That’s a shameful, scandalous deal, isn’t it?’
‘Odious,’ Yossarian answered, staring up woodenly at the ceiling with just the back of his head resting on the pillow.
‘I think "odious" is the word we decided on.’
‘Then how could you agree to it?’
‘It’s that or a court-martial, Chaplain.’
‘Oh,’ the chaplain exclaimed with a look of stark remorse, the back of his hand covering his mouth.
He lowered himself into his chair uneasily.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘They’d lock me in prison with a bunch of criminals.’
‘Of course.
You must do whatever you think is right, then.’
The chaplain nodded to himself as though deciding the argument and lapsed into embarrassed silence.
‘Don’t worry,’ Yossarian said with a sorrowful laugh after several moments had passed.
‘I’m not going to do it.’
‘But you must do it,’ the chaplain insisted, bending forward with concern.
‘Really, you must.
I had no right to influence you.
I really had no right to say anything.’
‘You didn’t influence me.’
Yossarian hauled himself over onto his side and shook his head in solemn mockery. ‘Christ, Chaplain! Can you imagine that for a sin? Saving Colonel Cathcart’s life!
That’s one crime I don’t want on my record.’
The chaplain returned to the subject with caution.
‘What will you do instead?
You can’t let them put you in prison.’
‘I’ll fly more missions.
Or maybe I really will desert and let them catch me.
They probably would.’
‘And they’d put you in prison. You don’t want to go to prison.’
‘Then I’ll just keep flying missions until the war ends, I guess.
Some of us have to survive.’
‘But you might get killed.’
‘Then I guess I won’t fly any more missions.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will you let them send you home?’
‘I don’t know.
Is it hot out?
It’s very warm in here.’
‘It’s very cold out,’ the chaplain said.
‘You know,’ Yossarian remembered, ‘a very funny thing happened—maybe I dreamed it.
I think a strange man came in here before and told me he’s got my pal.
I wonder if I imagined it.’
‘I don’t think you did,’ the chaplain informed him.
‘You started to tell me about him when I dropped in earlier.’
‘Then he really did say it.
"We’ve got your pal, buddy," he said. "We’ve got your pal."
He had the most malignant manner I ever saw.
I wonder who my pal is.’
‘I like to think that I’m your pal, Yossarian,’ the chaplain said with humble sincerity.
‘And they certainly have got me.