‘Sure I do.
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,’ said Yossarian.
‘Hello, Giuseppe.’
‘His name is Yossarian, Pa.’
‘I can’t get over how terrible he looks,’ the father said.
‘He’s very sick, Pa.
The doctor says he’s going to die.’
‘I didn’t know whether to believe the doctor or not,’ the father said.
‘You know how crooked those guys are.’
‘Giuseppe,’ the mother said again, in a soft, broken chord of muted anguish.
‘His name is Yossarian, Ma.
She don’t remember things too good any more.
How’re they treating you in here, kid?
They treating you pretty good?’
‘Pretty good,’ Yossarian told him.
‘That’s good.
Just don’t let anybody in here push you around.
You’re just as good as anybody else in here even though you are Italian.
You’ve got rights, too.’
Yossarian winced and closed his eyes so that he would not have to look at his brother John.
He began to feel sick.
‘Now see how terrible he looks,’ the father observed.
‘Giuseppe,’ the mother said.
‘Ma, his name is Yossarian,’ the brother interrupted her impatiently. ‘Can’t you remember?’
‘It’s all right,’ Yossarian interrupted him.
‘She can call me Giuseppe if she wants to.’
‘Giuseppe,’ she said to him.
‘Don’t worry, Yossarian,’ the brother said.
‘Everything is going to be all right.’
‘Don’t worry, Ma,’ Yossarian said.
‘Everything is going to be all right.’
‘Did you have a priest?’ the brother wanted to know.
‘Yes,’ Yossarian lied, wincing again.
‘That’s good,’ the brother decided.
‘Just as long as you’re getting everything you’ve got coming to you.
We came all the way from New York.
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,’ the brother said.
‘He keeps saying the same thing over and over again.’
‘That’s really very funny,’ the old man replied.