That was the mission on which Yossarian lost his nerve. Yossarian lost his nerve on the mission to Avignonbecause Snowden lost his guts¹, and Snowden lost his guts because their pilot that day was Huple, who was onlyfifteen years old, and their co-pilot was Dobbs, who was even worse and who wanted Yossarian to join with himin a plot to murder Colonel Cathcart. Huple was a good pilot, Yossarian knew, but he was only a kid, and Dobbshad no confidence in him, either, and wrested² the controls away without warning after they had dropped theirbombs, going berserk in mid-air and tipping the plane over into that heart-stopping, ear-splitting, indescribablypetrifying fatal dive that tore Yossarian’s earphones free from their connection and hung him helplessly to theroof of the nose by the top of his head.

　　Oh, God! Yossarian had shrieked³ soundlessly as he felt them all falling. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

　　he had shrieked beseechingly⁴ through lips that could not open as the plane fell and he dangled⁵ without weight bythe top of his head until Huple managed to seize the controls back and leveled the plane out down inside thecrazy, craggy, patchwork⁶ canyon⁷ of crashing antiaircraft fire from which they had climbed away and from whichthey would now have to escape again. Almost at once there was a thud and a hole the size of a big fist in theplexiglass. Yossarian’s cheeks were stinging with shimmering⁸ splinters. There was no blood.

　　“What happened? What happened?” he cried, and trembled violently when he could not hear his own voice in hisears. He was cowed by the empty silence on the intercom and almost too horrified⁹ to move as he crouched¹⁰ like atrapped mouse on his hands and knees and waited without daring to breathe until he finally spied the gleamingcylindrical jack¹¹ plug of his headset swinging back and forth¹² in front of his eyes and jammed it back into itsreceptacle with fingers that rattled¹³. Oh, God! he kept shrieking¹⁴ with no abatement¹⁵ of terror as the flak thumpedand mushroomed all about him. Oh, God!

　　Dobbs was weeping when Yossarian jammed his jack plug back into the intercom system and was able to hearagain.

　　“Help him, help him,” Dobbs was sobbing¹⁷. “Help him, help him.”

　　“Help who? Help who?” Yossarian called back. “Help who?”

　　“The bombardier, the bombardier,” Dobbs cried. “He doesn’t answer. Help the bombardier, help thebombardier.”

　　“I’m the bombardier,” Yossarian cried back at him. “I’m the bombardier. I’m all right. I’m all right.”

　　“Then help him, help him,” Dobbs wept. “Help him, help him.”

　　“Help who? Help who?”

　　“The radio-gunner,” Dobbs begged. “Help the radio-gunner.”

　　“I’m cold,” Snowden whimpered feebly over the intercom system then in a bleat¹⁸ of plaintive¹⁹ agony. “Please helpme. I’m cold.”

　　And Yossarian crept out through the crawlway and climbed up over the bomb bay and down into the rear pof the plane where Snowden lay on the floor wounded and freezing to death in a yellow splash of sunlight nearthe new tail-gunner lying stretched out on the floor beside him in a dead faint.

　　Dobbs was the worst pilot in the world and knew it, a shattered wreck²⁰ of a virile²¹ young man who was continuallystriving to convince his superiors that he was no longer fit to pilot a plane. None of his superiors would listen,and it was the day the number of missions was raised to sixty that Dobbs stole into Yossarian’s tent while Orrwas out looking for gaskets and disclosed the plot he had formulated²² to murder Colonel Cathcart. He neededYossarian’s assistance.

　　“You want us to kill him in cold blood?” Yossarian objected.

　　“That’s right,” Dobbs agreed with an optimistic smile, encouraged by Yossarian’s ready grasp of the situation.

　　“We’ll shoot him to death with the Luger I brought back from Sicily that nobody knows I’ve got.”

　　“I don’t think I could do it,” Yossarian concluded, after weighing the idea in silence awhile.

　　Dobbs was astonished. “Why not?”

　　“Look. Nothing would please me more than to have the son of a bitch break his neck or get killed in a crash or tofind out that someone else had shot him to death. But I don’t think I could kill him.”

　　“He’d do it to you,” Dobbs argued. “In fact, you’re the one who told me he is doing it to us by keeping us incombat so long.”

　　“But I don’t think I could do it to him. He’s got a right to live, too, I guess.”

　　“Not as long as he’s trying to rob you and me of our right to live. What’s the matter with you?” Dobbs wasflabbergasted. “I used to listen to you arguing that same thing with Clevinger. And look what happened to him.

　　Right inside that cloud.”

　　“Stop shouting, will you?” Yossarian shushed him.

　　“I’m not shouting!” Dobbs shouted louder, his face red with revolutionary fervor²³. His eyes and nostrils²⁴ wererunning, and his palpitating crimson²⁵ lower lip was splattered with a foamy²⁶ dew. “There must have been close toa hundred men in the group who had finished their fifty-five missions when he raised the number to sixty. Theremust have been at least another hundred like you with just a couple more to fly. He’s going to kill us all if we lethim go on forever. We’ve got to kill him first.”

　　Yossarian nodded expressionlessly, without committing himself. “Do you think we could get away with it?”

　　“I’ve got it all worked out. I—““Stop shouting, for Christ’s sake!”

　　“I’m not shouting. I’ve got it—““Will you stop shouting!”

　　“I’ve got it all worked out,” Dobbs whispered, gripping the side of Orr’s cot with white-knuckled hands toconstrain them from waving. “Thursday morning when he’s due back from that goddam farmhouse²⁷ of his in thehills, I’ll sneak²⁸ up through the woods to that hairpin²⁹ turn in the road and hide in the bushes. He has to slow downthere, and I can watch the road in both directions to make sure there’s no one else around. When I see himcoming, I’ll shove a big log out into the road to make him stop his jeep. Then I’ll step out of the bushes with myLuger and shoot him in the head until he’s dead. I’ll bury the gun, come back down through the woods to thesquadron and go about my business just like everybody else. What could possibly go wrong?”

　　Yossarian had followed each step attentively³⁰. “Where do I come in?” he asked in puzzlement.

　　“I couldn’t do it without you,” Dobbs explained. “I need you to tell me to go ahead.”

　　Yossarian found it hard to believe him. “Is that all you want me to do? Just tell you to go ahead?”

　　“That’s all I need from you,” Dobbs answered. “Just tell me to go ahead and I’ll blow his brains out all by myselfthe day after tomorrow.” His voice was accelerating with emotion and rising again. “I’d like to shoot ColonelKorn in the head, too, while we’re at it, although I’d like to spare Major Danby, if that’s all right with you. ThenI’d murder Appleby and Havermeyer also, and after we finish murdering Appleby and Havermeyer I’d like tomurder McWatt.”

　　“McWatt?” cried Yossarian, almost jumping up in horror. “McWatt’s a friend of mine. What do you want fromMcWatt?”

　　“I don’t know,” Dobbs confessed with an air of floundering embarrassment³¹. “I just thought that as long as wewere murdering Appleby and Havermeyer we might as well murder McWatt too. Don’t you want to murderMcWatt?”

　　Yossarian took a firm stand. “Look, I might keep interested in this if you stop shouting it all over the island andif you stick to killing³² Colonel Cathcart. But if you’re going to turn this into a blood bath, you can forget aboutme.”

　　“All right, all right,” Dobbs sought to placate³³ him. “Just Colonel Cathcart. Should I do it? Tell me to go ahead.”

　　Yossarian shook his head. “I don’t think I could tell you to go ahead.”

　　Dobbs was frantic³⁴. “I’m willing to compromise,” he pleaded vehemently³⁵. “You don’t have to tell me to goahead. Just tell me it’s a good idea. Okay? Is it a good idea?”

　　Yossarian still shook his head. “It would have been a great idea if you had gone ahead and done it without evenspeaking to me. Now it’s too late. I don’t think I can tell you anything. Give me some more time. I might changemy mind.”

　　“Then it will be too late.”

　　Yossarian kept shaking his head. Dobbs was disappointed. He sat for a moment with a hangdog look, thenspurted to his feet suddenly and stamped away to have another impetuous crack at persuading Doc Daneeka toground him, knocking over Yossarian’s washstand with his hip³⁶ when he lurched around and tripping over thefuel line of the stove Orr was still constructing. Doc Daneeka withstood Dobbs’s blustering³⁷ and gesticulatingattack with a series of impatient nods and sent him to the medical tent to describe his symptoms to Gus and Wes,who painted his gums purple with gentian-violet solution the moment he started to talk. They painted his toespurple, too, and forced a laxative down his throat when he opened his mouth again to complain, and then theysent him away.

　　Dobbs was in even worse shape than Hungry Joe, who could at least fly missions when he was not havingnightmares. Dobbs was almost as bad as Orr, who seemed happy as an undersized, grinning lark³⁸ with hisderanged and galvanic giggle³⁹ and shivering warped⁴⁰ buck⁴¹ teeth and who was sent along for a rest leave with Miloand Yossarian on the trip to Cairo for eggs when Milo bought cotton instead and took off at dawn for Istanbulwith his plane packed to the gun turrets⁴³ with exotic spiders and unripened red bananas. Orr was one of thehomeliest freaks Yossarian had ever encountered, and one of the most attractive. He had a raw bulgy⁴⁴ face, withhazel eyes squeezing from their sockets⁴⁵ like matching brown halves of marbles and thick, wavy⁴⁶ particolored hairsloping up to a peak on the top of his head like a pomaded pup tent. Orr was knocked down into the water or hadan engine shot out almost every time he went up, and he began jerking on Yossarian’s arm like a wild man after they had taken off for Naples and come down in Sicily to find the scheming, cigar-smoking, ten-year-old pimpwith the two twelve-year-old virgin⁴⁷ sisters waiting for them in town in front of the hotel in which there was roomfor only Milo. Yossarian pulled back from Orr adamantly⁴⁸, gazing with some concern and bewilderment at Mt.

　　Etna instead of Mt. Vesuvius and wondering what they were doing in Sicily instead of Naples as Orr keptentreating him in a tittering, stuttering, concupiscent turmoil⁴⁹ to go along with him behind the scheming ten-yearoldpimp to his two twelve-year-old virgin sisters who were not really virgins⁵⁰ and not really sisters and who werereally only twenty-eight.

　　“Go with him,” Milo instructed Yossarian laconically⁵¹. “Remember your mission.”

　　“All right,” Yossarian yielded with a sigh, remembering his mission. “But at least let me try to find a hotel roomfirst so I can get a good night’s sleep afterward⁵².”

　　“You’ll get a good night’s sleep with the girls,” Milo replied with the same air of intrigue⁵³. Remember yourmission.”

　　But they got no sleep at all, for Yossarian and Orr found themselves jammed into the same double bed with thetwo twelve-year-old twenty-eight-year-old prostitutes, who turned out to be oily and obese⁵⁴ and who kept wakingthem up all night long to ask them to switch partners. Yossarian’s perceptions were soon so fuzzy that he paid nonotice to the beige turban the fat one crowding into him kept wearing until late the next morning when thescheming ten-year-old pimp with the Cuban panatella snatched it off in public in a bestial⁵⁵ caprice that exposed inthe brilliant Sicilian daylight her shocking, misshapen and denudate skull⁵⁶. Vengeful neighbors had shaved herhair to the gleaming bone because she had slept with Germans. The girl screeched⁵⁷ in feminine outrage⁵⁸ andwaddled comically after the scheming ten-year-old pimp, her grisly, bleak⁵⁹, violated scalp slithering up and downludicrously around the queer darkened wart⁶⁰ of her face like something bleached⁶¹ and obscene. Yossarian hadnever laid eyes on anything so bare before. The pimp spun⁶² the turban high on his finger like a trophy⁶³ and kepthimself skipping inches ahead of her finger tips as he led her in a tantalizing⁶⁴ circle around the square congestedwith people who were howling with laughter and pointing to Yossarian with derision when Milo strode up with agrim look of haste and puckered⁶⁵ his lips reprovingly at the unseemly spectacle of so much vice⁶⁶ and frivolity⁶⁷.

　　Milo insisted on leaving at once for Malta.

　　“We’re sleepy,” Orr whined⁶⁸.

　　“That’s your own fault,” Milo censured⁶⁹ them both selfrighteously. “If you had spent the night in your hotel roominstead of with these immoral⁷⁰ girls, you’d both feel as good as I do today.”

　　“You told us to go with them,” Yossarian retorted accusingly. “And we didn’t have a hotel room. You were theonly one who could get a hotel room.”

　　“That wasn’t my fault, either,” Milo explained haughtily⁷¹. “How was I supposed to know all the buyers would bein town for the chick-pea harvest?”

　　“You knew it,” Yossarian charged. “That explains why we’re here in Sicily instead of Naples. You’ve probably got the whole damned plane filled with chick-peas already.”

　　“Shhhhhh!” Milo cautioned sternly, with a meaningful glance toward Orr. “Remember your mission.”

　　The bomb bay, the rear and tail ps of the plane and most of the top turret⁴² gunner’s p were all filledwith bushels of chick-peas when they arrived at the airfield⁷² to take off for Malta.

　　Yossarian’s mission on the trip was to distract Orr from observing where Milo bought his eggs, even though Orrwas a member of Milo’s syndicate and, like every other member of Milo’s syndicate, owned a share. His missionwas silly, Yossarian felt, since it was common knowledge that Milo bought his eggs in Malta for seven centsapiece and sold them to the mess halls in his syndicate for five cents apiece.

　　“I just don’t trust him,” Milo brooded in the plane, with a backward nod toward Orr, who was curled up like atangled rope on the low bushels of chick-peas, trying torturedly to sleep. “And I’d just as soon buy my eggswhen he’s not around to learn my business secrets. What else don’t you understand?”

　　Yossarian was riding beside him in the co-pilot’s seat. “I don’t understand why you buy eggs for seven centsapiece in Malta and sell them for five cents.”

　　“I do it to make a profit.”

　　“But how can you make a profit? You lose two cents an egg.”

　　“But I make a profit of three and a quarter cents an egg by selling them for four and a quarter cents an egg to thepeople in Malta I buy them from for seven cents an egg. Of course, I don’t make the profit. The syndicate makesthe profit. And everybody has a share.”

　　Yossarian felt he was beginning to understand. “And the people you sell the eggs to at four and a quarter centsapiece make a profit of two and three quarter cents apiece when they sell them back to you at seven cents apiece.

　　Is that right? Why don’t you sell the eggs directly to you and eliminate the people you buy them from?”

　　“Because I’m the people I buy them from,” Milo explained. “I make a profit of three and a quarter cents apiecewhen I sell them to me and a profit of two and three quarter cents apiece when I buy them back from me. That’sa total profit of six cents an egg. I lose only two cents an egg when I sell them to the mess halls at five centsapiece, and that’s how I can make a profit buying eggs for seven cents apiece and selling them for five centsapiece. I pay only one cent apiece at the hen when I buy them in Sicily.”

　　“In Malta,” Yossarian corrected. “You buy your eggs in Malta, not Sicily.”

　　Milo chortled proudly. “I don’t buy eggs in Malta,” he confessed, with an air of slight and clandestineamusement that was the only departure from industrious⁷³ sobriety Yossarian had ever seen him make. “I buythem in Sicily for one cent apiece and transfer them to Malta secretly at four and a half cents apiece in order toget the price of eggs up to seven cents apiece when people come to Malta looking for them.”

　　“Why do people come to Malta for eggs when they’re so expensive there?”

　　“Because they’ve always done it that way.”

　　“Why don’t they look for eggs in Sicily?”

　　“Because they’ve never done it that way.”

　　“Now I really don’t understand. Why don’t you sell your mess halls the eggs for seven cents apiece instead offerfive cents apiece?”

　　“Because my mess halls would have no need for me then. Anyone can buy seven-cents-apiece eggs for sevencents apiece.”

　　“Why don’t they bypass you and buy the eggs directly from you in Malta at four and a quarter cents apiece?”

　　“Because I wouldn’t sell it to them.”

　　“Why wouldn’t you sell it to them?”

　　“Because then there wouldn’t be as much room for profit. At least this way I can make a bit for myself as amiddleman.”

　　“Then you do make a profit for yourself,” Yossarian declared.

　　“Of course I do. But it all goes to the syndicate. And everybody has a share. Don’t you understand? It’s exactlywhat happens with those plum tomatoes I sell to Colonel Cathcart.”

　　“Buy,” Yossarian corrected him. “You don’t sell plum tomatoes to Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn. You buyplum tomatoes from them.”

　　“No, sell,” Milo corrected Yossarian. “I distribute my plum tomatoes in markets all over Pianosa under anassumed name so that Colonel Cathcart and Colonel Korn can buy them up from me under their assumed namesat four cents apiece and sell them back to me the next day for the syndicate at five cents apiece. They make aprofit of one cent apiece. I make a profit of three and a half cents apiece, and everybody comes out ahead.”

　　“Everybody but the syndicate,” said Yossarian with a snort. “The syndicate is paying five cents apiece for plumtomatoes that cost you only half a cent apiece. How does the syndicate benefit?”

　　“The syndicate benefits when I benefit,” Milo explained, “because everybody has a share. And the syndicate getsColonel Cathcart’s and Colonel Korn’s support so that they’ll let me go out on trips like this one. You’ll see howmuch profit that can mean in about fifteen minutes when we land in Palermo.”

　　“Malta,” Yossarian corrected him. “We’re flying to Malta now, not Palermo.”

　　“No, we’re flying to Palermo,” Milo answered. “There’s an endive exporter in Palermo I have to see for a minuteabout a shipment of mushrooms to Bern that were damaged by mold.”

　　“Milo, how do you do it?” Yossarian inquired with laughing amazement⁷⁴ and admiration⁷⁵. “You fill out a flightplan for one place and then you go to another. Don’t the people in the control towers ever raise hell?”

　　“They all belong to the syndicate,” Milo said. “And they know that what’s good for the syndicate is good for thecountry, because that’s what makes Sammy run. The men in the control towers have a share, too, and that’s whythey always have to do whatever they can to help the syndicate.”

　　“Do I have a share?”

　　“Everybody has a share.”

　　“Does Orr have a share?”

　　“Everybody has a share.”

　　“And Hungry Joe? He has a share, too?”

　　“Everybody has a share.”

　　“Well, I’ll be damned,” mused⁷⁶ Yossarian, deeply impressed with the idea of a share for the very first time.

　　Milo turned toward him with a faint glimmer⁷⁷ of mischief⁷⁸. “I have a sure-fire plan for cheating the federalgovernment out of six thousand dollars. We can make three thousand dollars apiece without any risk to either ofus. Are you interested?”

　　“No.”

　　Milo looked at Yossarian with profound emotion. “That’s what I like about you,” he exclaimed. “You’re honest!

　　You’re the only one I know that I can really trust. That’s why I wish you’d try to be of more help to me. I reallywas disappointed when you ran off with those two tramps in Catania yesterday.”

　　Yossarian stared at Milo in quizzical disbelief. “Milo, you told me to go with them. Don’t you remember?”

　　“That wasn’t my fault,” Milo answered with dignity. “I had to get rid of Orr some way once we reached town. Itwill be a lot different in Palermo. When we land in Palermo, I want you and Orr to leave with the girls right fromthe airport.”

　　“With what girls?”

　　“I radioed ahead and made arrangements with a four-year-old pimp to supply you and Orr with two eight-yearoldvirgins who are half Spanish. He’ll be waiting at the airport in a limousine⁷⁹. Go right in as soon as you stepout of the plane.”

　　“Nothing doing,” said Yossarian, shaking his head. “The only place I’m going is to sleep.”

　　Milo turned livid with indignation, his slim long nose flickering⁸⁰ spasmodically between his black eyebrows⁸¹ andhis unbalanced orange-brown mustache like the pale, thin flame of a single candle. “Yossarian, remember yourmission,” he reminded reverently⁸².

　　“To hell with my mission,” Yossarian responded indifferently. “And to hell with the syndicate too, even though Ido have a share. I don’t want any eight-year-old virgins, even if they are half Spanish.”

　　“I don’t blame you. But these eight-year-old virgins are really only thirty-two. And they’re not really halfSpanish but only one-third Estonian.”

　　“I don’t care for any virgins.”

　　“And they’re not even virgins,” Milo continued persuasively⁸³. “The one I picked out for you was married for ashort time to an elderly schoolteacher who slept with her only on Sundays, so she’s really almost as good asnew.”

　　But Orr was sleepy, too, and Yossarian and Orr were both at Milo’s side when they rode into the city of Palermofrom the airport and discovered that there was no room for the two of them at the hotel there either, and, moreimportant, that Milo was mayor.

　　The weird⁸⁴, implausible reception for Milo began at the airfield, where civilian⁸⁵ laborers⁸⁶ who recognized himhalted in their duties respectfully to gaze at him with full expressions of controlled exuberance⁸⁷ and adulation.

　　News of his arrival preceded him into the city, and the outskirts⁸⁸ were already crowded with cheering citizens asthey sped by in their small uncovered truck. Yossarian and Orr were mystified and mute and pressed closeagainst Milo for security.

　　Inside the city, the welcome for Milo grew louder as the truck slowed and eased deeper toward the middle oftown. Small boys and girls had been released from school and were lining⁸⁹ the sidewalks in new clothes, wavingtiny flags. Yossarian and Orr were absolutely speechless now. The streets were jammed with joyous⁹⁰ throngs⁹¹, andstrung overhead were huge banners bearing Milo’s picture. Milo had posed for these pictures in a drab peasant’sblouse with a high collar, and his scrupulous⁹², paternal⁹³ countenance⁹⁴ was tolerant, wise, critical and strong as hestared out at the populace omnisciently⁹⁵ with his undisciplined mustache and disunited eyes. Sinking invalidsblew kisses to him from windows. Aproned shopkeepers cheered ecstatically from the narrow doorways⁹⁷ of theirshops. Tubas crumped. Here and there a person fell and was trampled⁹⁸ to death. Sobbing old women swarmed⁹⁹ through each other frantically¹⁰⁰ around the slow-moving truck to touch Milo’s shoulder or press his hand. Milobore the tumultuous celebrations with benevolent¹⁰¹ grace. He waved back to everyone in elegant reciprocation¹⁰² andshowered generous handfuls of foilcovered Hershey kisses to the rejoicing multitudes. Lines of lusty young boysand girls skipped along behind him with their arms linked, chanting in hoarse¹⁰³ and glassy-eyed adoration¹⁰⁴, “Milo!

　　Mi-lo! Mi-lo!”

　　Now that his secret was out, Milo relaxed with Yossarian and Orr and inflated¹⁰⁵ opulently with a vast, shy pride.

　　His cheeks turned flesh-colored. Milo had been elected mayor of Palermo—and of nearby Carini, Monreale,Bagheria, Termini Imerese, Cefalu, Mistretta and Nicosia as well—because he had brought Scotch¹⁰⁶ to Sicily.

　　Yossarian was amazed. “The people here like to drink Scotch that much?”

　　“They don’t drink any of the Scotch,” Milo explained. “Scotch is very expensive, and these people here are verypoor.”

　　“Then why do you import it to Sicily if nobody drinks any?”

　　“To build up a price. I move the Scotch here from Malta to make more room for profit when I sell it back to mefor somebody else. I created a whole new industry here. Today Sicily is the third largest exporter of Scotch in theworld, and that’s why they elected me mayor.”

　　“How about getting us a hotel room if you’re such a hotshot?” Orr grumbled¹⁰⁷ impertinently in a voice slurredwith fatigue¹⁰⁸.

　　Milo responded contritely¹⁰⁹. “That’s just what I’m going to do,” he promised. “I’m really sorry about forgetting toradio ahead for hotel rooms for you two. Come along to my office and I’ll speak to my deputy mayor about itright now.”

　　Milo’s office was a barbershop, and his deputy mayor was a pudgy barber from whose obsequious¹¹⁰ lips cordialgreetings foamed¹¹¹ as effusively¹¹² as the lather¹¹³ he began whipping up in Milo’s shaving cup.

　　“Well, Vittorio,” said Milo, settling back lazily in one of Vittorio’s barber chairs, “how were things in myabsence this time?”

　　“Very sad, Signor Milo, very sad. But now that you are back, the people are all happy again.”

　　“I was wondering about the size of the crowds. How come all the hotels are full?”

　　“Because so many people from other cities are here to see you, Signor Milo. And because we have all the buyerswho have come into town for the artichoke auction¹¹⁴.”

　　Milo’s hand soared up perpendicularly¹¹⁵ like an eagle and arrested Vittorio’s shaving brush. “What’s artichoke?”

　　he inquired.

　　“Artichoke, Signor Milo? An artichoke is a very tasty vegetable that is popular everywhere. You must try someartichokes while you are here, Signor Milo. We grow the best in the world.”

　　“Really?” said Milo. “How much are artichokes selling for this year?”

　　“It looks like a very good year for artichokes. The crops were very bad.”

　　“Is that a fact?” mused Milo, and was gone, sliding from his chair so swiftly that his striped barber’s apronretained his shape for a second or two after he had gone before it collapsed¹¹⁶. Milo had vanished from sight by thetime Yossarian and Orr rushed after him to the doorway⁹⁶.

　　“Next?” barked Milo’s deputy mayor officiously. “Who’s next?”

　　Yossarian and Orr walked from the barbershop in dejection. Deserted¹¹⁷ by Milo, they trudged¹¹⁸ homelessly throughthe reveling masses in futile¹¹⁹ search of a place to sleep. Yossarian was exhausted¹²⁰. His head throbbed¹²¹ with a dull,debilitating pain, and he was irritable¹²² with Orr, who had found two crab¹²³ apples somewhere and walked withthem in his cheeks until Yossarian spied them there and made him take them out. Then Orr found two horsechestnuts somewhere and slipped those in until Yossarian detected them and snapped at him again to take thecrab apples out of his mouth. Orr grinned and replied that they were not crab apples but horse chestnuts¹²⁴ and thatthey were not in his mouth but in his hands, but Yossarian was not able to understand a single word he saidbecause of the horse chestnuts in his mouth and made him take them out anyway. A sly light twinkled in Orr’seyes. He rubbed his forehead harshly with his knuckles¹²⁵, like a man in an alcoholic¹²⁶ stupor¹²⁷, and snickered lewdly¹²⁸.

　　“Do you remember that girl—“ He broke off to snicker lewdly again. “Do you remember that girl who washitting me over the head with that shoe in that apartment in Rome, when we were both naked?” he asked with alook of cunning expectation. He waited until Yossarian nodded cautiously. “If you let me put the chestnuts backin my mouth I’ll tell you why she was hitting me. Is that a deal?”

　　Yossarian nodded, and Orr told him the whole fantastic story of why the naked girl in Nately’s whore’sapartment was hitting him over the head with her shoe, but Yossarian was not able to understand a single wordbecause the horse chestnuts were back in his mouth. Yossarian roared with exasperated¹²⁹ laughter at the trick, butin the end there was nothing for them to do when night fell but eat a damp dinner in a dirty restaurant and hitch¹³⁰ aride back to the airfield, where they slept on the chill metal floor of the plane and turned and tossed in groaningtorment until the truck drivers blasted up less than two hours later with their crates¹³¹ of artichokes and chased themout onto the ground while they filled up the plane. A heavy rain began falling. Yossarian and Orr were drippingwet by the time the trucks drove away and had no choice but to squeeze themselves back into the plane and rollthemselves up like shivering anchovies¹³² between the jolting¹³³ corners of the crates of artichokes that Milo flew upto Naples at dawn and exchanged for the cinnamon sticks, cloves¹³⁴, vanilla¹³⁵ beans and pepper pods that he rushedright back down south with that same day to Malta, where, it turned out, he was Assistant Governor-General.

　　There was no room for Yossarian and Orr in Malta either. Milo was Major Sir Milo Minderbinder in Malta andhad a gigantic office in the governor-general’s building. His mahogany desk was immense. In a panel of the oakwall, between crossed British flags, hung a dramatic arresting photograph of Major Sir Milo Minderbinder in the dress uniform of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. His mustache in the photograph was clipped and narrow, his chinwas chiseled¹³⁶, and his eyes were sharp as thorns. Milo had been knighted, commissioned a major in the RoyalWelsh Fusiliers and named Assistant Governor-General of Malta because he had brought the egg trade there. Hegave Yossarian and Orr generous permission to spend the night on the thick carpet in his office, but shortly afterhe left a sentry¹³⁷ in battle dress appeared and drove them from the building at the tip of his bayonet, and they rodeout exhaustedly¹³⁸ to the airport with a surly cab driver, who overcharged them, and went to sleep inside the planeagain, which was filled now with leaking gunny sacks of cocoa and freshly ground coffee and reeking¹³⁹ with anodor so rich that they were both outside retching violently against the landing gear when Milo was chauffeuredup the first thing the next morning, looking fit as a fiddle¹⁴⁰, and took right off for Oran, where there was again noroom at the hotel for Yossarian and Orr, and where Milo was Vice-Shah. Milo had at his disposal sumptuousquarters inside a salmon-pink palace, but Yossarian and Orr were not allowed to accompany him inside becausethey were Christian¹⁴¹ infidels. They were stopped at the gates by gargantuan¹⁴² Berber guards with scimitars andchased away. Orr was snuffling and sneezing with a crippling head cold. Yossarian’s broad back was bent¹⁴³ andaching. He was ready to break Milo’s neck, but Milo was Vice-Shah of Oran and his person was sacred. Milowas not only the Vice-Shah of Oran, as it turned out, but also the Caliph of Baghdad, the Imam of Damascus,and the Sheik of Araby. Milo was the corn god, the rain god and the rice god in backward regions where suchcrude gods were still worshiped by ignorant and superstitious¹⁴⁴ people, and deep inside the jungles of Africa, heintimated with becoming modesty¹⁴⁵, large graven images of his mustached face could be found overlookingprimitive stone altars red with human blood. Everywhere they touched he was acclaimed¹⁴⁶ with honor, and it wasone triumphal ovation¹⁴⁷ after another for him in city after city until they finally doubled back through the MiddleEast and reached Cairo, where Milo cornered the market on cotton that no one else in the world wanted andbrought himself promptly¹⁴⁸ to the brink¹⁴⁹ of ruin. In Cairo there was at last room at the hotel for Yossarian and Orr.

　　There were soft beds for them with fat fluffed-up pillows and clean, crisp sheets. There were closets withhangers for their clothes. There was water to wash with. Yossarian and Orr soaked their rancid, unfriendly bodiespink in a steaming-hot tub and then went from the hotel with Milo to eat shrimp¹⁵⁰ cocktails¹⁵¹ and filet¹⁵² mignon in avery fine restaurant with a stock ticker in the lobby that happened to be clicking out the latest quotation¹⁵³ forEgyptian cotton when Milo inquired of the captain of waiters what kind of machine it was. Milo had neverimagined a machine so beautiful as a stock ticker before.

　　“Really?” he exclaimed when the captain of waiters had finished his explanation. “And how much is Egyptiancotton selling for?” The captain of waiters told him, and Milo bought the whole crop.

　　But Yossarian was not nearly so frightened by the Egyptian cotton Milo bought as he was by the bunches ofgreen red bananas Milo had spotted¹⁵⁴ in the native market place as they drove into the city, and his fears provedjustified, for Milo shook him awake out of a deep sleep just after twelve and shoved a partly peeled bananatoward him. Yossarian choked back a sob¹⁶.

　　“Taste it,” Milo urged, following Yossarian’s writhing¹⁵⁵ face around with the banana insistently¹⁵⁶.

　　“Milo, you bastard,” moaned Yossarian, “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

　　“Eat it and tell me if it’s good,” Milo persevered¹⁵⁷. “Don’t tell Orr I gave it to you. I charged him two piasters forhis.”

　　Yossarian ate the banana submissively and closed his eyes after telling Milo it was good, but Milo shook himawake again and instructed him to get dressed as quickly as he could, because they were leaving at once forPianosa.

　　“You and Orr have to load the bananas into the plane right away,” he explained. “The man said to watch out forspiders while you’re handling the bunches.”

　　“Milo, can’t we wait until morning?” Yossarian pleaded. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

　　“They’re ripening¹⁵⁸ very quickly,” answered Milo, “and we don’t have a minute to lose. Just think how happy themen back at the squadron will be when they get these bananas.”

　　But the men back at the squadron never even saw any of the bananas, for it was a seller’s market for bananas inIstanbul and a buyer’s market in Beirut for the caraway seeds Milo rushed with to Bengasi after selling thebananas, and when they raced back into Pianosa breathlessly six days later at the conclusion of Orr’s rest leave, itwas with a load of best white eggs from Sicily that Milo said were from Egypt and sold to his mess halls for onlyfour cents apiece so that all the commanding officers in his syndicate would implore¹⁵⁹ him to speed right back toCairo for more bunches of green red bananas to sell in Turkey for the caraway seeds in demand in Bengasi. Andeverybody had a share.

 22、米洛市长
　　就是在执行那次飞行任务时，约塞连被吓得惊慌失措。约塞连之所以会在执行轰炸阿维尼翁的任务时吓得惊慌失措，是因为斯诺登被吓破了胆，而斯诺登之所以吓破了胆，是因为那天他们的驾驶员是赫普尔，而赫普尔的年纪只有十五岁。他们的副驾驶是多布斯，而多布斯这人则更糟糕，他竟要约塞连同他一起去谋杀卡思卡特上校。约塞连知道赫普尔是个优秀的驾驶员，但他还只是个孩子，并且多布斯对他也毫无信心。于是，当他们扔完炸弹之后，多布斯一声不吭地一把夺过了操纵杆。他就这么着在半空中突然发起疯来，使飞机向下栽去，那震耳欲聋的声音和快得难以描绘的速度令人心惊肉跳，丧魂落魄。这不要命的俯冲把约塞连的耳机连接线扯断了，使他的头抵在了机头的舱顶，无能为力地悬挂着那儿。
　　哦，上帝！当约塞连感到他们都在向下坠落时，他尖叫起来，可却发不出声音。哦，上帝！哦，上帝！哦，上帝！哦，上帝！他尖声哀求着，可因飞机急速下坠，他连嘴都张不开。他头抵着舱顶，身体处于失重状态，晃来晃去。后来，赫普尔设法夺回了操纵杆，在一片疯狂猛烈的高射炮的火网中拉平了飞机。那高射炮火组成了一个两边是悬崖峭壁的大峡谷，他们刚刚从里面爬出来，此刻又得逃命了。几乎就是同时，砰的一声，飞机舱盖上的有机玻璃被打了一个拳头那么大的洞。只见闪闪发光的碎片四下飞溅，约塞连的两颊一阵刺痛。没有出血。
　　“怎么回事？怎么回事？”他喊了起来，可却听不见自己的声音，禁不住浑身剧烈地颤抖起来。他的对讲机里寂静无声，他被这吓得要死。他趴跪在地上，害怕得要命，一动也不敢动，活像一只中了圈套的老鼠，呆在那里，大气不敢出一下。后来，他终于瞥见自己耳机上那圆柱形的插头一闪一闪地在眼前晃荡，于是赶紧用颤抖的手指将其重新插回到插孔里，此时高射炮火在他四周砰砰作响，并形成了一朵朵蘑菇状的云烟，他惊恐万状地一再尖叫着：“啊，上帝！
　　啊，上帝！”
　　当约塞连把插头插回到对讲机的插孔后，他又能听见声音了。
　　他听到多布斯正在哭泣。
　　“救救他，救救他吧，”多布斯呜咽着喊道，“救救他，救救他。”
　　“救救谁、救救谁呀？”约塞连朝他回叫着，“救谁呀？”
　　“轰炸员，轰炸员，”多布斯喊道，“他那里没有回答。快救轰炸员，快救轰炸员吧。”
　　“我就是轰炸员，”约塞连大叫着口答道，“我就是轰炸员。我没事，我没事。”
　　“那就快救救他，救救他吧，”多布斯哭喊道，“救救他，救救他吧。”
　　“救谁呀，救谁？”
　　“救那个报务员兼炮手，”多布斯哀求道，“快救救咱们的报务灵兼炮手吧。”
　　“我冷。”斯诺登在对讲机里用微弱的声音啜泣着，接着又发出一阵痛苦的哀怨声，“请救救我吧，我好冷啊。”
　　约塞连匍匐着通过了爬行通道，爬上了弹舱，然后爬进飞机的尾舱，斯诺登就躺在那儿的地板上。他受了伤，躺在一片黄色的日光中，冻得快要死了。在他身旁，那个新来的尾炮手直挺挺地躺在那里，已经昏死过去。
　　多布斯是世界上最差劲的飞行员，这点他自己也知道。他本是一个身强力壮的小伙子，可现在身体却全垮了。他总是千方百计地想说服他的上司，让他们相信他已不再适合驾驶飞机了，可是他的上司都不听他的。就在宣布飞行次数提高到六十次的那天，多布斯偷偷地溜进了约塞连的帐篷。当时奥尔正好出去找垫圈了，他就向约塞连吐露了他制定的暗杀卡思卡特上校的阴谋。他说他需要约塞连的协助。
　　“你想让咱俩把他给蓄意谋杀掉？”约塞连可不赞成这主意。
　　“没错。”多布斯十分同意他的说法，脸上挂着乐观的微笑。约塞连这么快就领会了他的意图，他更是受到了鼓舞。“咱们就用那枝卢格尔手枪把他给毙了。这枪是我从西西里带回来的，谁也不知道我有这家伙。”
　　“我想我不能这么干。”约塞连在心里将这主意默默地掂量了一番，得出了这一结论。
　　多布斯大感惊讶：“为什么不能？”
　　“你瞧，对我来说，最能让我开心的事就是有一天这个狗娘养的会赶上飞机坠毁的事故，让他跌断脖子，或跌死掉。要不就是能看到另外的什么人把他一枪给毙了。可我想我是不能去杀他。”
　　“可他会杀你，”多布斯争辩道，“其实，这都是你告诉我的，说他老是不停地让咱们去作战，就是想让咱们统统去死。”
　　“可我想我不能也这么去对待他。我认为他也有活的权利。”
　　“可他老想剥夺你我的生存权利，只要他这么做，那他就无权再活下去。你这是怎么了？”多布斯感到大惑不解。“我以前老是听到你和克莱文杰为这事争个不歇。可现在你瞧瞧克莱文杰怎么了。
　　他就死在了那块云团里。”
　　“你别嚷好不好？”约塞连嘴里发着“嘘——”的声音，示意他小声点。
　　“我没嚷！”多布斯喊的声音更高了，他心里充满了希望进行一场革命的狂热。此时他已是一把眼泪一把鼻涕的了，他那颤动不已的深红色的下唇上溅满了起沫的泪水和鼻涕。“在咱们这个大队里，肯定有将近一百个人已经完成五十五次飞行任务了，可到了这时卡思卡特却又把这数目提高到了六十。像你这样还要再飞上几次才满五十五次的人至少还有一百个。要是我们让他一直这样干下去，他就会把咱们全部给害死掉。我们一定得先把他给干掉才行。”
　　约塞连毫无表情地点了点头，根本没有明确表态。“你认为咱们干了这事以后能逃脱？”
　　“我已把一切都计划好了。我——”
　　“看在基督的分上，别这么大声嚷嚷。”
　　“我没嚷，我已经——”
　　“你别嚷了，好不好？”
　　“我已经把一切都计划好了，”多布斯小声地说，一面用手紧紧地抓住奥尔的吊床边，不让两手晃动，由于用力，他的指关节都发白了。“星期四早上，当他从山上他的那所该死的农舍返回的时候，我就悄悄地穿过树林，溜到公路的那个急转弯处，在树丛中藏起来。他的车到了那儿非减速不可，而我呆在那里能清楚地看到公路两头的动静，以弄清确实没有其他人在附近。等看到他的车子过来了，我就把一根大木头推到公路上去，让他的吉普车停下来。那时我就端着我的那枝卢格尔手枪从树丛里走出来，对着他的脑袋开火，直到把他打死为止。然后我就把枪埋起来，再穿过树林返回中队，像其他人一样，去忙活我自己的事。这样干能出什么差错呢？”
　　约塞连聚精会神地听着他讲的每一个步骤。“我打哪儿能插得上手呢？”他迷惑不解地问。
　　“这事没你的帮助我干不了，”多布斯解释道，“我需要你对我说声‘就这么干吧’。”
　　约塞连觉得他的话简直难以置信。“你要我做的就是这个？就要我对你说声‘干吧’？”
　　“我只需要你做这个，”多布斯回答，“你只要说声干，那后天我就独自一人把他的脑浆给打出来。”由于感情激动，他的声音越来越急，此时又变得响亮起来。“既然咱们干了，那我也想在科恩中校的脑袋上也来上一枪。不过如果你不反对的话，我倒想饶了丹比少校。这以后我还想杀掉阿普尔比和哈弗迈耶。干掉阿普尔比和哈弗迈耶之后，我还要杀麦克沃特。”
　　“麦克沃特？”约塞连叫道，吓得几乎跳起来。“麦克沃特是我的朋友。你干吗要对麦克沃特下手？”
　　“我不知道，”多布斯坦白说，一脸的慌乱和尬尴。“我只是想既然咱们要干掉阿普尔比和哈弗迈耶，那咱们不妨也把麦克沃特给干掉。你不想杀麦克沃特，是吗？”
　　约塞连采取了坚定的立场。“你瞧，假如你不再将这事在这整个岛上乱嚷嚷，假如你坚持只干掉卡思卡特上校，那我还可能对这事感兴趣。可如果你想把这事搞成一场屠杀，那你还是把我忘掉的好。”
　　“好吧，好吧。”多布斯竭力想安抚约塞连。“只杀卡思卡特上校一人。我应该去干吗？对我说声‘干吧’。”
　　约塞连摇了摇头。“我想我不能叫你去干。”
　　多布斯激动得像要发狂。“我愿意做点让步，”他强烈地恳求道，“你不必对我说‘干’。你只要对我说一声这是个好主意就行了。
　　行吗？这是个好主意吗？”
　　约塞连还是摇头。“要是你根本不告诉我就直接动手，把这事给干了，那倒是个极好的主意。可现在太晚了。有关这事我对你没什么好说的。给我点时间，没准我会改主意的。”
　　“那会来不及的。”
　　约塞连仍一个劲地摇头，多布斯不禁大为失望。他在那里坐了一会，一脸的沮丧，然后突然跳了起来，踏着重重的脚步走了出去。
　　他又起了一阵冲动，想去说服丹尼卡医生支持自己。在他转身时，他的臀部把约塞连的脸盆架给撞翻了，脚又绊在了奥尔还没做好的电炉丝上。丹尼卡医生不耐烦地连连点头，以此抵挡住了多布斯的咆哮和指手划脚的指责，然后打发他到医务室去把他的症状说给格斯和韦斯听。到了那里，他刚一开口说话，格斯和韦斯就立即在他的牙床上涂满了龙胆紫溶液。接着他俩又将他的脚趾也涂紫了。当他再次张嘴想要抗议时，他们又将一粒轻度腹泻药片塞进了他的喉咙，然后便把他打发走了。
　　多布斯的情况比亨格利.乔要糟。亨格利.乔不做噩梦的时候，至少还可以执行飞行任务。多布斯几乎和奥尔一样糟糕。奥尔看上去总是乐呵呵的，时常像发神经似的咯咯地傻笑，那长得歪歪扭扭的龅牙不住地颤动着，活像一只发育不全、龇牙裂嘴的云雀。
　　上级已准许他前往开罗休假，同去的还有米洛和约塞连。他们去那里是为了采购鸡蛋，可是米洛却买了棉花。米洛在黎明时分起飞赶往伊斯但布尔，飞机里装满了具有异国情调的有柄带脚的煎锅和青里透红的香蕉，连飞机的炮塔里都塞得满满的。奥尔是约塞连遇到过的最难看的怪人之一，可他也挺吸引人的。他的脸粗糙且凸凹不平，淡褐色的眼睛从眼眶中暴出来，活像一对褐色的半粒子弹头。他那一头杂色相间的浓密头发是波浪式的，倾斜向上直到头顶心，就像一顶上过油的小帐篷。他几乎每次上了天都要出事，不是被击落坠入水中，就是一个引擎被人打中失灵。那天他们的飞机起飞后是向着那不勒斯出发的，可不曾想到却在西西里降落了。一路上奥尔像个疯子似的使劲地拉约塞连的胳臂，要他在那里降落。
　　他们上那儿是为了找那个鬼精的、会抽雪茄的年仅十岁的皮条客。
　　这小子有两个十二岁的处女姐姐，她们在市区的一家旅馆门口等候着他们。那家旅馆有一间房专供米洛使用。约塞连毅然地从奥尔身边走开，独自向远方眺望着。此时他眺望到的不是维苏威火山，而是埃特纳火山，眼神里既透着几分关注，也透着几分迷茫。
　　他心里纳闷，他们不去那不勒斯而到西西里来干什么。与此同时，奥尔简直是欲火难熬。他一个劲地傻笑着，结结巴已地吵个不歇，恳求约塞连同他一道跟着那个一肚子鬼主意、年仅十岁的皮条客去找他那两个十二岁的处女姐姐。其实，她们既不是处女，也不是他姐姐。她们实际上已有二十八岁了。
　　“同他去吧。”米洛简洁地给约塞连下达了指令。“别忘了你的使命。”
　　“好吧。”想到自己的使命，约塞连叹了口气，终于让了步。“可至少先让我试试找间旅馆，这样在完事之后我就可以好好地睡上一夜了。”
　　“你可以和那些姑娘好好地睡上一夜，”米洛用同样狡黠的语气答道，“只要别把你的使命给忘了就行了。”
　　可那一夜约塞连和奥尔根本就没睡。他们发现自己和那两个自称十二岁实际上已二十八岁的妓女同挤在一张床上。弄了半天那两个妓女原来是两个油腻腻、长着一身肥肉的女人。她俩夜里就是不让他们睡觉，吵着要交换搭档。约塞连不一会就迷迷糊糊的了，根本没注意到那个挤在他身上的胖女人整整一夜头上都裹着一条米色头巾。第二天早上很晚的时候，那个一肚子鬼心眼、嘴里总叼着古巴雪茄的十岁皮条客突然像个畜牲似的说翻脸就翻脸，一把扯下了那条头巾。顿时，这个女人那颗丑陋的奇形怪状的光秃秃的头颅就一览无遗地暴露在了西西里的光天化日之下。她曾陪德国人睡过觉，为此她的那些复仇心重的邻居将她的头给剃得亮光光的，几乎要露出了骨头。那姑娘带着女性特有的愤怒，一面用尖厉刺耳的声音大叫着，一面拖着肥胖的身子摇摇摆摆地追赶着那个十岁的一肚子坏水的皮条客，那情形甚是滑稽。她那吓人的、颜色苍白且受到了极大冒犯的头皮，环绕着她那张同样古怪的黑肉瘤似的脸，十分可笑地上下滑动着，活像一块经过漂白但却仍然污秽不堪的东西。约塞连以前从未见过如此光秃秃的脑袋。那个小皮条客用一根手指高高地挑着那块头巾，让它转个不停，像举着一件战利品似的。他始终在离她的手指头几英寸的地方蹦着，跳着，让她够不着，引得她在广场上团团转，干着急，把挤在广场上看热闹的人逗得大笑不止，有人还指着约塞连嘲笑他。这时米洛挂着一脸的严厉急匆匆地大步走来。他咂起嘴唇，对眼前这个伤风败俗、轻薄无聊、不成体统的场面深表不满。米洛坚持立即离开这里前往马耳他。
　　“可我们困得要命，”奥尔嘀咕道。
　　“那只能怪你们自己。”米洛自认自己很有道德，故而这样训斥他俩。“要是你们呆在旅馆里过夜，不和这些淫荡的女人鬼混，那么你们今天就会和我一样有精神了。”
　　“是你要我们跟她们走的，”，约塞连用责备的口气反驳道，“而且我们也找不到旅馆房间。只有你一人能弄到房间。”
　　“那也不能怪我呀，”米洛傲慢地解释说，“我哪里知道鹰嘴豆上市时，会有那么多的买主涌到这城里来呀？”
　　“你当然知道，”，约塞连指责道，“这就是为什么我们不去西西里，而跑到那不勒斯来的原因。你他妈可能已经把整架飞机都塞满了鹰嘴豆。”
　　“嘘嘘嘘——！”米洛神情严厉地向他发出警告，一面意味深长地朝奥尔瞥了一眼。“别忘了你的使命。”
　　当他们来到机场准备飞往马耳他时，飞机的弹舱、后舱和尾舱，以及炮塔射手座舱的大部分地方已统统塞满了鹰嘴豆。
　　约塞连这趟飞行的使命就是分散奥尔的注意力，不让他知道米洛在哪儿买鸡蛋，尽管奥尔也是米洛的辛迪加联合体的成员之一，而且同别的成员一样，他也拥有一份股份。约塞连感到自己的这一使命很可笑，因为人人都知道，米洛在马耳他用七分钱一个的价格买下鸡蛋，然后再以五分钱一个的价钱卖给辛迪加联合体的食堂。
　　“我就是不信任他。”米洛像母鸡抱窝似的一动不动地坐在飞机里，一面冲着坐在后面的奥尔点了点头，奥尔则像一根缠结在一起的绳子，蜷缩着躺在下面那排装满了鹰嘴豆的筐子上，竭力想使自己睡着，那样子受罪得要命。“我情愿在我买鸡蛋时他不要在边上转悠，将我的生意秘密全打听去。你还有什么不明白的吗？”
　　约塞连坐在他身旁副驾驶的坐位上。“我不明白，你在马耳他花七分钱买来的一个鸡蛋，为什么又用五分一个的价卖掉呢？”
　　“我这样做是为了弄点赚头。”
　　“可你怎样才能有赚头呢？你每个鸡蛋反倒要赔二分钱呢。”
　　“我在马耳他按每个四分二厘五的价将鸡蛋卖给那儿的人，然后再按每个七分钱的价将鸡蛋从那些人的手中买进，这样我就赚了三分二厘五。当然，我是不赚钱的，赚钱的是咱们的联合体。大伙人人有份。”
　　约塞连觉得自己开始有点明白了。“你按每个四分二厘五的价将鸡蛋卖给那些人，而他们再按每个七分钱的价把鸡蛋卖给你，这样他们每个鸡蛋就净赚二分七厘五。是这样吗？你干吗不把鸡蛋直接卖给你自己，省得再经他人之手买回这道手续呢？”
　　“因为这个‘他人’就是我自己，”米洛解释说，“我将鸡蛋卖给我自己时，我每个蛋可赚三分二厘五。我再把蛋从我的手里买回时，我每个又可赚到二分七厘五。这样每个鸡蛋一共可赚到六分钱。我把它们照每个五分钱的价卖给食堂时，每只蛋只不过少赚二分钱而已。这就是我如何以七分钱一只买进，五分钱一个卖出还能赚到钱的原因。我在西西里收购鸡蛋时，每只蛋只要付老母鸡一分钱就行了。”
　　“在马耳他，”约塞连纠正道，“你是在马耳他买的鸡蛋，而不是在西西里。”
　　米洛得意洋洋地哈哈大笑起来。“我可不是在马耳他买的鸡蛋，”他带着一种暗自得意的神态承认道，这可同他平日显出的那副既勤奋又清醒的样子相违背，约塞连还是第一次看到他的这种神态。“我在西西里一分钱一个买来，然后在马耳他悄悄地以每个四分五厘的价格转手，为的是别人到马耳他来买鸡蛋时，蛋价能上扬到七分钱一个。”
　　“既然马耳他的蛋价这么贵，那人们干吗要上那儿去买蛋？”
　　“因为他们总是这么干。”
　　“他们为什么不去西西里买鸡蛋呢？”
　　“因为他们从来没有那么干过。”
　　“我实在不懂，你为什么要将鸡蛋按五分一个的价卖给食堂，而不卖七分一个呢？”
　　“因为要是这样一来，我的食堂就不需要我了。七分钱一个的鸡蛋任何人都能买到。”
　　“他们为什么不越过你，而直接去马耳他以每个四分二厘五的价格从你的手里将鸡蛋买下呢？”
　　“因为我不会将蛋卖给他们的。”
　　“你为什么不卖给他们？”
　　“因为那样的话就没有什么赚头了。作为中间商，我这样做至少能让我自己能有点赚头。”
　　“这么说，你的确为你自己赚了钱，”约塞连断言道。
　　“我当然赚了。不过赚到的钱全归咱们的辛迪加联合体。人人部有份。你难道不明白？我卖给卡思卡特上校的红色梨形番茄也正是这么回事。”
　　“你是买，不是卖，”约塞连纠正道，“你不是将红色梨形番茄卖给卡思卡特上校和科恩中校。你是从他们的手上买番茄。”
　　“不对，是卖，”米洛纠正约塞连道，“我用了个假名字，在皮亚诺萨岛所有的市场上抛售番茄，这样卡思卡特上校和科恩中校各自也用了个假名，以每个四分的价钱将番茄全部买进，第二天我再以辛迪加的名义按每个五分的价格将番茄买回来。他们每个番茄赚一分钱，而我每个赚三分五厘钱，这样每人都有了赚头。”
　　“你们每人都赚了，只有辛迪加不赚。”约塞连对此嗤之以鼻。
　　“辛迪加出五分钱买进一个番茄，而你每个只花了五厘钱。这样辛迪加怎么能赢利？”
　　“只要我能赚到钱，辛迪加也就赚到了钱，”米洛解释说，“因为人人有份。只要咱们的辛迪加能得到卡思卡特上校和科恩中校的支持，那他们就会像这次这样派我出差。再过大约十五分钟，当我们在巴勒莫降落时，你就会看到咱们能赚到多少钱了。”
　　“在马耳他，”约塞连纠正他说，“我们正在往马耳他飞，而不是朝巴勒莫。”
　　“不对，我们是在朝巴勒莫飞，”米洛回答道，“在巴勒莫有一个苣菜出口商，我要和他谈几分钟，因为我有一批发了霉的蘑菇要运到伯尔尼去。”“米洛，你是怎么干的？”约塞连面带既惊讶又钦佩的笑容问，“你的飞行计划单上填的是一个地方，可后来你却飞到另外一个地方去了。指挥塔上的人就从不找你的麻烦？”
　　“他们都属于咱们的联合体，”米洛说，“他们都明白凡是对咱们联合体有利的事，对国家也是有利的，因为只有这样才会让美国大兵们卖力气。再说指挥塔上的那些人也是有份子的，这就是他们为什么要千方百计地给咱辛迪加联合体帮助的缘故。”
　　“我也有份吗？”
　　“人人都有份。”
　　“奥尔也有份？”
　　“人人都有份。”
　　“亨格利.乔呢？他也有份吗？”
　　“人人都有份。”
　　“呸，活见鬼。”约塞连心里在骂，有生以来，有关股份的主意还是第一次在他的脑子里留下了深刻的印象。
　　米洛将脸转向约塞连，眼睛里隐约闪出一丝图谋不轨的神色。
　　“我有一个主意，可以稳稳当当地从联邦政府那里骗得六千美元。
　　到时咱俩平分，各得三千元，并用不着担任何风险。你有兴趣吗？”
　　“没兴趣。”
　　米洛十分激动地望着约塞连。“这就是我喜欢你的原因，”他大声地说，“你很诚实！在我认识的人中间你是唯一能让我信赖的人。
　　也就是这个原因，我希望你能给我更多的帮助。昨天在卡塔尼亚大街，当你同那两个荡妇一起溜走的时候，我真感到失望。”
　　约塞连盯住米洛，感到大惑不解，简直不敢相信他的话。“米洛，可是你叫我同她们走的呀。难道你不记得了？”
　　“那不是我的过错，”米洛一本正经他说，“以往是在我们进城后，我才设法将奥尔给甩掉。而这次到巴勒莫，情况就大不一样了。
　　当我们在巴勒莫着陆后，我要你同奥尔立即就跟着姑娘离开机场。”
　　“跟着什么姑娘？”
　　“我事先已发过无线电报，同一个四岁的小皮条客安排好了，为你和奥尔找了两个八岁大的、有着一半西班牙血统的处女。他将在机场的一辆交通车上等你们。你俩一下飞机就立即上那辆车。”
　　“不行，”约塞连说，“我只想去个地方睡上一觉。”
　　米洛立刻发火了，脸都涨成了猪肝色，细长的鼻子在两道黑眉毛之间痉孪地颤动着，唇上那抹不对称的赤黄色的小胡子像一根蜡烛发出的暗淡、细弱的火焰。“约塞连，别忘了你的使命。”他提醒约塞连，那口气还算恭敬。
　　“让使命见鬼吧！”约塞连满不在乎地答道，“让辛迪加也见鬼去吧，管它有没有我一份呢。我也不想要什么八岁大的处女，哪怕她们有一半的西班牙血统。”
　　“这我不怪你。不过这些所谓的八岁大的处女实际上是三十二岁。她们并不