“You know how it is,” Doc Daneeka had wheedled, with a sly, conspiratorial wink. “Why take chances when I don’t have to?”
“Sure,” Yossarian agreed.
“What difference does it make to anyone if I’m in the plane or not?”
“No difference.”
“Sure, that’s what I mean,” Doc Daneeka said. “A little grease is what makes this world go round. One hand washes the other. Know what I mean? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
Yossarian knew what he meant.
“That’s not what I meant,” Doc Daneeka said, as Yossarian began scratching his back. “I’m talking about co-operation. Favors. You do a favor for me, I’ll do one for you. Get it?”
“Do one for me,” Yossarian requested.
“Not a chance,” Doc Daneeka answered.
The one request Doc Daneeka could not do for Yossarian is to declare Yossarian is crazy and therefore not fit for flying bomb throwing missions.
Because, of course, Catch 22, which stipulates that anyone who is crazy should be relieved of further bombing missions but which also stipulates that anyone who makes such a request is not crazy and therefore he had to keep flying them.
“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind.”
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