Yossarian listened to him with a growing feeling of concern. “What crimes will they charge me with?”

“Incompetence over Ferrara, insubordination, refusal to engage the enemy in combat when ordered to do so, and desertion.”

Yossarian sucked his cheeks in soberly. “They could charge me with all that, could they? They gave me a medal for Ferrara. How could they charge me with incompetence now?”

“Aarfy will swear that you and McWatt lied in your official report.”

“I’ll bet the bastard would!”

“They will also find you guilty,” Major Danby recited, “of rape, extensive black-market operations, acts of sabotage and the sale of military secrets to the enemy.”

“How will they prove any of that? I never did a single one of those things.”

“But they have witnesses who will swear you did. They can get all the witnesses they need simply by persuading them that destroying you is for the good of the country. And in a way, it would be for the good of the country.”

“In what way?” Yossarian demanded, rising up slowly on one elbow with bridling hostility.

Major Danby drew back a bit and began mopping his forehead again. “Well, Yossarian,” he began with an apologetic stammer, “it would not help the war effort to bring Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn into disrepute now. Let’s face it, Yossarian-in spite of everything, the group does have a very good record. If you were court-martialed and found innocent, other men would probably refuse to fly missions, too. Colonel Cathcart would be in disgrace, and the military efficiency of the unit might be destroyed. So in that way it would be for the good of the country to have you found guilty and put in prison, even though you are innocent.”

“What a sweet way you have of putting things!” Yossarian snapped with caustic resentment.

Major Danby turned red and squirmed and squinted uneasily. “Please don’t blame me,” he pleaded with a look of anxious integrity. “You know it’s not my fault. All I’m doing is trying to look at things objectively and arrive at a solution to a very difficult situation.”

“I didn’t create the situation.”

“But you can resolve it. And what else can you do? You don’t want to fly more missions.”

“I can run away.”

“Run away?”

“Desert. Take off I can turn my back on the whole damned mess and start running.”

Major Danby was shocked. “Where to? Where could you go?”

“I could get to Rome easily enough. And I could hide myself there.”

“And live in danger every minute of your life that they would find you? No, no, no, no, Yossarian. That would be a disastrous and ignoble thing to do. Running away from problems never solved them. Please believe me. I am only trying to help you.”

“That’s what that kind detective said before he decided to jab his thumb into my wound,” Yossarian retorted sarcastically.

“I am not a detective,” Major Danby replied with indignation, his cheeks flushing again. “I’m a university professor with a highly developed sense of right and wrong, and I wouldn’t try to deceive you. I wouldn’t lie to anyone.”

“What would you do if one of the men in the group asked you about this conversation?”

“I would lie to him.”

Yossarian laughed mockingly, and Major Danby, despite his blushing discomfort, leaned back with relief, as though welcoming the respite Yossarian’s changing mood promised. Yossarian gazed at him with a mixture of reserved pity and contempt. He sat up in bed with his back resting against the headboard, lit a cigarette, smiled slightly with wry amusement, and stared with whimsical sympathy at the vivid, pop-eyed horror that had implanted itself permanently on Major Danby’s face the day of the mission to Avignon, when General Dreedle had ordered him taken outside and shot. The startled wrinkles would always remain, like deep black scars, and Yossarian felt sorry for the gentle, moral, middle-aged idealist, as he felt sorry for so many people whose shortcomings were not large and whose troubles were light.

With deliberate amiability he said, “Danby, how can you work along with people like Cathcart and Korn? Doesn’t it turn your stomach?”

Major Danby seemed surprised by Yossarian’s question. “I do it to help my country,” he replied, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn are my superiors, and obeying their orders is the only contribution I can make to the war effort. I work along with them because it’s my duty. And also,” he added in a much lower voice, dropping his eyes, “because I am not a very aggressive person.”

“Your country doesn’t need your help any more,” Yossarian reasoned with antagonism. “So all you’re doing is helping them.”

“I try not to think of that,” Major Danby admitted frankly. “But I try to concentrate on only the big result and to forget that they are succeeding, too. I try to pretend that they are not significant.”

“That’s my trouble, you know,” Yossarian mused sympathetically, folding his arms. “Between me and every ideal I always find Scheisskopfs, Peckems, Korns and Cathcarts. And that sort of changes the ideal.”

“You must try not to think of them,” Major Danby advised affirmatively. “And you must never let them change your values. Ideals are good, but people are sometimes not so good. You must try to look up at the big picture.”

Yossarian rejected the advice with a skeptical shake of his head. “When I look up, I see people cashing in. I don’t see heaven or saints or angels. I see people cashing in on every decent impulse and every human tragedy.”

“But you must try not to think of that, too,” Major Danby insisted. “And you must try not to let it upset you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t really upset me. What does upset me, though, is that they think I’m a sucker. They think that they’re smart, and that the rest of us are dumb. And, you know, Danby, the thought occurs to me right now, for the first time, that maybe they’re right.”

“But you must try not to think of that too,” argued Major Danby. “You must think only of the welfare of your country and the dignity of man.”

“Yeah,” said Yossarian.

“I mean it, Yossarian. This is not World War One. You must never forget that we’re at war with aggressors who would not let either one of us live if they won.”

“I know that,” Yossarian replied tersely, with a sudden surge of scowling annoyance. “Christ, Danby, I earned that medal I got, no matter what their reasons were for giving it to me. I’ve flown seventy goddam combat missions. Don’t talk to me about fighting to save my country. I’ve been fighting all along to save my country. Now I’m going to fight a little to save myself. The country’s not in danger any more, but I am.”

“The war’s not over yet. The Germans are driving toward Antwerp.”

“The Germans will be beaten in a few months. And Japan will be beaten a few months after that. If I were to give up my life now, it wouldn’t be for my country. It would be for Cathcart and Korn. So I’m turning my bombsight in for the duration. From now on I’m thinking only of me.”

Major Danby replied indulgently with a superior smile, “But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way.”

“Then I’d certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn’t I?” Yossarian sat up straighter with a quizzical expression. “You know, I have a queer feeling that I’ve been through this exact conversation before with someone. It’s just like the chaplain’s sensation of having experienced everything twice.”

“The chaplain wants you to let them send you home,” Major Danby remarked.

“The chaplain can jump in the lake.”

“Oh, dear.” Major Danby sighed, shaking his head in regretful disappointment. “He’s afraid he might have influenced you.”

“He didn’t influence me. You know what I might do? I might stay right here in this hospital bed and vegetate. I could vegetate very comfortably right here and let other people make the decisions.”