Catch 22 : The old Italian Man & The young American fighter Pilot

Excerpt from the novel Catch 22 by Jospeh Heller published in 1961

The old man sat in his musty blue armchair like some satanic and hedonistic diety on a throne, a stolen U.S. Army blanket wrapped around his spindly legs to ward off a chill. He watched everyone in the room with victorious merriment, his sunken shrewd eyes sparkling perceptively with cynical enjoyment.

Nately, sensitive young good looking boy with dark hair and trusting eyes, instinctively reacted to the old man’s piercing gaze with bristling enmity. The seedy old man with his crumpled shirt and unshaven bedraggled appearance reminded him of his father, because the two were nothing at all alike. Natley’s father was a courtly white haired gentleman who dressed impeccably; this old man was an uncouth bum. 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 – and everyone elses father he ever met – was dignified, wise and venerable; this old man was utterly repellent; yet there was some familiarity in his know-it-all gaze and vile made up logic and insinuations.

Nately’s father brimmed continually with sage and sophisticated councel. The very same had landed Nately enlisted in war as a fighter pilot. Nately’s father had it on excellent authority that Russia was going to collapse in a matter of weeks or months and that Hitler, Churchill, Roosevelt, Mussolini, Ghandi, Franco, Peron and the Emperor of Japan then would all sign a peace treaty and live happily ever after. It was Nately’s father idea for him to join the Air Corps, where he could train safely as a pilot for months while the Russians capitulated and the details of armistice were worked out, and where Nately would never have to do active duty and associate only with gentlemen.

Instead a year in, Russia had failed to act on Nately’s father’s counsel and collapse and Nately found himself in Italy on active duty flying dangerous combat missions and on his off duty day confronted by this diabolical old man in a whore house who reminded him of his father, even though they were not alike at all, who watched everyone with sly merriment and made disparaging jokes about America.

‘America will lose the war and Italy will win it,’ the old man said to no one and everyone in the room arranging the stolen US army blanket snuggly around his spindly legs.

‘America is the strongest and the most prosperous nation on earth,’ Nately felt compelled to inform him with lofty fervor and dignity. And the American fighting man is second to none.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed the old man pleasantly, with a hint of taunting enthusiasm. ‘Italy, on the other hand is one of the least prosperous nation on earth. And the Italian fighting man is probably second to all. And that’s exactly why my country is doing so well in this war while your country is doing so poorly.’

Nately guffawed with surprise, then blushed apologetically for his impoliteness because his parents raised him to be a polite and pleasant young man. ‘I’m sorry I laughed at you,’ he said sincerely, and he continued in a tone of respectful condesension. ‘But Italy was occupied by Germans and is now being occupied by us. You don’t call that doing very well, do you?’

‘But of course I do,’ exclaimed the old man cheerfully. ‘ The Germans are being driven out, and we are still here. In a few years you will be gone too, and we will be still here. You see, Italy is really very poor and a weak country, and that’s what makes us so strong. Italian soldiers are not dying anymore. But American and German soldiers are. I call that doing extremely well. Yes, I am quite certain that Italy will survive the war and still be in existence long after your own country has been destroyed.’

Nately could scarcely believe his ears. He had never heard such shocking blasphemies before, and he wondered with instinctive logic why G-men did not appear to lock the traitorous old man up.

‘America is not going to be destroyed,’ he shouted passionately.

‘Never?’ prodded the old man softly.

‘Well….’ Nately faltered.

The old man laughed indulgently, holding in check a deeper, more explosive delight. His goading remained gentle.

‘Rome was destroyed, Greece was destroyed, Persia was destroyed, Spain was destroyed. All great countries are destroyed. Why not yours? How much longer do you really think your own country will last? Forever? Keep in mind that the earth itself is destined to be destroyed by the sun in 25 million years or so.’

Nately squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Well, forever is a long time, I guess.’

‘A million years?’ persisted the jeering old man with keen sadistic zest. ‘A half million? The frog is almost five hundred million years old. Could you really say with much certainity about America, with all its strength and prosperity, with its fighting man that is second to none, and with the standard of living that is the highest in the world, will last as long as….the frog?’

Nately wanted to smash his leering face.

‘Well frankly, I don’t know long America is going to last’, he proceeded dauntlessly. ‘I suppose it can’t last forever if the world itself is going to be destroyed someday. But I do know we are going to survive and triumph for along, 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 much longer than, considering that you are so gullible and brave and that I am already such an old, old man.’

‘How old are you?’ Nately asked, growing intrigued and charmed by the old man inspite of himself.

‘A hundred and seven.’ The old man chuckled heartily at Nately’s look of chagrin. ‘I see you dont 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 on 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 have 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 illusions of grandeur that we helped start a 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 top again if we succeed in being defeated.’

Nately gaped at him in undisguised befuddlement. ‘Now I really dont understand what you are saying. You talk like a madman.’

‘But I live like a sane one. I was 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 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 ever more effervescently as Nately’s stuttering dismay increased – ‘that you and your country will have no more loyal partisan in Italy than me – but only as long as you remain in Italy.’

‘But,’ Nately cried out in disbelief, ‘you are a turncoat! A time -server! A shameful, unscrupulous opportunist!’

‘I am a hundred and seven years old,’ the old man reminded him sauvely.

‘Dont you have any principles?’

‘Of course not.’

‘No morality?

‘Oh I am a very moral man,’ the villainous old man assured him with sarcastic seriousness.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Nately remarked grudgingly. ‘I simply cannot believe it.’

‘But it’s perfectly true. When the Germans marched into the city, I danced in the streets like a youthful ballerina and shouted, “Hail Hitler!” until my lungs were hoarse. I even waved a small Nazi flag that I snatched away from a beautiful little girl while her mother was looking the other way. When the Germans left the city, I rushed out to welcome the Americans with a bottle of excellent brandy and a basket of flowers. The brandy was for me of course but the flowers were to sprinkle over our liberators.’ The old man paused for a moment and as a memory resurfaced , chuckled and continued. ‘There was this very stiff and stuffy major riding in the first car, and I hit him squarely in the eye with a red rose. A marvelous shot! You should have seen him wince.’

Nately gasped and was on his feet with amazement, the blood draining from his cheeks. ‘Major De Coverley? So you are the one who wounded Major De Coverley. He is our commanding officer. How could you do such a thing?’

‘So you know him?’ inquired the old man with delight. ‘What a charming coincidence! But you should have seen the arrogant old bore, sitting smug in that car like Almighty Himself, what a tempting target he made. How could I resist? I got him fairly and squarely in the eye with an American rose. I thought that was most appropriate, don’t you?’ the old man chuckled again.

‘That was a terrible thing to do! A vicious and criminal act. Instead of mocking and attacking those who are here to save you, why don’t you stand and fight for your own country instead.’ Nately fumed.

‘Imagine a man as old as me risking what little life I have left for something as absurd as a country,’ the old man mused sagely.

Nately was instantly up in arms again. ‘There is nothing so absurd about risking your life for your country,’ he declared.

‘Isn’t there?’ asked the old man. ‘What is a country? A country is a piece of land surrounded on all sides by boundaries, usually unnatural and man made. And boundaries of countries have been continually shifting over the decades, so who is to know where ones country starts and where is finishes today will be same tomorrow?’ The old man sighed and shook his head, ‘ Englishmen are dying for England, Germans are dying for Germany, Americans are dying for America, Russians are dying for Russia. There are fifty or sixty countries in this war. Surely so many countries can’t all be worth dying for?’

‘Anything worth living for,’ said Nately, ‘is worth dying for.’

‘And anything worth dying for,’ answered the sacriligeous old man, ‘is certainly worth living for. You know you are such a pure and naive young man that I almost feel sorry for you. How old are you? Twenty five? Twenty six?’

‘Nineteen,’ said Nately. ‘I will be twenty in January.’

‘If you live.’ The old man shook his head, wearing, for a moment the same touchy, meditating frown of a fretful and disapproving old woman. ‘They are going to kill you if you don’t watch out, and I can see now that you are not going to watch out. Why don’t you use some sense and try to be more like me? You might live to be a hundred and seven too.’

‘Because it’s better to die on ones feet than live on ones knees,’ Nately retorted with triumphant and lofty conviction. ‘I guess you have heard that saying before.’

‘Yes, I certainly have,’ mused the treacherous old man, smiling again. ‘But I am afraid you have it backward. It is better to live on ones feet than die on ones knees. That is the way the saying goes.’

‘Are you sure?’ Nately asked with sober confusion. ‘It seems to make more sense my way.’

‘No, it makes more sense my way. Ask anyone as old as me who have managed to save their lives thus long and live freely rather than being brainwashed by politicians and Generals to put their lives in direct line of enemy’s fire who, if history is a teacher, will be declared friends and allies by your country’s politicians and Generals in a few years,’ the tired old man said with creeping sadness in his voice. ‘Countries don’t need to be saved kiddo, save yourself, you owe it to yourself and your family.’