"I know him for a cantata, The Lamentations of Faust."
"I didn't think that one had ever been performed."
"Oh, yes. It has that very touching children's chorus, and that hellish section in glissandos of adult voices laughing ferociously. The laughter and sad chorus always remind me of photos of Nazi soldiers during the war, your war, herding to death those Jewish children in the ghettos."
"That's the Apocalypse, Jerry."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive."
"I'll have to check. And don't forget your shoe."
"What shoe?"
25 Washington
"A fucking shoe?" Wintergreen ridiculed Yossarian on the next leg of his Rhine Journey. "What's so great about a fucking shoe?"
"It's only a fucking thought," said Yossarian, in one of the hotel suites constituting the Washington offices of M amp; M E amp; A. For himself with Melissa he had favored a newer hotel of comparable prestige and livelier clientele that boasted, he recalled with a kind of blissful vanity as he lay in the hospital with his condition stable and the danger of brain damage and paralysis past, a more various choice of superior-grade XXX-rated films in all the languages of UN member nations. "You've been saying you wanted a consumer product."
"But a shoe? By now there must be fifty fucking shoe companies turning out shoes for fucking feet for fucks like us."
"But none with an exclusive franchise for an official U. S. Government shoe."
"Men's shoes or women's shoes?" pondered Milo.
"Both, now that women get killed in combat too." Yossarian was sorry he had started. "Forget it. There's much about business I don't understand. I still can't see how you guys bought eggs for seven cents apiece, sold them for five cents, and made a profit."
"We still do," bragged Wintergreen.
"Eggs spoil," Milo ruminated pitifully. "And break. I'd rather have a shoe. Eugene, look it up."
"I'd rather have the plane," Wintergreen grumbled.
"But after the plane? Suppose there's no more danger of war?"
"I'll look it up."
"I'm not happy with the plane," said Yossarian.
"Are you thinking of leaving us again?" Wintergreen jeered. "You've been objecting for years."
Yossarian was stung by the gibe but ignored it. "Your Shhhhh! could destroy the world, couldn't: it?"
"You've been peeking," answered Wintergreen.
"And it can't," said Milo, with heartache. "We conceded that much at the meeting."
"But maybe Strangelove's can?" Wintergreen needled.
"And that's why," said Milo, "we want the meeting with Noodles Cook."
Yossarian again was shaking his head. "And I'm not happy with the atom bomb. I don't like it anymore."
"Who would you like to see get the contract?" Wintergreen argued. "Fucking Strangelove?"
"And we don't have the bomb." conciliated Milo. "We only have plans for a plane that will deliver it."
"And our plane won't work."
"We'll guarantee that, Yossarian. Even in writing. Our planes won't fly, our missiles won't fire. If they take off, they'll crash; if they fire, they'll miss. We never fail. It's the company motto."
"You can find it on our fucking letterhead," Wintergreen added, and continued deliberately with a sneer. "But let me ask you this, Mr. Yo-Yo. What country would you rather see be strongest if not us? That's the fucking catch, isn't it?"
"That's the catch, all right," Yossarian had to agree.
"And if we don't sell our fucking war products to everyone who wants to buy, our friendly fucking allies and competitors will. There's nothing you can do about it. Time's run out for your fucking ideals. Tell me, if you're so smart, what the fuck would you do if you were running the country?"
"I wouldn't know what to do either," Yossarian admitted, and was enraged with himself for being bested in argument. It never used to happen that way. "But I know I'd want my conscience to be clear."
"Our conscience is clear," responded both.
"I don't want the guilt."
"That's horseshit, Yossarian."
"And I wouldn't: be responsible."
"And that's more horseshit," countered Wintergreen. "There's nothing you can do about it, and you will be responsible. If the world's going to blow up anyway, what the fuck difference does it make who does it?"
"At least my hands will be clean."
Wintergreen laughed coarsely. "They'll be blown off at the wrists, your fucking clean hands. No one will even know they're yours. You won't even be found."
"Go fuck yourself, Wintergreen!" Yossarian answered irately, with raised voice. "Go straight to hell, with your clear conscience!" He turned away, sulking. "I wish you were dead already, so I could finally in this lifetime get at least a little bit of pleasure out of you."
"Yossarian, Yossarian," chided Milo. "Be reasonable. One thing you do know about me-I never lie."
"Unless he has to," appended Wintergreen.
"I think he knows that, Eugene. I'm as moral as the next man. Right, Eugene?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Minderbinder."
" Milo, have you ever," asked Yossarian, "in your life done anything dishonest?"
"Oh, no," Milo responded like a shot. "That would be dishonest. And there's never been need to."
"And that's why," said Wintergreen, "we want this secret meeting with Noodles Cook, to get him to speak secretly to the President. We want everything out in the open."
"Yossarian," said Milo, "aren't you safer with us? Our planes can't work. We have the technology. Please call Noodles Cook."
"Set up the meeting and stop fucking around. And we want to be there."
"You don't trust me?"
"You say you don't fucking understand business."
"You say it puzzles you."
"Yes, and what does fucking puzzle me," said Yossarian, giving in, "is how guys like you do understand it."
Noodles Cook grasped quickly what was wanted of him.
"I know, I know," he began, after the introductions had been effected, speaking directly to Yossarian. "You think I'm a shit, don't you?"
"Hardly ever," answered Yossarian, without surprise, while the other two watched. "Noodles, when people think of the dauphin, they don't always think of you."
"Touche," laughed Noodles. "But I do enjoy being here. Please don't ask me why." What they wanted, he went on, was clearly improper, unsuitable, indefensible, and perhaps illegal. "Normally, gentlemen, I could lobby with the best of them. But we have ethics in government now."
"Who's in charge of our Department of Ethics?"
"They're holding it open until Porter Lovejoy gets out of jail."
"I have a thought," said Yossarian, feeling it was a good one. "You're permitted to give speeches, aren't you?"
"I give them regularly."
"And to receive an honorarium for them?"
"I would not do it without one."
"Noodles," said Yossarian, "I believe these gentlemen want you to make a speech. To an audience of one. To the President alone, recommending that the government buy their plane. Could you deliver a successful speech like that one?"
"I could give a very successful speech like that one."
"And in return, they would give you an honorarium."
"Yes," said Milo. "We would give you an honorarium."
"And how much would that honorarium be?" inquired Noodles.
" Milo?" Yossarian stepped back, for there was much about business he still did not understand.