Catch-22 - Heller, Joseph [130]
This sordid, vulturous, diabolical old man reminded Nately of his father because the two were nothing at all alike. Nately’s father was a courtly white-haired gentleman who dressed impeccably; this old man was an uncouth bum. Nately’s father was a sober, philosophical and responsible man; this old man was fickle and licentious. Nately’s father was discreet and cultured; this old man was a boor. Nately’s father believed in honor and knew the answer to everything; this old man believed in nothing and had only questions. Nately’s father had a distinguished white mustache; this old man had no mustache at all. Nately’s father—and everyone else’s father Nately had ever met—was dignified, wise and venerable; this old man was utterly repellent, and Nately plunged back into debate with him, determined to repudiate his vile logic and insinuations with an ambitious vengeance that would capture the attention of the bored, phlegmatic girl he had fallen so intensely in love with and win her admiration forever.
‘Well, frankly, I don’t know how long America is going to last,’ he proceeded dauntlessly. ‘I suppose we can’t last forever if the world itself is going to be destroyed someday. But I do know that we’re going to survive and triumph for a long, long time.’
‘For how long?’ mocked the profane old man with a gleam of malicious elation. ‘Not even as long as the frog?’
‘Much longer than you or me,’ Nately blurted out lamely.
‘Oh, is that all! That won’t be very much longer then, considering that you’re so gullible and brave and that I am already such an old, old man.’
‘How old are you?’ Nately asked, growing intrigued and charmed with the old man in spite of himself.
‘A hundred and seven.’ The old man chuckled heartily at Nately’s look of chagrin. ‘I see you don’t believe that either.’
‘I don’t believe anything you tell me,’ Nately replied, with a bashful mitigating smile. ‘The only thing I do believe is that America is going to win the war.’
‘You put so much stock in winning wars,’ the grubby iniquitous old man scoffed. ‘The real trick lies in losing wars, in knowing which wars can be lost. Italy has been losing wars for centuries, and just see how splendidly we’ve done nonetheless. France wins wars and is in a continual state of crisis. Germany loses and prospers. Look at our own recent history. Italy won a war in Ethiopia and promptly stumbled into serious trouble. Victory gave us such insane delusions of grandeur that we helped start a world war we hadn’t a chance of winning. But now that we are losing again, everything has taken a turn for the better, and we will certainly come out on top again if we succeed in being defeated.’ Nately gaped at him in undisguised befuddlement. ‘Now I really don’t understand what you’re saying. You talk like a madman.’
‘But I live like a sane one. I was a fascist when Mussolini was on top, and I am an anti-fascist now that he has been deposed. I was fanatically pro-German when the Germans were here to protect us against the Americans, and now that the Americans are here to protect us against the Germans I am fanatically pro-American. I can assure you, my outraged young friend’—the old man’s knowing, disdainful eyes shone even more effervescently as Nately’s stuttering dismay increased—’that you and your country will have a no more loyal partisan in Italy than