters to attend to YOSSARIAN]

He says—of all things—that he has a stone in his salivary gland.

[Exits]

I think you’re faking again.

You’re very efficient.

I am.

I may be able to help you.

I don’t need your help.

Who knows? Maybe ...

[YOSSARIAN slips his hand beneath NURSE DUCKETT’s skirt as she bends over and gives her a sudden touch. NURSE DUCKETT jumps and lets out a piercing shriek. FIRST DOCTOR runs in indignantly]

What happened?

[To NURSE DUCKETT]

Hey, take it easy. Calm down.

[Taking NURSE DUCKETT’s arm]

Is anything wrong?

[NURSE DUCKETT screams again and pulls away from the DOCTOR into YOSSARIAN’s arms]

Take your filthy hands off her.

[To NURSE DUCKETT]

There, there. There, there, my darling. Calm down. Have a good cry if it will make you feel better. I’m not going to let him harm you.

[NURSE DUCKETT nestles against YOSSARIAN]

Oh, thank you, thank you, darling. You’re so kind ...

Yes.

... so understanding.

I know.

[Fondling NURSE DUCKETT]

What is going on here?

Nothing, sir. A little accident. I happened to have my arm out, swinging it sort of, and, well ...

[Pleased]

He gave me a goose.

A what?

A goose.

A goose?

Yeah, I guess you could call it that.

How dare you give her a goose?

I won’t do it again.

[Disappointed]

Never?

You’re going to be punished for this.

Why?

I will not permit my patients to take such liberties with the nurses in my hospital.

Why not?

I’m not talking to you!

What do you want from her? All she did was scream.

[To YOSSARIAN, with ardent affection]

I never knew it could be this way.

Stop it! Will you let go of each other? Are you both crazy?

Maybe I am. Every night I dream I’m holding a live fish in my hand.

[Coldly]

You do what?

He dreams he’s holding a live fish in his hand.

[To NURSE DUCKETT]

What kind of fish?

Ask him.

What kind of fish?

I don’t know. I have trouble telling one kind of fish from another.

In which hand do you hold it?

It varies.

[Helpfully]

It probably varies with the fish.

Yes? And how come you seem to know so much about it?

[NURSE DUCKETT shrugs lamely]

She’s in the dream.

Well, I’ve got a man on my staff to listen to disgusting dreams like that. You go see Major Sanderson right now.

[Exits as MAJOR SANDERSON, the psychiatrist, enters and seats himself at a desk, YOSSARIAN moves to him]

Come in. Come in, please. I’m Major Sanderson, your friendly staff psychiatrist. But you can call me Doctor. Just why do you think, by the way, that Colonel Ferridge finds your dream so disgusting?

I suppose it’s either some quality in the dream or some quahty in Colonel Ferridge.

That’s very well put. For some reason Colonel Ferridge has always reminded me of a sea gull. He doesn’t have much faith in psychiatry, you know.

You don’t like sea gulls, do you?

No, not very much. I think your dream is charming, and I hope it recurs frequently. This fish you’re holding in your hand. What does it remind you of?

[Pondering]

Other fish.

And what do other fish remind you of?

Other fish.

I’m afraid that this line of exploration is leading us nowhere. I’d like to show you some ink blots now to find out what certain shapes and colors—

Sex.

What?

Everything reminds me of sex.

Does it? Now we’re really getting somewhere! Do you ever have any good sex dreams?

My fish dream is a sex dream.

No, I mean real sex dreams—the kind where you grab some beautiful naked bitch and rip her clothes off and throw her down to ravish her and burst into tears because you love and hate her so much you don’t know what to do. That’s

the kind of sex dreams I like to talk about. Don’t you ever have sex dreams like that?

[Reflects a moment]

That’s a fish dream.

[Recoils as though slapped]

Yes, of course. But I’d like you to dream one like that for me, anyway, just to see how you react. That will be all for today.

[YOSSARIAN walks from the desk to NURSE DUCKETT, who rests on the bed comfortably, reading a magazine as she waits for him. They embrace]

I’m worried about Major Sanderson. He feels so rejected already. Have you got any good dreams for him?

I’ve been having a very peculiar dream nearly all my life. I dream that I’m out swimming in water over my head and a shark is eating my left leg.

That’s a wonderful dream! I bet Major Sanderson will love it.

[YOSSARIAN walks back to MAJOR SANDERSON]

That’s a horrible dream! I’m sure you had it just to spite me. I’m not even sure you belong in the army with a disgusting dream like that.

[Slyly]

Perhaps you’re right, sir.

Tell me, Fortiori, why—

Who?

Fortiori—why did you touch Nurse Duckett so familiarly in such an intimate place?

I didn’t do anything of the kind. I gave her a goose. That’s all.

All? Has it always been your habit to give gooses to—

Geese.

Yes, of course. Geese. Has it always been your habit to give geeses to all the women you meet?

Oh, no, not all ... but ... well, yeah.

I don’t think I like you, Fortiori. I don’t like your personality.

I’m not Fortiori, sir. I’m Yossarian.

Who?

My name is Yossarian, sir.

Your name is A. Fortiori! And I’ve got an official army record right here to prove it.

Oh, come on, Major! I ought to know who I am.

Well, you don’t, and that’s your problem. You’ve got a split personality, that’s what I think. Yes, it’s split right down the middle.

[Grinning with cruel and insulting delight]

I’m not saying that to be cruel and insulting. I’m not saying that because you rejected me and hurt my feelings terribly.

I’m not saying it because I hate you and want revenge. No, I’m a man of medicine, and I’m being coldly objective.

[With enormous relish]

Yossarian, I have very bad news for you. Are you man enough to take it?

God, no! I’ll go right to pieces.

Can’t you do even one thing right? The trouble with you is that you think you’re too good for all the conventions of society. You probably think you’re too good for me, too, don’t you, just because I came to puberty late. Well, do you know what you are? You’re a frustrated, unhappy, disillusioned, undisciplined, maladjusted young man!

Yes, sir. I guess you’re right.

You’re immature. You’ve been unable to adjust to the idea of war.

I think that’s true.

You have a morbid aversion to dying.

[YOSSARIAN nods]

You have deep-seated survival anxieties. Subconsciously, subconsciously, there are many people you hate.

Consciously, sir, consciously. I hate them consciously.

You’re antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated, or deceived. Misery depresses you.

Yes, sir. I think that misery does.

Violence depresses you. Greed depresses you. Poverty depresses you. Corruption depresses you. You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re a manic-depressive.

Yes, sir. Perhaps I am.

Don’t try to deny it.

I’m not denying it, sir. I agree with everything you’ve said.

Ah-hah! Then you admit you’re crazy, do you?

Crazy? Why is any of that crazy? You’re the one who’s crazy!

Calling me crazy is a typically sadistic and vindictive paranoiac reaction! You really are crazy!

Then why don’t you send me home?

And I’m going to send you home!

[YOSSARIAN hurries from the desk back to NURSE DUCKETT]

Hey, baby, guess what! They’re going to send me home!

No, darling, they’re not. They’re sending Fortiori home because he’s insane. You’ve been ordered back to your squadron.

It’s an outrage! I’m the one who’s insane!

[He flings off his hospital robe and charges out the doorway]

Doc! Hey, Doc! Doc Daneeka!

[DOC DANEEKA enters gloomily]

I’m cold. I’ve got this chill all the time, and nobody can tell me what it is. Nobody even cares.

Doc! Listen to me. Do you know what they just told me up at the hospital? I’m crazy. Did you know that?

So?

Really crazy.

So?

I’m nuts. Cuckoo. Don’t you understand? I’m off my rocker. I am insane.

So?

So? Don’t you see what that means? Now you can take me off combat duty and send me home. They’re not going to send a crazy man out to be killed, are they?

Who else will go?

[DANEEKA exits, YOSSARIAN sits down with a pensive, sad expression, NURSE DUCKETT moves forward to join him]

What are you doing out here?

Feeling sad. What a lousy earth.

Cheer up, darling. Can’t you?

It’s cold—a cold, cold planet. Doc Daneeka’s cold, and I’m cold.

We’ve still got a lot to be thankful for.

Have we? You’re a scatterbrain, but I love you. To whom should we be thankful? God?

No, not God. You know very well I don’t believe in God as much as you don’t.

Kiss me. And stop bragging. Name one thing I’ve got to be thankful for.

Well ... me. Aren’t you thankful for me?

Sure. But I’ll bet I can name two things to be miserable about for every one you can name to be thankful for.

Be thankful you’re healthy.

Be bitter you’re not going to stay that way.

Be glad you’re alive.

Be furious you’re going to die.

Things could be much worse.

They could be one hell of a lot better.

You’re naming only one thing. You said you could name two.

And don’t tell me God works in mysterious ways. There’s nothing mysterious about it. He’s not working at all. He’s playing.

You’d better not talk that way about Him, honey. He might punish you.

Isn’t He punishing me enough? Why in the world did He ever create pain?

Pain? Pain is a useful symptom. Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.

And who created the dangers? Oh, He was really being charitable to us when He gave us pain. You know, we mustn’t let Him get away with it—no, not the kind of God you talk about. On the Judgment Day. Yes, that’s the day I’ll be able to sneak close enough to grab that little yokel by His neck and—

[Hysterically]

Stop it! Stop it!

[She tries to beat him about the head with both fists. YOSSARIAN catches her wrists and restrains her gently]

Hey, baby, baby. Easy. What are you getting so upset about? I thought you didn’t believe in God.

I don’t. But the God I don’t believe in is a good God, a just God, a merciful God. Not the mean and stupid God you make Him out to be.

[YOSSARIAN laughs and embraces her again]

Okay, then—let’s have a little more religious freedom between us. You don’t believe in the God you want to, and I won’t believe in the God I want to. Is that a deal?

[She nods, smiling through her tears, and returns his kiss]

Thank God.

I like you. Even when you’re angry.

Is that why you’re trying to change me?

Of course. I couldn’t settle down with you the way you are. And I like you when you’re sad.

I always get sad when I stare at the sea.

What are you thinking about?

Snowden and Clevinger. Snowden froze to death in the back of my airplane. On a hot day in August. It’s starting to get cold now. Do you know how many people have died under water since the world began? Neither do I. It must be millions. Sue Ann, what’s going to happen to us?

We’re going to die.

Must we all?

That’s what the doctors say.

Then there’s not much future for us, is there? Lately, I’ve taken to calling the roll of the dead each morning as soon as I wake up. I try to think of all the people I’ve ever met who are no longer alive, all the old people I knew as a child —the aunts, uncles, neighbors, parents, and grandparents, my own and everyone else’s. They’re all dead now. The number of dead people just keeps growing, doesn’t it? I he in my sleeping bag each morning, and that’s what I think of when I wake up. Snowden, Clevinger, the roll call begins.

And at night?

I drink whiskey. And try to see you.

Yo-Yo, what’s going to happen to us?

We’re going to die.

Am I going to marry you?

No. I don’t think you’ll want to.

I’m glad. My mother wouldn’t like you. I’ll be much better off marrying somebody happy and stable. Like a doctor. I’m beginning to miss you already.

I used to think I was going to live forever. I was sure that by the time I grew up all you people would find a cure for everything. But now I’m all grown up, and you haven’t, and I know I won’t. I know I’m going to lose.

Don’t cry, darling.

I’m not crying. It’s that damn ocean. And the chill in the air. And the spray. I guess I am. Sue Ann, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die for Colonel Cathcart.

Then don’t. Shhh. Be calm, darling.

[Kissing his ear]

I love to do this to you. Let’s go inside. I love to tease you like this and set you on fire.

I’m glad.

And then T love to satisfy you. I’m so glad you let me.

Say things like that and I will want to marry you.

Yossarian, tell me truthfully. Am I the only girl you ever loved?

No.

I’m so glad.

[Curtain]

Act-2

[YOSSARIAN enters carrying a bottle of beer and an overnight bag into which he puts some toilet articles.]

My pal Nately is a pretty good kid. But a little crazy, too. He had a bad start—he came from a good family. Why, the poor kid had even had a very happy childhood. He got on well with all his brothers and sisters, and he did not hate his mother and father, even though they had both been very good to him.

[NATELY comes onstage with his FATHER and MOTHER, NATELY wears his uniform and carries a small overnight bag]

Son, always remember that your mother is a Daughter of the American Revolution.

And your father is a son of a bitch.

You are not a Vanderbilt ...

... whose fortune was made by a vulgar tugboat captain, or a Rockefeller ...

... whose wealth was amassed through unscrupulous speculations in crude petroleum. You are a Nately.

And we Natelys have never done anything for our money.

It is my wish that you join the Air Corps, where you can train safely as a pilot while the war ends.

As an officer you will associate only with gentlemen and frequent only the very best places.

[NATELY, nodding constantly, shakes hands with his FATHER, kisses his mother, and walks from them through the doorway to join YOSSARIAN]

I’m back! I got my pass. Where is she? Darling—I’m here!

Working, probably.

Don’t say that about her.

Don’t ask me about her. It’s not my fault you fell in love with a whore.

[NATELY’S WHORE enters in skirt and slip and embraces him warmly]

Hey, caroì Caro mio. I miss you so much.

[The OLD MAN and the OLD WOMAN drift in, smiling at the lovers]

Get dressed.

[Puzzled]

Perchè?

Why? Because I don’t want other men to see you without all your clothes on.

Perchè no?

Perchè noi Because it isn’t right, that’s why.

Why not?

Why not? Because I say so! I’m the man, and you have to do what I say. From now on I forbid you to leave your room unless you have all your clothes on.

Are you crazy? Tu sei pazzo’.

[She begins to stamp offstage]

And I don’t want you ever to talk to me that way.

No? Tu sei pazzo/ Idiota! Tu sei un pazzo imbecille!

[Exits]

[To OLD WOMAN]

From now on I want you to watch her all the time and see that she behaves properly.

Lui è pazzol

Si. He is stark, raving pazzo.

[To YOSSARIAN]

From now on I don’t want you to look at her unless she’s fully dressed.

Then make her keep her clothes on.

She doesn’t listen to me. So from now on maybe you ought to stop hanging around here.

Why should I? It’s my whorehouse.

Then look in another direction when she comes in that way. Please?

[NATELY’S WHORE returns, buttoning her blouse]

Marrone I

Marrone!

[To OLD MAN]

You, too. I don’t want you to hang around here, either.

It’s my house.

Marrone}

The next thing you know, you’ll try to make her give up hustling.

[To WHORE]

From now on I forbid you to be a prostitute anymore.

Perchè?

Perchè? It’s not nice, that’s why! I’ll give you all the money you need.

And what will I do all day instead?

What all your friends do.

My friends are all prostitutes.

Then get new friends! Prostitution is bad! Everybody knows that, even him.

[Turning to the OLD MAN]

Right?

Wrong. It provides fresh air and lots of wholesome exercise.

From now on I never want you to speak with this wicked old man.

Va fongull What does he want from me? If you think my friends are so bad, tell your friends not to come here and ficky-fick all the time with my friends!

[To YOSSARIAN]

From now on I think you and the other fellows ought to stop shacking up with her friends and settle down and get married, too.

Va fongull

He’s crazy.

What’s the matter with you?

È pazzo. That’s what’s the matter with him.

Si. È pazzo. Now that you made me get dressed, I’m going to bed.

What’s the matter with everyone? Are you all crazy?

Are you coming?

I’m going. So long, kid. Have a nice leave.

[Exits]

Why doesn’t anybody listen to me?

Why should we? You are so brave, and pure, and silly. You should try to be more like me.

You? You’re immoral!

Of course.

Don’t you have any principles?

Not many.

Any patriotism?

Not really.

You should be ashamed! You’re cynical, selfish, and unscrupulous.

I am also a hundred and seven years old. I see you don’t believe that, either.

I don’t believe anything you say.

It’s a pity. Because they are going to kill you if you don’t watch out. How old are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?

Nineteen. I’ll be twenty in three weeks.

If you live.

[Reappearing]

Hey, Nately! Come to bed.

Go. Make love.

That’s a highly personal matter between me and her.

All right. Go attend to your highly personal matter. And T will look the other way and pretend you are performing a very patriotic service.

[NATELY exits with WHORE]

È pazzo?

[Shrugging sadly]

Si. È pazzo.

[They leave, YOSSARIAN reappears on stage, looking grim and moves through doorway]

Hey!

[OLD WOMAN enters]

Not you. Nately’s whore.

[NATELY’S WHORE enters]

I’ve got bad news for you. It’s Nately. He’s dead. A midair collision. We were coming off the target after this stupid mission to—

[Lashing at his face]

Bruto!

[YOSSARIAN fights to restrain her]

Bruto! Bruto!

[Flinging her away]

What do you want from me?

[NATELY’S WHORE seizes a letter opener from one of the desks and rushes at him]

Assassino!

[YOSSARIAN twists the letter opener from her hand]

Stop! Listen to me, will you?

[NATELY’S WHORE dives for the letter opener, YOSSARIAN disarms her again and throws the letter opener out the window. She seizes a pair of scissors and attacks again. Enter the OLD MAN]

Nately. Dead.

[Twists the scissors from her grasp]

But. I didn’t do it.

[To NATELY’S WHORE]

Now calm down. Please. That’s better. Now you’re being reasonable.

[NATELY’S WHORE kicks him in the groin, YOSSARIAN doubles over with a loud, quavering moan, NATELY’S WHORE mauls him with both fists and rushes out]

Dumb bitch! Why is she blaming me? Go talk to her, will you? I think she’ll listen now. Try to get her—

[NATELY’S WHORE returns with a long bread knife and goes for YOSSARIAN’s back]

Oh, no!

[YOSSARIAN struggles with her and knocks the knife from her hand]

Goddamn you! What do you want from me?

[They fall to the bed, YOSSARIAN on top of her, grappling.

She begins embracing him]

Ooooh, caro.

There, there. That’s better. There, there.

Kiss me. Caro mio. Ooooh. Kiss me again.

[YOSSARIAN responds to her embraces. As one of her hands caresses and excites him, the other gropes for the knife]

That’s good now. There, there. Should we be doing this?

Si.

Is it right, that you and I should be ...

[Raising the knife to plunge it into his back]

Sii It’s right.

[YOSSARIAN turns in time. He wrests the knife from her and hurls it away. She begins to weep]

[Consoling her]

Please. There, there, that’s right—have a good cry if it will make you feel better. There, there.

[Meekly]

Grazie. Grazie.

[She sniffles. He gives her his handkerchief. She dries her tears]

Grazie. Grazie.

[She claws viciously at his eyes]

Ha! Assassino!

[YOSSARIAN, half blinded, flings her from him. She goes for the knife. He gets it first and hurls it away. He moves toward the door]

I’m getting the hell out of here.

[He makes a menacing fist as she starts after him. She collapses in tears against the OLD MAN]

I was only trying to help.

You go now—with your help.

[YOSSARIAN bolts out the door. He hurries around the circle of furniture. As he passes the window, NATELY’S WHORE stabs at him with another knife. He jumps out of the way and continues walking. The CHAPLAIN comes onstage to join him]

Why was she blaming me? I didn’t kill him.

We didn’t save him, either.

I went all the way to Rome to do her a favor. I was going to give her money and help her get settled.

Are you sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing?

Huh?

[NATELY’S WHORE, wearing a BLACK eye, a false mustache, and military fatigues, comes tiptoeing up behind YOSSARIAN with a long knife raised to stab him]

That you didn’t just imagine that Nately’s girl friend tried to kill you?

[YOSSARIAN whirls around in time as NATELY’S WHORE lunges at him with the knife]

Caramba\

[They struggle, YOSSARIAN takes away the knife and pushes her to the CHAPLAIN]

Hold her! Don’t let her go!

[Running out]

Me Watt! Me Watt!

Let me go. Please. Hey, handsome. I’ll give you all the ficky-fick you want if you let me kill him.

Oh, no! Please. I’m a happily married man.

Okay. I give you ficky-fick first.

[She embraces the CHAPLAIN. Embarrassed, he loosens his grip. She starts away. He grabs her back. She caresses him again. His dilemma is excruciating. He releases her just as YOSSARIAN hurries back with MCWATT. YOSSARIAN grabs the tablecloth from the table and throws it over her head]

McWatt! Here, I got her. Hold her. Do it for me, will you?

Oh, well. What the hell ...

[YOSSARIAN pushes NATELY’S WHORE and MCWATT offstage and returns alone]

Whew!

What are you doing with her?

McWatt will fly her back to Rome and dump her at the airport. Boy, am I glad to be rid of her!

As I started to say—

I wonder how she got here.

[Whirls around at an imaginary noise]

Maybe she’ll find her way back.

Maybe you’re imagining the whole thing.

What?

That she tried to kill you.

Imagining it? You were right here, weren’t you? She just tried it again.

Maybe I’m imagining it, too.

Maybe you’re only imagining that you’re imagining it.

[Exits]

Dear wife. I think I am under a strain. I keep imagining that everything that happens has happened before and is going to happen again unless someone stands up and does

something that will stop everything that has happened from happening again. And now my assistant, Corporal Whitcomb, has been promoted to sergeant.

[WHITCOMB enters, getting into a shirt with sergeant’s stripes]

Not by me, of course. If it were up to me—

Colonel Cathcart wants to see you. Right away. You never should have stolen that plum tomato.

I didn’t steal any plum tomato.

I’m not the one you have to convince. He wants to see you about the letters. ’

What letters?

You never should have signed Washington Irving’s name to those letters.

I didn’t sign Washington Irving’s name to any letters!

Not those letters. He wants to see you about the form letters I want to send home to the families of casualties.

Those? How did he find out about them?

I went to his office and told him.

You did what? Corporal Whitcomb, do—

Sergeant. It’s Sergeant Whitcomb now.

Do you mean to tell me that you went over my head to the Colonel without asking my permission?

Yep. I sure did. And he promoted me to sergeant. Him and me are pretty good friends now, so you better watch out. You know something? That dumb bastard really thinks it’s one of the best ideas he’s ever heard.

[As WHITCOMB leaves in one direction, COLONEL CATHCART enters from another wearing his Indian headdress. The CHAPLAIN moves to him]

It’s a great idea! It might even get me into Life magazine. What are you staring at?

Your hat. It’s Indian.

Oh. These are all feathers in my cap. And soon I’m going to have one more. You’ve got a good man in Corporal Whitcomb. I hope you’ve got brains enough to appreciate that.

Sergeant Whitcomb.

I said Sergeant Whitcomb. Did you steal a plum tomato from me? Corporal Whitcomb says you did.

No, sir. You gave it to me.

Have you been writing Washington Irving’s name on letters? Sergeant Whitcomb says you’ve been doing that, too.

No, sir. I haven’t.

I’m afraid I’m going to have to look into all of these charges more closely. In the meantime I want you and Corporal Whitcomb to write a sincere letter of condolence for me to the next of kin of every man who’s killed, wounded, or missing in action. I want these letters filled with lots of personal details so there’ll be no doubt I mean every word you say.

Sir, that’s impossible! We don’t know all the men that well.

So what? Sergeant Whitcomb brought me this basic form letter that takes care of every situation. “Dear Mrs., Mr., Miss, or Mr. and Mrs. blank.” Put in the name. “Words cannot express the deep personal grief I experienced when your husband, son, father, or brother was killed, wounded, or reported missing in action.” I think that opening sentence sums up my sentiments exactly. Chaplain, maybe you’d better let Corporal Whitcomb run this whole program.

Yes, sir. If you insist.

Good. Say! I think I’ll volunteer the group for Avignon again.

Avignon?

Why not? The sooner we get some casualties, the sooner we can make some progress on this.

[Picks up phone]

Get me Captain Black.

[To CHAPLAIN]

I’d like to get into the Christmas issue if we can.

[Into telephone]

Black? Colonel Cathcart. I’ve got good news for you!

[CAPTAIN BLACK enters chortling as CATHCART and the CHAPLAIN leave]

Avignon? Eat your liver, boys. Ho, ho, ho. This time you

bastards are really in for it.

[YOSSARIAN and MCWATT enter, take parachute harnesses from the coat rack, and prepare for the mission]

Avignon? That’s a scary one.

That’s where that radio gunner of mine was killed.

I’m too nervous to pilot a plane anymore.

Did you try Doc Daneeka?

He made me take his pulse and feel his forehead. He always feels cold.

I feel cold.

He makes me put his name down on my log so he can collect flight pay without going into an airplane. He’s afraid of crashing. He expects me to tell him why he’s cold all the time.

I’m not gonna go. Dammit, I’ve made up my mind.

Okay. I won’t go, either.

Move along now, boys. It’s time.

Oh, well, what the hell. You ready?

Yeah. Let’s go. But one of these days ...

[They hurry off]

Eat your liver, you bastards. Eat your liver. Oh, how I hate you sons of bitches.

[Exits as GUS and wes enter wearing white medical jackets and carrying some light medical paraphernalia]

Poor McWatt.

C’est la guerre. Oh, Christ. Look who’s here.

[DOC DANEEKA enters with a thermometer in his mouth]

Ninety-six point eight. It isn’t right to have this low temperature all the time. Can’t you find anything wrong with me?

You’re dead, sir.

That’s probably the reason you always feel so cold.

What are you talking about?

It’s true, sir. The records show that you went up in McWatt’s plane. There were no survivors, so you must have been killed.

You ought to be glad you’ve got any temperature at all.

Have you both gone crazy? I’m going to report this to Sergeant Towser.

[DANEEKA bolts out the doorway, GUS and wes leave in one direction as SERGEANT TOWSER enters from another]

Sergeant Towser! Something terrible has happened.

I know. I’m sorry you’re gone.

I’m not gone. I’m right here.

That’s why I’m sorry. I don’t know how I’m going to handle this one.

What do you suggest I do?

I suggest you keep out of sight until I find out how to dispose of your remains.

Remains?

Yes, sir. Perhaps after the War Department telegraphs your wife ...

Oh, my God!

[DOC DANEEKA hurries out. TOWSER follows, WINTERGREEN enters reading a telegram]

[Calling]

Hey, lady! Here.

[DANEEKA’S WIFE enters, WINTERGREEN hands her the telegram, DANEEKA hurries in from the other side]

I’m Doctor Daneeka.

I’ve been reading all about you.

Has a telegram gone out yet? Has my wife been notified?

[Nodding]

Doc, you can count on me. Your survivors are going to get everything that’s coming to them.

What survivors? I’m right—

[MRS. DANEEKA lets out a scream]

Mother! Ma! Oh!

[DANEEKA’s MOTHER-IN-LAW enters and reads the telegram. DANEEKA sits at a desk and begins scribbling furiously]

He’s dead. He’s dead.

I never really liked him, anyway.

What am I going to do?

[WINTERGREEN hands a paper to MOTHER-IN-LAW]

Here’s his G.I. Insurance policy for ten thousand dollars.

It’s not enough.

[DOC DANEEKA finishes his letter and hands it to WINTERGREEN.]

Please. Mail this out.

[WINTERGREEN passes the letter to MRS. DANEEKA]

Mom! It’s a mistake. He’s alive. Isn’t that wonderful?

We’ll have to give back the ten thousand.

[Writing]

I don’t care. “I was so happy to hear you’re alive.”

[Seals letter and hands it to WINTERGREEN]

He wants me to send a telegram to the War Department.

[Hands telegram to WINTERGREEN]

It was all an error. He’s alive and well and happy.

[WINTERGREEN bangs the letter with a rubber stamper and hands it back]

[Reading]

“Killed in action.”

[WINTERGREEN hands a telegram to MOTHER-IN-LAW]

“We regret to inform you there has been no error. Your husband is dead, dead as a doornail. Stop. You are un-

doubtedly the victim of some sadistic forger. We suggest you move. Stop. The president is sorry.”

[Returning]

I’m expecting an important letter from my wife.

[Shakes his head]

You’re dead, Doc.

I’ve got to do something.

[Exits]

What am I going to do?

Keep the ten thousand.

These might help.

[Hands letters to them]

It’s from the Veterans Administration. You’re entitled to pension benefits for the rest of your natural life. Isn’t that

wonderful? And to a burial allowance of two hundred and fifty dollars.

Here’s one from the Social Security Administration. It seems that under the provisions of the Old Age and Survivors Insurance Act of 1935 I’ll receive monthly support for myself and the children until they reach the age of eighteen. And a burial allowance of two hundred and fifty dollars.

[From a drawer in the desk]

Wow! Look at these. Three life insurance policies for fifty thousand each.

Mother, I want you to know that all these hundreds of thousands of dollars are not worth a single penny to me without my devoted husband to share this good fortune with me.

Aw, honey, that’s no way to look at it. I’ll bet your husband would want you to make a new life for yourself.

I wouldn’t know where to start.

Get yourself some better clothes. That looks like a pretty nifty figure you’ve got there.

And dye your hair blonde.

Should I? I will.

That’s the spirit. Look at these.

His fraternal lodge is giving us a cemetery plot. Isn’t that sweet?

His county medical association is giving him a burial allowance of two hundred and fifty dollars.

Mother, I think it’s just wonderful the way so many people are doing so much to help us bury him.

[DOC DANEEKA enters]

I’m having a terrible time trying to keep my head above the ground.

Dust thou wert, and dust thou shall returnit.

[The CHAPLAIN enters]

I’m doing everything I can to bring you back to life.

What’s going to happen to me? They took away my tent. They took away my thermometer.

Where do you live?

Outdoors. In the woods.

Who does your laundry?

An Itahan lady in a farmhouse.

What do you do when it rains?

I get wet. Maybe I ought to give up. I’m losing my will to live.

No, you mustn’t give up. Write a letter to your wife. Plead with her to write directly to Colonel Cathcart. That way the truth will come out. And I’ll go to Group Headquarters to see what I can do.

[CHAPLAIN exits as DOC DANEEKA writes, COLONEL KORN strides in licking an envelope]

I just told the Chaplain, and now I’ll tell you. If I ever lay eyes on you again, I’ll have you cremated on the spot.

[To WINTERGREEN]

Send this letter out immediately. It’s from Colonel Cathcart.

[Exits]

Wintergreen, send this letter out immediately. It’s my last chance.

Sure, Doc.

[WINTERGREEN takes the letter and hands it to MRS. DANEEKA. He hands KORN’s letter to DANEEKA’s mother- in-law]

Mother, it’s from him! He says he’s alive. He wants me to write directly to his colonel for proof. Colonel Cathcart.

Wait. This letter is from Colonel Cathcart.

[Taking the letter and reading aloud]

“Dear Mrs., Mr., Miss, or Mr. and Mrs. Daneeka: Words cannot express the deep personal grief I experienced when your husband, son, father, or brother was killed, wounded, or reported missing in action.”

I think we ought to move.

[MRS. DANEEKA nods, seals an envelope, and hands it back to WINTERGREEN. As they exit, WINTERGREEN passes the letter to DOC DANEEKA]

Left no forwarding address, huh. Guess I might as well give up the ghost.

That’s the spirit.

[As DOC DANEEKA exits, the C.I.D. MAN enters looking about with an air of suspicious authority and approaches WINTERGREEN]

Hey, you! I’m looking for—

I know, I know. I know everything. See Sergeant Towser in the orderly room.

[WINTERGREEN leaves as SERGEANT TOWSER comes onstage. The C.I.D. MAN moves through the doorway and goes to him]

I have to see Major Major right away. It’s a matter of great secrecy and importance.

Will you have a seat?

Thank you, sergeant. Is he in?

Yes, sir. He is.

About how long will I have to wait?

Until he goes out.

Sergeant?

Sir?

What was that answer?

What was your question?

About how long will I have to wait before I can go in?

Just until he goes out to lunch. Then you can go right in.

But he won’t be there then. Will he?

No, sir. But you can wait inside for him if you wish until he comes back.

When will he come back?

Right after lunch. Then you’ll have to come out till he leaves for dinner. Major Major never sees anyone in his office while he’s in his office.

Are you trying to make a fool out of me?

No, sir. Those are my orders. Major Major is always out when he’s in. He’s only in when he’s out. You can ask him when you see him.

When can I see him?

Never.

[Takes out a BLACKjack and seizes SERGEANT TOWSER by the shirtfront]

You’re under arrest.

What does that mean?

I’m a C.I.D. man, and you’re my prisoner. Now you go inside and tell Major Major I want to see him and that I’m going to keep you under arrest until I do.

Yes, sir.

[SERGEANT TOWSER moves timidly toward the other desk as MAJOR MAJOR climbs in through the window, removes his mustache and dark glasses, and sits down at the desk]

Excuse me, sir. I’m under arrest.

I thought I told you never to come in here.

Yes, sir. But there’s a C.I.D. man outside who wants to see you. He’s going to keep me under arrest until you see him. Won’t you see him?

Send him in.

Thank you, sir.

[Returns to C.I.D. MAN. MAJOR MAJOR puts on his false mustache and sunglasses and hurries toward the window]

It’s all right, sir. Please go in.

[The C.I.D. MAN bolts out the doorway suddenly and dashes around the furniture to the outside of the window. He gets there just as MAJOR MAJOR is ready to jump out]

Major Major?

No.

Then you’re under arrest.

Yes.

Then I have to talk to you.

[Removing his disguise]

Okay. Go around again and come inside.

[C.I.D. MAN starts away, MAJOR MAJOR climbs back inside his office. He puts on his mustache and glasses and dashes for the window again. The C.I.D. MAN dashes back around the furniture and reaches the window just in time to intercept him again, MAJOR MAJOR sighs in resignation]

Okay. Come on in.

[The C.I.D. MAN enters through the window, MAJOR MAJOR removes his mustache and sunglasses and sits down]

I’m from the C.I.D. You’re the only one in the squadron who knows.

Sergeant Towser knows.

I had to tell him in order to see you. But he won’t tell a soul.

He told me.

That bastard. I’ll throw a security check on him right away. I wouldn’t leave any top-secret documents lying around if I were you.

I don’t get any top-secret documents.

That’s the kind I mean. Lock them in your cabinet where Sergeant Towser can’t get his hands on them.

Sergeant Towser has the only key to the cabinet.

I’m afraid we’re wasting time.

[Removes some papers from his briefcase]

Here’s a copy of some censored mail that was tampered with by the censoring officer. Can you make out his signature?

Washington Irving.

Have you ever seen it before?

No.

How about this one?

Irving Washington.

[He shakes his head]

How about these? Official communications with your name on the routing list.

I’ve never seen them before.

Is the man who signed these names in your squadron?

I don’t think there’s a man with either of those two names in my squadron.

He’s a lot cleverer than we thought. He’s using a third name and posing as someone else. And I think I know what that name is.

[Gives MAJOR MAJOR another paper]

How about this?

[Reading]

“Dear Mary. I yearn for you tragically. A. T. Tappman, Group Chaplain.”

Do you know who A. T. Tappman is?

He’s the group chaplain.

That locks it up. Washington Irving is the group chaplain.

A. T. Tappman is the group chaplain.

Are you sure?

Yes.

Why should the group chaplain write this on a letter?

Perhaps somebody else wrote it and forged his name.

Why should somebody want to forge the group chaplain’s name?

To escape detection.

You may be right. Maybe we’re confronted with two men who have opposite names. One of them here in the squadron, one of them up at the hospital, and one of them with the chaplain. That makes three men, doesn’t it? Are you absolutely sure you never saw any of these documents before?

I would have signed them if I had.

With whose name? Yours or Washington Irving’s?

With my own. I don’t even know Washington Irving’s name.

Major, I’m glad you’re in the clear. We’ll be able to work together. You keep your eyes open and let me know the minute you hear anyone even talking about Washington Irving. I’ll throw a security check on the chaplain, Towser, and everyone else.

[The C.I.D. MAN exits through the door. The TEXAN, wearing his maroon hospital bathrobe, appears on the stage and enters through the window]

Who was that man?

He’s a C.I.D. Man.

Like hell he is! I’m the C.I.D. man around here.

[Whining]

I shouldn’t even be here. I’m really a very sick man. I’ve got this terrible cough I can’t shake.

I’m very sorry.

A lot of good that does me. You haven’t heard anyone talking about Washington Irving, have you?

Yes. That man who was just in here. He was talking about Washington Irving.

Great! This might be just the break we need. You keep him under surveillance twenty-four hours a day while I rush back to the hospital and make my report.

[The TEXAN climbs out through the window and runs off. A moment later the first C.I.D. MAN rushes in through the door]

I just saw a man in a red bathrobe come jumping out your window and go running up the road! Didn’t you see him?

He was here talking to me.

I thought that looked mighty suspicious, a man jumping out the window in a red bathrobe. At first I thought it was you hightailing it for Mexico. But now I see it wasn’t you. He didn’t say anything about Washington Irving, did he?

As a matter of fact he did.

Great! This might be just the break we need. Do you know where we can find him?

At the hospital. He’s really a very sick man.

That’s marvelous. I’ll go right up there after him. As a matter of fact I could use a checkup myself.

[The C.I.D. MAN exits with a limp, MAJOR MAJOR watches him go, puts on his false mustache and enormous sunglasses, and climbs out the window. The CHAPLAIN enters, and the two come face to face]

I was coming to see you, Chaplain.

I was coming to see you.

I was coming to see you for help.

I was coming to see you for help.

Then there’s not much point to it, is there?

[Ducks his head down and scoots away offstage}

Dear wife. Is there a God, or is there not? Somehow, that great question is no longer as important to me as the simple question of good manners.

[YOSSARIAN enters and joins him]

To die or not to die, that is my question. And I’m going crazy trying to answer it.

Men have to die in a war. That’s a matter of necessity.

Yeah—but which men will die, though, is a matter of circumstance. And I think I’m willing to be the victim of

anything but circumstance. But ... that’s war, isn’t it? Take Milo, for instance.

[MILO enters carrying a small bouquet of flowers in one hand and a string of dried figs in the other]

Me? I was in Smyrna getting figs.

I thought you might have been at Avignon getting killed.

I wish I could have gone, but ...

[He shrugs]

Don’t apologize, Milo. Didn’t you fly fearlessly into the face of intense criticism by selling your cotton and ball bearings to the enemy?

At very good prices. Let me pass, please. I have business with Colonel Cathcart.

I’ll bet you do.

[To the CHAPLAIN as he continues across stage with him and exits]

I’ll bet Colonel Cathcart is astonished now every time Milo comes to him and ...

[MILO moves through the doorway and approaches a desk, while COLONEL CATHCART strides onstage rapidly in time to receive him there, MILO hands him the bouquet of flowers]

For me?

Yes, sir. Sir, I’d like to fly more combat missions.

Milo, I am astonished! What in the world for?

I want to do my duty, sir.

But Milo, you are doing your duty. Who gave the men chocolate-covered cotton?

Being a good mess officer in wartime just isn’t enough.

Certainly it is, Milo. I don’t know what’s come over you.

[Pointedly]

Certainly it isn’t. Some of the men are beginning to talk.

Oh, is that it? Give me their names, Milo. And I’ll see to it that they go on every dangerous mission.

No, Colonel. I’m afraid they’re right.

How long have you been overseas now?

Eleven months, sir.

And how many missions have you flown?

Five.

Five?

Five, sir.

Five isn’t very good, is it?

[Sharply]

Isn’t it?

[Correcting himself]

On the contrary, five is very good, Milo. Five, you say? Just five?

Five.

And I’ll bet that doesn’t even include the time you bombed us.

Yes, sir. It does.

You didn’t actually fly on that mission, if I remember correctly, did you?

But it was my mission, sir. I organized it.

Yes, Milo, of course. Five is very good. Why that averages out to ... almost one combat mission every two months.

Many of the other men have seventy missions.

But they never produced any chocolate-covered cotton, did they? Milo, you’re doing more than your share.

But they’re getting all the medals. I want to win medals, too.

People like you and me serve in different ways. Look at my own record. I’ll bet it’s not generally known, Milo, that I myself have flown only four missions, is it?

No, sir. It’s generally known that you’ve flown only two missions.

All right, Milo. I can’t praise you enough. I’ll see that you’re assigned to the next sixty-five missions so that you can have seventy, too.

Thank you. Colonel. You don’t know what this means.

That’s all right, Milo. I know just what this means.

[Disagreeing pointedly]

No, sir, you don’t know what it means. I have figs in Smyrna.

So?

Someone will have to reap them. Someone else will have to

begin running the whole syndicate for me, take charge of the books, keep track of the records, look after the men, do buying and selling and shipping and storing and assume all responsibilities for—

Milo—

We’ve got cedars in Lebanon, zinc in Flint, and flint in Michigan—

Milo, wait—

—that must go from Atlanta to Holland to pay for the tulips to be shipped to Geneva to pay for the cheeses that must go to Vienna M.I.F.

M.I.F.?

Money in Front. And then there’s the peas.

Peas?

That are on the high seas, the cork from New York, shoes for Toulouse, nails from Wales, and the ham for Siam.

Milo, stop!

We have coals in Newcastle, sir.

Milo, you can’t fly sixty-five more missions! You can’t even fly one more mission. You’re like I am—indispensable’.

[Nodding contentedly]

Sir, are you forbidding me to fly any more combat missions?

Milo, I forbid you to fly any more combat missions.

But that’s not fair, sir. Why should I be penalized just because I’m a good mess officer?

I can’t think of anything we can do about it.

Maybe we can get someone else to fly my missions for me.

But maybe we can get someone else to fly your missions for you!

Why not the men in the squadron, sir? After all, I’m doing all this for them.

Why not the men in the squadron? You’re doing all this for them. They ought to be willing to do something for you in return.

What’s fair is fair. They could take turns, sir.

They might even take turns.

Who gets the credit?

You get the credit, Milo. And if a man wins a medal flying one of your missions, you get the medal.

Who dies if he gets killed?

Why, he dies, of course. After all, Milo, what’s fair is fair. There’s just one thing.

You’ll have to raise the number of missions.

I might have to raise the number of missions again. But this will be a good way to get that lousy rat Yossarian back into combat again.

Yossarian? Sir, Yossarian is a friend of mine. I’d give everything I own to Yossarian. But wait—since I don’t own everything, I can’t give everything I own to him, can I? So he’ll just have to take his chances with the rest of the men, won’t he?

We must never play favorites.

What’s fair is fair.

And as long as I’m going to raise the missions again, I might as well raise them to good ones. I’m going to volunteer the men for Avignon again.

Avignon?

Sure, Milo. You don’t want the men to fly easy, cowardly missions for you, do you?

I certainly do not. What kind of glory is that?

Good. I’m going to send them out to targets where you can be proud to wear those medals they earn for you.

[Into telephone]

Get me Captain Black. Black? This is Colonel Cathcart.

Have I got good news for you!

[CAPTAIN BLACK enters rubbing his hands with glee as

[COLONEL CATHCART walks off with MILO]

Avignon? Ho, ho, ho. Wait till those sons of bitches hear that. Oh, are they going to eat their livers now.

[YOSSARIAN enters slowly and pauses at his parachute harness on the coat rack]

Eighty missions?

That’s right, you bastard. And do you know what this next one is? Avignon again. Okay, move along now.

[YOSSARIAN hesitates and shakes his head]

No.

No? What do you mean, no? Get going.

Fuck you.

[YOSSARIAN backs out glancing nervously over each shoulder, BLACK follows after him in amazement as a phone on the desk begins to ring, COLONEL CATHCART hurries onstage in a violent emotional state wearing his Indian headdress and moves toward the desk to answer]

[Shouting]

Korn! Korn!

[He presses the loud bell for KORN, so there are two clangings before he picks up the phone]

Yeah? I know, I know! Where is he now? Keep me informed.

[Hangs up as COLONEL KORN enters leisurely, a feather in his shirt pocket]

[Dryly, as usual]

You rang, sir?

Yes. We may be in terrible trouble. It’s that bombardier Yossarian. He refuses to fly anymore.

Refuses? Who does he think he is? Achilles? Where is he now?

In the squadron, marching around backward. It’s that damn Chaplain’s fault. I told him to tell him to trust in God. Give me back the feather I gave you.

Marching backward? I suppose I’ll have to think of something before the rest of the men start marching around backward, too.

Milo is talking to him. They’re very good friends.

[YOSSARIAN comes on stage walking backward and spinning continuously as he keeps whirling around to look over his shoulder, MILO enters with him and is forced to keep running in circles around him in order to converse with him]

Yossarian, try to look at it this way. You’ll be doing it for me, if not for yourself.

Don’t I know it!

Stand still, please. So we can discuss this like friends and gentlemen.

Not a chance. I’ve got to cover my back.

I’ll cover your back.

Not a chance. I’m going.

[Exits spinning]

You’ll be ...

[Spins dizzily through the doorway into the office, joining the COLONELS]

... sorry! I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in him.

Let’s send him to Rome on a rest leave. He’ll change his mind.

We can’t even do that. He’s already gone there.

Without a pass? That makes things so much easier for us.

Can I have my feather back?

Are those feathers in your cap expensive?

These? Oh, they’re very hard to come by. Where are you going?

Feathers.

[Drifting away in a trance]

Feathers. I’m going to corner the market on feathers.

What an idea!

[They exit after MILO as the CHAPLAIN enters alone. The INVESTIGATING MAJOR enters from a different direction and moves to the CHAPLAIN]

Dear wife. Someone must have been telling lies about me, for without having done anything wrong ...

Chaplain Tappman?

Yes?

[The TEXAN enters from one direction, still in his hospital bathrobe; the INVESTIGATING CAPTAIN comes on from another carrying a folder; he is a cool, sinister man. The CHAPLAIN is surrounded]

Come along.

Where? Please—you’re hurting my arm.

You’d better come along with us, Father.

What have I done?

Why don’t you keep your trap shut and let us ask the questions?

It isn’t necessary to be so disrespectful.

Then tell him to keep his trap shut and let us ask the questions.

Father, please keep your trap shut and let us ask the questions.

It isn’t necessary to call me Father. I’m not a Catholic.

Neither am I, Father. It’s just that I’m a very devout person, and I like to call all men of God Father.

Who are you?

[They lead the CHAPLAIN through the doorway to one of the desks]

We’re from the government. That’s a very serious crime you’ve committed, Father.

What crime?

We don’t know yet. But we sure know it’s serious. Please make yourself comfortable.

[The MAJOR takes a length of rubber hose from his briefcase and a box of matches. He strikes a match, holds the flame close to the CHAPLAIN’s face, and blows it out. He sets a metronome down and starts it ticking. He switches a lamp on and directs the beam into the CHAPLAIN’s face]

We want you to relax.

You’ve got nothing to be afraid of, Father, if you’re not guilty. What are you so afraid of? You’re not guilty, are you?

Guilty of what? What did I do?

Write your name for us, please. In your own handwriting.

[To the TEXAN]

See? They’re not the same.

Father, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.

For what?

This isn’t your handwriting.

But of course it is. Whose handwriting is it if not my own?

That’s just what we aim to find out.

Talk, Chaplain.

That handwriting is mine. Where else is my handwriting if not there?

Right here.

[Tosses an envelope to the CHAPLAIN]

Would you mind reading aloud what’s written on that envelope?

“Dear Mary. I yearn for you tragically. A. T. Tappman, Group Chaplain.”

Do you know who wrote that?

No.

Whoever did it signed his name.

That’s my name there.

Then you wrote it. Q.E.D.

I didn’t write it. That’s not my handwriting, either.

Then you signed your name in somebody else’s handwriting again.

Oh, this is ridiculous! You’ve got no right to keep me here.

[The CHAPLAIN jumps to his feet. The MAJOR pushes him down roughly]

Okay, Captain. He’s all yours.

[Advancing toward the CHAPLAIN]

Turn off the metronome, please. It’s very annoying.

[The TEXAN switches off the metronome]

Thank you. And the light, too, please.

Leave the light. That doesn’t bother me. Chaplain, of what religious persuasion are you?

I’m an Anabaptist, sir.

Doesn’t the word Anabaptist simply mean that you’re not a Baptist?

Oh no, sir. There’s much more.

Are you a Baptist?

No, sir.

Then you are not a Baptist, are you? You could easily be ... Washington Irving, couldn’t you?

Washington Irving?

Come on, Washington. Why don’t you make a clean breast of it? We know you stole that plum tomato.

Oh, now I’m beginning to understand. I didn’t steal that plum tomato, sir. Colonel Cathcart gave it to me.

Are you calling a superior officer a liar?

Is that why you tried to give it to Sergeant Whitcomb, Father? Because it was a hot tomato?

No, no, no. Because I didn’t want it.

Why’d you steal it if you didn’t want it?

I didn’t steal it!

Why are you so guilty, if you didn’t steal it?

I’m not guilty!

Why would we be questioning you if you weren’t guilty?

Oh, I don’t know.

He thinks we have time to waste.

Chaplain, I have here in my hand a signed statement from Sergeant Whitcomb in which he states he knew the tomato was hot from the way you tried to unload it on him.

I swear to God I didn’t steal it, sir. I give you my word it was not a hot tomato.

Why don’t we knock his goddamn brains out?

Yeah, we could do that. He’s only an Anabaptist.

No, we’ve got to find him guilty first. Chaplain, we charge you with being Washington Irving and taking unlicensed liberties in censoring the letters of officers and enlisted men. Are you guilty or innocent?

Innocent, sir.

Guilty.

Guilty.

That’s two to one, so guilty it is, then. Chaplain, we accuse you, also, of the commission of crimes and infractions we don’t even know about yet. Guilty or innocent?

How can I say if you don’t tell me what they are?

How can we tell you if we don’t know?

Guilty.

Sure he’s guilty. If they’re his crimes and infractions, he must have committed them.

Guilty it is, then. He’s all yours, Major.

Okay, Chaplain. You heard the verdict. Get the hell out of here.

Aren’t you even going to punish me?

Damn right. But we’re certainly not going to let you hang around while we decide how to do it. So beat it. Go on, hit the road.

I’m free to go?

You can go. But you’re certainly not free. Is he?

[The three exit chuckling]

Dear wife. Perhaps I have begun to imagine things. If so, I am imagining things that I have imagined before, because I seem to be imagining everything twice. Yossarian has gone away to Rome ...

[YOSSARIAN enters and walks along with the CHAPLAIN]

Rome was in ruins when I got there. There was rubble at the airport. The Colosseum was a dilapidated shell, and the Arch of Constantine had fallen. I missed Nurse Duckett in Rome. I missed Luciana. I went looking for Nately’s whore ...

[YOSSARIAN moves toward the doorway as the CHAPLAIN continues across the stage and exits. The OLD WOMAN enters, sits in a chair, and begins to rock and moan]

Gone.

Where?

Away. Chased away into the street. All the poor young girls.

By who? Who did it?

The tall soldiers with the hard white hats and clubs.

Did they arrest them?

They chased them away. Who will take care of me?

What right did they have?

Catch-22.

What?

Catch-22. Catch-22 says they have a right to do anything we can’t stop them from doing.

How did you know it was Catch-22? Did they show it to you? Did they let you read it?

They don’t have to show us Catch-22. The law says they don’t have to.

What law says they don’t have to?

Catch-22.

Oh, damn! I bet it isn’t even there. Where’s the old man?

The one that said he was going to live forever?

Dead. One minute he was living, one minute he was dead.

Nately’s girl friend?

Gone. Chased away with all the rest. They would not even let them take their coats.

Who will take care of her?

Who will take care of me?

[YOSSARIAN puts money in her lap]

It’s not enough.

It’s all I have.

Money is not enough.

Money is all I have.

Catch-22.

Mother, there’s no such thing.

Come?

It doesn’t exist. But that makes no difference, because everyone thinks it does.

Who will take care of me?

No one.

[Offstage]

Arf, arf! Arf, arf, arf!

There was no one I knew in Rome but Aarfy, our lead navigator, who had never been able to find himself since leaving college. And the unattractive little maid who took care of our apartment, whom none of the men had ever wanted, none of the men but Aarfy, who ...

[YOSSARIAN stops and stares ahead offstage with a look of incredulous horror]

Oh, my God! I won’t believe it.

[Offstage]

Arf, arf!

[AARFY saunters onstage amid the beds and chairs and gazes placidly through the window at YOSSARIAN]

Aarfy!

[Rushes upstage directly to AARFY and pulls him around roughly]

What the hell did you do?

[Barking jokingly]

Arf, Arf! Arf!

Stop it—for Christ sake!

Arf! Relax, Yossarian. It’s just the maid. I only raped her once.

You killed her, too! You threw her out the window!

Oh, I had to kill her after I raped her. I couldn’t let her go around saying bad things about us, could I?

Why did you have to touch her at all? Why didn’t you go to a prostitute, if it came to that?

Oh, no, not me. I never paid for it in my life.

Aarfy, are you insane? You murdered a girl. They’re going to put you in jail.

Oh no, not me. Not good old Aarfy. I hardly think they’re going to make too much of a fuss over one Italian servant girl. Do you?

Listen.

[Sirens sound and approach]

Aarfy, they’re coming to arrest you. Don’t you understand?

You can’t take the life of another human being.

[Lamely]

Oh, no, not me. They’re not coming to arrest good old Aarfy. Not good old Aarfy.

[Two MP’s enter, AARFY whimpers and shrinks back in fear as they stride through the door. They pass AARFY and seize YOSSARIAN]

Captain Yossarian? You’re under arrest.

Me? For what?

You’re absent without official leave. You left your base without a pass.

But he—

Never mind him. Let’s go.

[To AARFY, saluting]

Sorry, sir. Forgive the intrusion.

That’s quite all right. Hey, Yo-Yo.

[Gloating, and with an obscene Italian gesture]

Arf, arf!

[AARFY breaks into wild, barking laughter and leaves as the MP’s march YOSSARIAN out the doorway and around the circle of furniture, COLONEL CATHCART walks in carrying a bunch of feathers and a stack of BLACK eyes. The bell rings clangorously]

Korn! Korn!

[Dryly, as he enters]

You rang, sir?

Dammit, Korn! I’m getting sick and tired of that joke.

Forgive me, sir. You should of mentioned it.

I’ve got a pile of black eyes and a big bunch of feathers for my cap, and I don’t know which I’m going to need more of. Will you handle him?

Of course. Would you like a fig?

[COLONEL CATHCART shakes his head. The MP’s march YOSSARIAN around through the doorway and lead him inside just as KORN, munching on a fig, sits down comfortably on a desk to await him]

Sir, we are pleased to report that the prisoner Yossarian—

Get out.

Thank you, sir.

[MP’s exit]

Yossarian, huh? Do you know what we’re going to do to you? We’re going to send you home.

You’re kidding.

No. But ... there’s a catch.

Twenty-two?

Of course. Would you like a fig? We can’t simply send you home for refusing to fly more missions and expect the rest of the men to continue, can we? So we’ve worked out this little deal.

What kind of deal?

Odious. But you’ll accept it quickly enough.

Don’t be too sure.

It’s that or a court-martial. You’d leave us no alternative ...

[Emphasizing the words delightedly for the distress he knows they will cause COLONEL CATHCART]

... even though it might turn out to be a terrible black eye for Colonel Cathcart.

Goddamn it—I hate this cigarette holder! I wonder if it’s doing me any good.

It’s a feather in your cap with General Peckem, but a black eye for you with General Dreedle.

Which one am I supposed to please?

Both.

How?

By sending this man home a hero and getting all the others to fly more missions.

I want to be a general!

[To YOSSARIAN]

And there you have it. Everyone teaches us to aspire to higher things. A general is higher than a colonel, so we’re

both aspiring. Won’t you help us by doing everything you’re ordered to? This is your last chance to say yes.

No.

In that case we’re going to have to send you home. Just do a few things for us, and—

What things?

Oh, tiny insignificant things. We will issue orders returning you to the States—really, we will, safe and sound—and all you have to do in return is ...

What?

Like us.

Like you?

That’s right. Like us. Join us. Be our pal. Say nice things about us.

That’s all?

That’s all.

That isn’t going to be too easy.

Oh, it will be a lot easier than you think. We’re going to promote you to major and give you a medal. You’ll have big parades in your honor and make lots of speeches.

I’m not sure I want to make speeches.

Then we’ll forget the speeches. We just don’t want anyone to know there’s ever been any friction between us.

Suppose I denounce you when I get back to the States?

Why should you want to? You’re going to be one of the boys now, remember? You’d have to be a fool to throw it all away for just a moral principle.

That’s a pretty scummy trick I’d be playing on the rest of the men, isn’t it?

Odious.

But what the hell! Let them stand up and do something about it the way I did. Right?

Of course.

There’s no reason I have to risk my life for them, is there?

Of course not.

It’s a deal!

Welcome aboard.

[They all shake hands, NATELY’S WHORE tiptoes on stage in an army jacket carrying a long knife. She stations herself outside the doorway, hiding the knife]

Thanks, Colonel. I—

Call me Blackie, John. We’re pals now, remember? Have a fig.

Sure, Blackie. My friends call me Yo-Yo. Blackie, I—

His friends call him Yo-Yo. 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.

Thank you, Colonel, I—

Call him Chuck.

Sure, call me Chuck. We’re all pals now.

Sure, Chuck.

Come on over for dinner with us some night, Yo-Yo. In the group dining room. How about tonight?

I’d love to, sir.

[Correcting him genially]

Chuck.

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. Exit smiling.

[YOSSARIAN exits through the doorway laughing, NATELY’S WHORE salutes him]

Hi. Say, don’t I know you from—

[She stabs him under the arm. YOSSARIAN sinks down in pain]

I’ve been looking all over for—

[Screaming, as she raises the knife to stab him again]

—oh, nooo!

[The COLONELS rush out. NATELY’S WHORE runs off. They chase after her.]

[YOSSARIAN staggers to a bed clutching his wound and collapses.]

[TWO DOCTORS and NURSE DUCKETT enter to treat him.

They carry medical equipment]

Okay. Cut.

You cut.

[Sitting up]

No cuts.

Now look who’s butting in. Are we going to operate or aren’t we?

He doesn’t need an operation. Just stop the bleeding and put a few stitches in.

But I’ve never had a chance to operate before. Which one is the scalpel? Is this one the scalpel?

The other one. Well, go ahead and cut if you want to. Make the incision.

[Sitting up again]

No incisions.

Is he going to keep talking that way while I operate on him?

You can’t operate until I admit him.

[INVESTIGATING MAJOR enters]

You can’t admit him until I clear him.

[INVESTIGATING CAPTAIN enters]

You can’t clear him until I investigate him.

[To YOSSARIAN]

Where were you born?

On a battlefield.

No, no. In what state?

In a state of innocence.

You don’t understand.

Let me handle him.

[To YOSSARIAN]

Are you a smart aleck or something?

He’s still bleeding. He might even die.

Good for him.

It would serve the finky bastard right. All right, John, let’s speak out. We want to get to the truth.

Everyone calls me Yo-Yo.

We want you to cooperate with us, Yo-Yo. We’re your friends, and we want you to trust us. We’re here to help you.

Let’s jab our thumb down inside his wound and gouge it.

[YOSSARIAN groans and lets his eyes fall closed]

He’s fainted. Can’t we treat him now?

I hope the bastard does die.

I hate the sight of blood.

[They exit]

[Whispering]

Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?

No. Don’t go.

I’m through with you. I want to marry a doctor.

Then let’s start. I’m raring to operate. Should I wash my hands first?

No operations.

Can’t you make him shut up? You’re his girl.

Not anymore. I could give him a total and knock him out.

At least we’d have some quiet.

Then I can take out his liver.

No totals.

There he goes again.

Can I take out his liver?

You can stitch up his wound.

I’d rather take out his liver. Come on—knock him out.

Don’t knock me—

[NURSE DUCKETT covers his face with an ether cone. YOSSARIAN sinks back unconscious, NURSE DUCKETT and the DOCTORS bend over him a moment and start away]

We were never more than just friends.

[They exit in one direction as COLONEL KORN comes in from another, munching on a fig]

[Aloud, to himself]

She wants to marry a doctor.

The deal is still on. We’ve got this wonderful cover story about a Nazi assassin who—

[YOSSARIAN grabs for KORN, misses, and begins retching loudly]

[With a grimace of disgust]

How vulgar!

[Exits as NURSE DUCKETT returns]

What’s happening to me?

I’m going to marry a doctor.

Which doctor?

Any doctor. My mother wouldn’t like you. Neither would her friends.

Is that so important?

We can still be friends.

Friends?

Nurse and patient, I mean. Give me a ring sometime when you need anything. Tee-hee-hee.

[Exits laughing at her own joke as the INVESTIGATING CAPTAIN enters wearing a bathrobe over his uniform]

We’ve got your pal, buddy. We’ve got your pal.

What are you talking about?

[Leaving]

You know.

Who’s my pal?

[Entering]

Maybe I’m your pal. Yossarian, we’re all very proud of you.

Proud?

For risking your life to save Colonel Cathcart from that Nazi assassin.

That was no Nazi assassin. That was Nately’s whore. And she was trying to kill me.

The official report says—

It’s part of the deal.

What deal?

The deal I made with Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn. They’ll let me go home a big hero if I say nice things about them and never criticize them for making the rest of the men fly more missions.

But that’s shameful! Isn’t it?

Odious is the word we agreed on. It’s that or a court-martial. They’d lock me in prison with a bunch of criminals.

You can’t let them do that.

Then maybe I’ll fly more missions.

You might get killed.

Then I guess I won’t. A funny thing happened before— maybe I dreamed it. I think a strange man came in here and told me he’s got my pal. “We’ve got your pal,” he said. He scared me.

[Near tears]

They’ve got all my pals, haven’t they?

There, there. Try to sleep now. I’ll be back.

[Tiptoes out one side as WHITCOMB enters from another carrying a letter. He takes YOSSARIAN’.? pulse]

[Tearing up the letter]

Shit!

[To the TEXAN, who enters in his hospital robe as whitcomb leaves]

He’s going to live.

[Seating himself beside the bed]

Hi. Hey, wake up.

You’re still in here, aren’t you?

I’m glad you’re alive.

Why?

So I can slit your throat for you from ear to ear.

[Terrified]

What are you talking about?

One time when you’re sound asleep, I’m going to tiptoe in here very quietly and slit your throat for you from ear to ear.

Why?

Why not?

Why are you sitting here?

I’m waiting for you to fall asleep, so I can slit your throat for you from ear to ear.

Help!

[NURSE DUCKETT hurries in]

[Leaving]

He’s delirious, I think.

He’s going to slit my throat for me from ear to ear.

No, he’s not. They’re going to disappear you.

What does that mean?

I don’t know. I heard them talking.

Who?

I don’t know. I just heard them say they were going to disappear you.

It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t even good grammar. What the hell does it mean when they disappear somebody?

[Plaintively]

I don’t know.

You’re a great help!

Why are you picking on me? I only came here to warn you.

I’m sorry.

[Tries to embrace her]

[Pulling away]

Don’t.

What should I do?

[NURSE DUCKETT shrugs and leaves by one side as the INVESTIGATING CAPTAIN returns from another]

Did you come to disappear me?

We’ve got your, pal, buddy. We’ve got your pal.

What the hell are you talking about?

You’ll find out, buddy. You’ll find out.

[YOSSARIAN lunges at him and misses. The CAPTAIN laughs and steps away]

You give me chills.

[Moving away]

Good.

[Rising to follow him]

You make my blood run cold.

I’m glad.

[Exits as SNOWDEN appears on stage in combat clothes. Doubled over, clutching his abdomen in pain, he sinks to the floor]

[Moaning]

I’m cold.

[Turning back]

I’m freezing.

I’m cold. I’m cold.

[YOSSARIAN notices him with surprise. He hangs his bathrobe on the coat rack and puts on a parachute harness. He takes a first-aid kit from the coat rack and moves across the stage to SNOWDEN]

I’m cold.

You’re going to be all right, kid. You’re going to be all right.

I’m cold. I’m cold.

There, there. There, there.

I’m cold. I’m cold.

There, there. There, there.

[YOSSARIAN kneels, opens the first-aid kit, and begins treating SNOWDEN for his thigh wound, SNOWDEN moans]

Did I hurt you?

I’m cold. I’m cold.

There, there. There, there.

I’m scared.

You’re not in any danger. The bleeding stopped. All I’ve got to do is bandage you up and keep you warm until the plane lands.

It’s starting to hurt me!

I’ll give you a shot of morphine. I’ll give you a double shot.

[Removes a box from the first-aid kit, opens it, and finds only a slip of paper inside]

Milo Minderbinder, you bastard!

[To SNOWDEN]

There is no morphine.

[Reading]

“What’s good for Milo Minderbinder is good for the country.”

[Moaning]

I’m cold.

I’ve got two aspirins.

[Shaking his head]

I’m cold. I’m cold.

It’s very warm. It’s very warm here in the plane.

I’m cold.

I’m scared!

I’m cold.

The edges of your mouth, they’re turning blue. How do you feel?

Cold. I’m cold.

You’re going to be all right. There’s no more bleeding.

I’m cold. I’m cold.

There, there. There, there. We’ll be back on the ground soon. You’re going to be okay.

[SNOWDEN shakes his head and points with his chin down toward his armpit. YOSSARIAN opens SNOWDEN’a flak suit, gapes in horror, and screams wildly]

I’m cold.

[YOSSARIAN forces himself to look again. He screams a second time and squeezes both hands over his eyes]

I’m cold. I’m cold.

I’m cold. I’m cold, too.

I’m cold. I’m cold.

[Holding SNOWDEN]

There, there. There, there.

I’m cold. I’m cold.

There, there. There, there.

I’m cold.

[He dies]

There, there. You’re going to be all ...

[He realizes SNOWDEN is dead and lowers him to the floor]

There, there.

[The CHAPLAIN enters, YOSSARIAN, rising slowly, addresses the CHAPLAIN as he moves away from SNOWDEN]

There was God’s plenty, all right—liver, lungs, kidneys, ribs, stomach, and bits of the stewed tomatoes Snowden had eaten that day for lunch.

[He goes to the coat rack and takes off his parachute harness]

I hate stewed tomatoes. All this time I had been treating Snowden for the wrong wound. I wondered how in the world to begin to save him now. There was Snowden’s secret, and he had spilled it all over the messy floor of the airplane. It was easy to read the message in his entrails. Man was matter, that was Snowden’s secret. Drop him out a window and he’ll fall. Set fire to him and he’ll burn. Bury him and he’ll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage.

I know.

That was Snowden’s secret. Ripeness is all.

[Returns to the bed]

Major is here.

Major who?

Major. Major Major. He has to speak to you.

[MAJOR MAJOR enters without disguise and moves hesitantly toward the doorway]

Chaplain, help me! Get the rest of my clothes.

Where? How will I get them?

I don’t know. Ask Nurse Duckett. She’ll do anything she can to be rid of me.

What are you going to do?

I don’t know. But hurry. Please. For once in your life succeed at something.

[The CHAPLAIN leaves, MAJOR MAJOR enters through the doorway and approaches YOSSARIAN]

Who the hell are you?

[With a lame smile, MAJOR MAJOR puts his mustache and glasses on, then removes them]

Where’d you come from?

Colonel Korn made me come here to talk to you. He says you disgust him. He says I disgust him, too. He wants me to tell you that the deal is still on.

No, it isn’t. I’m breaking it.

Oh, dear. Why did you agree to it if you didn’t like it?

I did it in a moment of weakness. I wanted to save my life.

They’re going to court-martial you.

[Laughs and thumbs his nose]

No, they won’t. Please don’t lie to me. There’s an official report that says I was stabbed by a Nazi assassin.

But, Yossarian! There’s another official report that says you were stabbed in the course of black-market operations involving the sale of military secrets to the enemy.

Another official report?

Yossarian, they can prepare as many official reports as they need. Didn’t you know that?

Oh, dear. What a clear way you have of describing things.

Please don’t blame me. I’m only trying to help you.

That’s what that nice detective said before he decided to jab his thumb into my wound.

I’m not a detective. I’m a college professor who’s trying to serve his country. And I wouldn’t lie to anyone.

What would you do if one of the men in the squadron asked you about this conversation?

I would lie to him.

Look what they’ve done to us. How can you work for them?

I try not to think of them. I try to think only of my country.

Christ, Major, don’t tell me that. I’ve flown seventy Goddamn missions. But that war’s over. The country’s not in danger anymore. But I am. From Cathcart and Korn.

Then let them send you home. It’s a way to save yourself.

It’s a way to lose myself. Goddammit! I can’t join those bastards now. Getting stabbed by that bitch was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Would you rather go to jail? Or fly more missions?

What would you do?

Me?

Would you let them send you home?

No. I don’t think so. Not under those conditions. But I certainly wouldn’t let them send me to jail.

Then you’d fly more missions?

No, of course not. That would be total capitulation. And I might get killed.

Then you’d run away? Desert?

Oh, no. I don’t think I could do that. There’d be no hope for me, would there?

No. No hope for us at all?

No hope at all. There just doesn’t seem to be anything you can do, is there?

No.

[Perking up with an idea]

And that’s good. Since there’s nothing I can do, I know just what I can do.

What?

I’m going to run away.

Where?

To Sweden!

Sweden? You’ll never get there.

No. But I can get to Rome easily enough—if you keep your mouth shut long enough for me to catch a ride. And I can take my chances from there.

No, no, no. Yossarian, you can’t run away. You’ll always be alone. You’ll always Eve in danger.

I live that way now.

[The CHAPLAIN enters carrying a pillowcase stuffed with clothing and a musette bag]

Yossarian! Guess what! I got them, I got them.

You see, Major? There is hope.

Chaplain, please talk to him, will you? He’s deserting. He wants to run away to Sweden.

Wonderful! Run away to Sweden, Yossarian. And I’ll stay here and persevere. Yes, I’ll stay here and—

Chaplain, will you please shut up? Yossarian, listen. You’ll never make it. It’s almost a geographical impossibility to get to Sweden from here.

Hell, Major, I know that. But at least I’ll be trying.

It’s absolutely insane. Your conscience will never let you rest.

God bless it. I wouldn’t want to live in this world without strong misgivings.

Chaplain, can’t you do something?

Yes. I’m going to punch Captain Black in the nose.

[He shadowboxes]

Pow! Just like that.

[NATELY’S WHORE appears on stage, eavesdrops, and stealthily positions herself just outside the door carrying a long knife]

Well, Major? Do you think you can disappear again long enough for me to catch a ride?

It’s my duty to stop you.

Are you going to try?

What would you do? Beat me up?

Why do you say that?

[The CHAPLAIN, feinting punches, shadowboxes close to MAJOR MAJOR]

I will beat you up. You and Corporal Whitcomb and maybe

even Colonel Cathcart. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I found I didn’t have to be afraid anymore?

Are you going to stop me?

[Reaching his decision]

No, of course not! Go, for God sakes, and hurry! Do you need money?

I’ve got money.

Here’s more.

Good-by, Yossarian. And good luck. I’ll stay here and persevere.

[Starting away toward the door]

So long, Chaplain. Thanks, Major.

How do you feel?

Fine. No, I’m frightened.

That’s good. It proves you’re still alive. It won’t be fun.

Yes, it will.

I mean it, Yossarian. You’ll have to keep on your toes every minute of every day. They’ll bend heaven and earth to catch you.

I’ll keep on my toes.

You’ll have to jump.

I’ll jump.

[YOSSARIAN exits through the doorway, NATELY’S WHORE moves behind him with the knife]

Jump!

[YOSSARIAN jumps aside. The knife comes down, missing him by inches, and he runs off. NATELY’S WHORE chases out after him, brandishing the long knife]

Run, Yossarian! Run!

[To MAJOR MAJOR, after YOSSARIAN and NATELY’S WHORE have gone]

Well, Major? What are you going to do?

[MAJOR MAJOR thinks a moment. Then he puts on his fake mustache and large sunglasses, offers a friendly wave, and exits by way of the window. The CHAPLAIN starts away with an exuberant expression]

My dear and darling beautiful wife. I have punched Colonel Cathcart in the nose. I await the consequences happily. They think I am crazy.

[He exits with a smile]

{1} In that amusing “vicuna-coat affair” of the Eisenhower administration, the fallen official was named Adams; the businessman was Goldfine; his secretary, if memory is correct, was Paperman; and a senator with concern for the textile industry in his state was Norris Cotton.

{2} In this Johnson circle as well, the names are Pickwickian, although the people were not. There were Deans, a brace of Bundys, a Rusk, Walt Whitman Rostow, and Hubert Humphrey, MacNamara’s band, and even two Balls, one of them good.