(with apologies to Joseph Heller)
Yossarian barged into Doc Daneeka’s medical tent in a state of great agitation. “Doc, you’ve got to ground me! I’m sick! I’ve got the COVID-19!”
“You don’t have anything of the sort,” Doc Daneeka replied exasperatedly. “You’re breathing, you have no fever – you look great.”
“Then I’m asymptomatic!”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because I have no symptoms! I’m as good as gone!”
Doc Daneeka reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, “have a chocolate. Milo traded it to me for a dose of penicillin.”
Yossarian popped it into his mouth before resuming his complaint. “Hmm, that’s good.”
“There,” Doc Daneeka said triumphantly. “You can still taste things. Now get lost. I’m incredibly busy. There’s a shipment of COVID-19 shots coming and I need to get ready. This COVID-19 is a killer,” Doc Daneeka said, piling boxes of medicines for other diseases that were now less fashionable and remunerative into a corner of his office. He opened his refrigerator and scrutinized its contents.
Yossarian was suddenly given to the thought that not getting COVID-19 would be better than feigning getting COVID-19. “How many shots are they sending you?”
“I have no idea.” Doc Daneeka replied.
“When do they arrive?”
“No one’s told me.”
“Who gets them?”
“Why are you asking me?” Doc Daneeka said. “It’s up to Colonel Cathcart.”
“Cathcart?” Yossarian blurted contemptuously. “You’re the medical officer. Your job is to save lives and prevent disease.”
“My job is to save lives and prevent disease within the parameters established by my commanding officer,” Doc Daneeka said. He took a bowl of plum tomatoes out of the refrigerator. “Have a plum tomato. I need the space.”
“I don’t want one,” Yossarian said.
“Suit yourself,” Doc Daneeka said as he put the tomatoes aside. “But it’s one of the most impressive scientific feats in the history of mankind, Yossarian.”
“Plum tomatoes?”
“No, the shot. Thousands of scientists around the world collaborated and developed a shot in record time. But after they developed it, they forgot about distributing it. Confusion abounds.”
“The left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing?”
“If the left hand saw the right hand approaching, it would cross the street to avoid it. For example, the shots need to be kept at very cold temperatures, which is why I need to clear space in the refrigerator. And I need to set up a socially-distanced waiting area. Nobody can be within six feet of anybody else. Now that you mention it, take two step back, if you don’t mind.”
There was now no doubt in Yossarian’s mind that getting the shot was more important than feigning COVID-19. “I need that shot, Doc.”
“And you'll get one, once you meet the qualifications established by Colonel Cathcart. How old are you?”
“I’m almost 70.”
“That’s good,” Doc Daneeka said, “because Colonel Cathcart says you have to be 65 to get it. Or be in a nursing home. But you’re not in a nursing home.”
“But I could be,” Yossarian said, delighted to have a new angle to avoid flying while still getting the shot. “You could put me in a nursing home and I wouldn’t have to fly anymore.”
“Why do you belong in a nursing home?” Doc Daneeka asked.
“How should I know?” Yossarian protested. “You’re the doctor.”
Doc Daneeka closed the now empty refrigerator. “My advice to you is to come back next week, when I’ll probably have the shot.”
When Yossarian came back a week later, Doc Daneeka’s waiting room was filled with people six feet apart, one of whom was Aarfy.
“Aarfy!” Yossarian exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Aarfy took the pipe out of his mouth and regarded Yossarian before answering. “I’m waiting for my shot, Yossarian. Doc says they’ve arrived.”
“Aarfy, you have to be 65 to get the shot. You’re not 65!”
Aarfy put his pipe back in his mouth and chuckled. “Old Aarfy sure is 65, particularly if he needs to be.”
“Aarfy, you can’t lie about your age just to get a shot!”
Aarfy and Yossarian regarded each other as if they were both looking at a lunatic. “I’m just making sure I get the shot. We all need to get the shot to fight this pandemic, and I’m doing my part.”
Yossarian wanted to punch Aarfy in his smug, oblivious nose, but Doc Daneeka called Yossarian in. Yossarian walked in and began rolling up his sleeve.
“Oh, no, don’t bother. You’re not getting a shot,” Doc Daneeka said.
“But the shots are here!”
“Colonel Cathcart has raised the age to get the shot. Now, he says you have to be 70.”
Yossarian pulled back angrily. “You said 65!”
“And it was 65 when I said it. But Colonel Cathcart says you have to be 70 to get the shot, so 70 it is. Let me tell you, there’s only one thing in life better than having the shot in your arm -- it’s deciding who gets the shot in their arm.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?”
“My advice is to come back when you’re 70, if you live that long. When is your birthday?”
“Actually, it’s next Thursday,” Yossarian admitted.
“There! You see?” Doc Daneeka counseled. “Come back next Thursday you’ll get it. Oh, and call Aarfy in for his shot.”
“Aarfy?” Yossarian shouted disbelievingly. “Aarfy isn’t 70!”
“He told me he was, so he’s 70 enough for me.”
Yossarian considered the matter. “You mean if I lied about my age I could get it?”
Doc Daneeka scoffed contemptuously. “Oh, no! ”
“Why not?” Yossarian demanded.
“Because you’ve already told me how old you are, so I’d know you were lying. But Aarfy’s never told me the truth about old he is, so he’s in the clear. Now come back Thursday. And send Aarfy in here,” Doc Daneeka said as he turned to fill a syringe.
Yossarian returned the following Thursday. “OK, I’m 70 now, so I can get the shot,” he said as he rolled up his sleeve.
“Happy birthday,” Doc Daneeka said, then shook his head, “but you can’t have the shot.”
“Why not?” Yossarian shouted.
“Because Colonel Cathcart has raised the age needed to receive the shot to 75.”
Yossarian reeled. “It was supposed to be 70!”
“Well, now it’s 75. Colonel Cathcart’s orders. If you want to see who counts in this world, check to see who’s gotten the shot. But if you want to see who really counts, check to see who authorized them. It’s too bad you couldn’t get the shot when Captain Aardvark did.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?”
“Come back when you’re 75.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait until I’m 75, I’ll get COVID-19 and die,” Yossarian said, his eyes wide with terror. “You’ve got to tell me another way.”
Doc Daneeka considered. “Relax, Yossarian. General Dreedle says there are reserves of the shot, and he’s going to release all of them to all squadrons in the division. The age will go down to 65, maybe even 60. General Peckham announced he was going to release his reserves, so General Dreedle had to do it, too. It’s a done deal. In the meantime, Colonel Cathcart says essential workers, like bus drivers and mess hall cooks, can also get it. Too bad you’re just a bombardier in an aircraft. One of you dies, a new one shows up tomorrow -- there’s nothing less essential than that. Your best bet is to hunker down and wait for the new shots to come in. Perhaps you could be a bus driver.”
“Milo runs all the busses.”
“Then you know who to ask,” said Doc Daneeka. “Now leave me alone, I’m busy giving shots. But not to you.”
Yossarian came back a week later. “OK, I’m a bus driver. I want my shot.”
“Sorry, you can’t have it. Colonel Cathcart has rescinded shots for bus drivers. Lieutenant Scheisskopf told him that soldiers participating in his parades need the shots first, so they can march at close quarters. He says it will help morale.”
Yossarian gritted his teeth. “Morale? What about my morale? I made a lousy deal with Milo to get a job driving one of his busses for nothing!” He reached into his pocket. “Want some chocolate-covered cotton?”
“So that’s why he wanted the chocolate,” Doc Daneeka mused. “Well, it doesn’t really matter, because there were no reserves anyway. General Dreedle was lying about having them, so nobody’s getting the shot. Well, except me,” Doc Daneeka confessed. “And Aarfy.”
“I’m going to kill Cathcart!” Yossarian exclaimed, waves of terror coming over him as he realized they were all trying to kill him –Cathcart, Dreedle, Doc Daneeka – no other explanation made sense. “Maybe I could get COVID-19 and give it to him.”
“That won’t do you any good,” Doc Daneeka counseled. “He’s already had the shot, too. Like I said, if you want to know who really counts --”
Yossarian drew his hands into fists and screamed, when Major Danby and the chaplain entered Doc Daneeka’s examining room.
“Have you heard the news?” Major Danby said. “It’s remarkable, really. Orr made it to Sweden!”
“It’s amazing he was able to get that far,” the chaplain added. “Almost a miracle.”
Yossarian gaped at Major Danby and the chaplain and suddenly it all became clear to him. “It’s no miracle!” he cried maniacally. “ Orr planned it, don’t you see? He practiced crashing his plane, he perfected his little stove -- why didn’t I trust him? Why wouldn’t I fly with him? I’d be in Sweden today!”
“Well, hang on, Yossarian,” Major Danby said. “You see, Sweden decided that herd immunity to COVID-19 was better than undergoing economic and social disruption, so they let the virus have its way.”
“And?” Yossarian asked.
The chaplain sighed. “That’s the bad news. Orr’s dead. He caught 19.”
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