Catch-22 - Heller, Joseph [159]
‘What do you want from him?’ Yossarian called out. ‘All he did was fall on his head.’
‘And I’m talking about you too!’ the colonel declared, whirling to rage at Yossarian. ‘You’re going to be good and sorry you grabbed Nurse Duckett by the bosom.’
‘I didn’t grab Nurse Duckett by the bosom,’ said Yossarian.
‘I grabbed her by the bosom,’ said Dunbar.
‘Are you both crazy?’ the doctor cried shrilly, backing away in paling confusion.
‘Yes, he really is crazy, Doc,’ Dunbar assured him. ‘Every night he dreams he’s holding a live fish in his hands.’ The doctor stopped in his tracks with a look of elegant amazement and distaste, and the ward grew still. ‘He does what?’ he demanded.
‘He dreams he’s holding a live fish in his hand.’
‘What kind of fish?’ the doctor inquired sternly of Yossarian.
‘I don’t know,’ Yossarian answered. ‘I can’t tell one kind of fish from another.’
‘In which hand do you hold them?’
‘It varies,’ answered Yossarian.
‘It varies with the fish,’ Dunbar added helpfully.
The colonel turned and stared down at Dunbar suspiciously with a narrow squint. ‘Yes? And how come you seem to know so much about it?’
‘I’m in the dream,’ Dunbar answered without cracking a smile.
The colonel’s face flushed with embarrassment. He glared at them both with cold, unforgiving resentment. ‘Get up off the floor and into your bed,’ he directed Dunbar through thin lips. ‘And I don’t want to hear another word about this dream from either one of you. I’ve got a man on my staff to listen to disgusting bilge like this.’
‘Just why do you think,’ carefully inquired Major Sanderson, the soft and thickset smiling staff psychiatrist to whom the colonel had ordered Yossarian sent, ‘that Colonel Ferredge finds your dream disgusting?’ Yossarian replied respectfully. ‘I suppose it’s either some quality in the dream or some quality in Colonel Ferredge.’
‘That’s very well put,’ applauded Major Sanderson, who wore squeaking GI shoes and had charcoal-black hair that stood up almost straight. ‘For some reason,’ he confided, ‘Colonel Ferredge has always reminded me of a sea gull. He doesn’t put much faith in psychiatry, you know.’
‘You don’t like sea gulls, do you?’ inquired Yossarian.
‘No, not very much,’ admitted Major Sanderson with a sharp, nervous laugh and pulled at his pendulous second chin lovingly as though it were a long goatee. ‘I think your dream is charming, and I hope it recurs frequently so that we can continue discussing it. Would you like a cigarette?’ He smiled when Yossarian declined. ‘Just why do you think,’ he asked knowingly, ‘that you have such a strong aversion to accepting a cigarette from me?’
‘I put one out a second ago. It’s still smoldering in your ash tray.’ Major Sanderson chuckled. ‘That’s a very ingenious explanation. But I suppose we’ll soon discover the true reason.’ He tied a sloppy double bow in his opened shoelace and then transferred a lined yellow pad from his desk to his lap. ‘This fish you dream about. Let’s talk about that. It’s always the same fish, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Yossarian replied. ‘I have trouble recognizing fish.’
‘What does the fish remind you of?’
‘Other fish.’
‘And what do other fish remind you of?’
‘Other fish.’ Major Sanderson sat back disappointedly. ‘Do you like fish?’
‘Not especially.’
‘Just why do you think you have such a morbid aversion to fish?’ asked Major Sanderson triumphantly.
‘They’re too bland,’ Yossarian answered. ‘And too bony.’ Major Sanderson nodded understandingly, with a smile that was agreeable and insincere. ‘That’s a very interesting explanation. But we’ll soon discover the true reason, I suppose. Do you like this particular fish? The one you’re holding in your hand?’
‘I have no feelings about it either way.’
‘Do you dislike the fish? Do you have any hostile or aggressive emotions toward it?’
‘No, not at all. In fact, I rather like the fish.’
‘Then you do like the fish.’
‘Oh, no. I have no feelings toward it either way.’
‘But you just