Joseph Heller - Closing Time

Milo lost interest quickly, flew off on business, and was out of the terminal when the alarm went off, not safely underneath it with Yossarian.

"Where is Mr. Minderbinder?" McBride was asking, as Yossarian came through alone to the landing on which he stood with Gaffney.

"Off to get more skyscrapers in Rockefeller Center," Yossarian reported with derision. "Or build his own. He wants them all." Someday, Yossarian thought as they descended the wrought-iron staircase, those monstrous hounds stirring now might really be there; and what a final tricky surprise that would be! They had found all the elevators, McBride told him, exulting. Michael and his girlfriend Marlene had wearied with waiting and had gone far down below with Bob and Raul. McBride had something else to show Yossarian.

"How far is far down?" asked Yossarian, humorously.

McBride tittered nervously, and, shiftily, answered over his shoulder. "Seven miles!"

"Seven miles?"

Gaffney was amused by these yelps of astonishment.

And those were some elevators, McBride went on. A mile a minute going up, a hundred miles an hour going down. "And they've got escalators too, going all the way. They say they go down forty-two miles!"

"Gaffney?" asked Yossarian, and Gaffney nodded slowly "Gaffney, Milo 's unhappy," Yossarian let him know, in a jocular vein. "I suppose you know."

" Milo 's always unhappy."

"He fears."

"And what does he fear today? He's got the contract."

"He fears he did not ask enough and is not getting as much for the Shhhhh! as Strangelove is getting for his plane. And they won't even work."

Halting on the staircase so abruptly that the two men collided, Gaffney, to Yossarian's total astonishment, regarded Yossarian with a lapse in his aplomb.

"They won't? What makes you say that?"

"They will?"

Gaffney relaxed. "They do, Yo-Yo. For a second I thought you knew something I didn't. They're working already."

"They can't be. They won't. They gave me their word."

"They break their word."

"They made me a promise."

"They break their promises."

"I have a guarantee."

"It's no good."

"I have it in writing."

"Stick it in your Freedom of Information file."

"I don't understand. They've beaten Strangelove?"

Gaffney gave his silent laugh. "Yossarian, my friend, they are Strangelove. They've blended, of course. Except for the difference in names and companies, aren't they the same? They've had planes going for years."

"Why didn't you ever say so?"

"To whom? Nobody asked."

"You could have told me."

"You didn't ask. Often it's to my advantage to keep things to myself. Sometimes knowledge is power. Some say the ultimate weapon will be good for my business, some say it won't. That's why I'm down here today. To find out."

"What business?"

"Real estate, of course."

"Real estate!" scoffed Yossarian.

"You refuse to believe me," said Gaffney, smiling, "and yet you think you want the truth."

"The truth will make us free, won't it?"

"It doesn't," answered Gaffney. "And it won't. It never has." He pointed down to McBride. "Let's go, Yo-Yo. He has another truth to show you. Recognize that music?"

Ybssarian was almost sure he was hearing the Leverkühn passages again on the speaker system, from the work that had never been written, in a mellow version for orchestra, played rubato, legato, vibrato, tremolo, glissando, and ritardando, sweetly disguised for popular absorption, with no quavering, jolting hint of fearful climax.

"Gaffney, you're wrong about that Leverkühn, you know. It's from the Apocalypse."

"I know that now. I looked it up and saw I was mistaken. I can't tell you how it embarrasses me to say so. But I bet I do know what you're going to ask me next."

"Notice anything?" asked Yossarian anyway.

"Of course," said Gaffney. "We cast no shadows down here, our feet make no noise. Do you notice anything?" Gaffney asked, as they joined McBride. He was not referring to the guard in the archway on a chair at the elevator. "Do you?"

It was Kilroy.

He was gone.

The words on his plaque had been effaced.

Kilroy was dead, McBride revealed. "I felt I should tell you."

"I had a feeling he was," said Yossarian. "There are people my age who'll be sorry to hear that. Vietnam?"

"Oh, no, no," McBride answered with surprise. "It was cancer. Of the prostate, the bone, the lungs, and the brain. They have it down as a natural death."

"A natural death," repeated Yossarian in lament.

"It could be worse," said Gaffney, sympathizing. "At least Yossarian is alive."

"Sure," said McBride, like a hearty fellow. "Yossarian still lives."

"Yossarian lives?" repeated Yossarian.

"Sure, Yossarian lives," said McBride. "Maybe we can put that one up on the wall instead."

"Sure, and for how long?" Yossarian answered, and the alarm went off.

McBride gave an immediate start. "Hey, what the hell is that?" He looked frightened. "Isn't that the alert?"

Gaffney was nodding. "I think so too."

"You guys wait here!" McBride was already running toward the guard. "I'll go find out."

"Gaffney?" asked Yossarian, quivering.

"I don't know down here," Gaffney answered grimly. "It may be the war, triage time."

"Shouldn't we get the hell out? Let's jump outside."

"Don't go crazy, Yossarian. We're much safer here."

When he heard the alarm go off and saw the colored lamps on the mechanism blinking, the President was pleased with himself for having set something in motion and sat back beaming with self-satisfaction until it dawned on him that he did not know how to stop what he had started. He pressed one button after another to no avail. As he was about to call for help, help came crashing in: Noodles Cook, the stout man from the State Department whose name never came readily to mind, his slim aide from the National Security Council, Skinny, and that general from the air force newly promoted to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"What happened?" screamed General Bingam, with a horror-stricken countenance inflamed with confusion.

"It works," said the President, with a grin. "You see? Just like the game here."

"Who's attacking us?"

"When did it begin?"

"Is someone attacking us?" asked the President.

"You launched all our missiles!"

"You sent out our planes!"

"I did? Where?"

"Everywhere! With that red button you kept pressing."

"This one? I didn't know that."

"Don't touch it again!"

"How was I supposed to know? Call them all back. Say I'm sorry. I didn't do it on purpose."

"We can't call back the missiles."

"We can call back the bombers."

"We can't call back the bombers! Suppose someone retaliates? we have to take them out first."

"I didn't know that."

"And we'll have to send out our second-strike bombers too, in case they want to hit back after our first."

"Come on, sir. We have to hurry."

"Where to?"

"Underground. To the shelters. Triage-don't you remember?"

"Sure. I was playing that one before I switched to this one."

"Damn it, sir! What the hell are you smiling about?"

"There's nothing fucking funny about this!"

"How was I supposed to know?"

"Let's move! We are the ones who have to survive."

"Can I get my wife? My children?"

"You stay here too!"

They charged out like a mob and piled into the cylindrical escape elevator awaiting them. Fat was tripped by C. Porter Lovejoy, arriving desperately to get into the elevator too, and fell down inside, with Lovejoy clinging to his back like a crazed monkey in a clawing fury.