He smiled ostentatiously to show himself reasonable and nice.
‘I’m not saying that to be cruel and insulting,’ he continued with cruel and insulting delight.
‘I’m not saying it because I hate you and want revenge. I’m not saying it because you rejected me and hurt my feelings terribly.
No, I’m a man of medicine and I’m being coldly objective.
I have very bad news for you.
Are you man enough to take it?’
‘God, no!’ screamed Yossarian.
‘I’ll go right to pieces.’
Major Sanderson flew instantly into a rage.
‘Can’t you even do one thing right?’ he pleaded, turning beet-red with vexation and crashing the sides of both fists down upon his desk together.
‘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, just because I arrived at puberty late.
Well, do you know what you are?
You’re a frustrated, unhappy, disillusioned, undisciplined, maladjusted young man!’ Major Sanderson’s disposition seemed to mellow as he reeled off the uncomplimentary adjectives.
‘Yes, sir,’ Yossarian agreed carefully. ‘I guess you’re right.’
‘Of course I’m right.
You’re immature.
You’ve been unable to adjust to the idea of war.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have a morbid aversion to dying.
You probably resent the fact that you’re at war and might get your head blown off any second.’
‘I more than resent it, sir. I’m absolutely incensed.’
‘You have deep-seated survival anxieties.
And you don’t like bigots, bullies, snobs or hypocrites.
Subconsciously there are many people you hate.’
‘Consciously, sir, consciously,’ Yossarian corrected in an effort to help.
‘I hate them consciously.’
‘You’re antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated or deceived.
Misery depresses you. Ignorance depresses you. Persecution depresses you. Violence depresses you. Slums depress you. Greed depresses you. Crime 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,’ said Yossarian, pleased with the miraculous rapport that finally existed between them.
‘I agree with all you’ve said.’
‘Then you admit you’re crazy, do you?’
‘Crazy?’
Yossarian was shocked.
‘What are you talking about?
Why am I crazy?
You’re the one who’s crazy!’
Major Sanderson turned red with indignation again and crashed both fists down upon his thighs.
‘Calling me crazy,’ he shouted in a sputtering rage, ‘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!’
‘They’re going to send me home!’ Yossarian announced jubilantly, as he hobbled back into the ward.
‘Me too!’ A. Fortiori rejoiced.
‘They just came to my ward and told me.’
‘What about me?’ Dunbar demanded petulantly of the doctors.