The war was over, but for others, it had just begun. In a suburb on Long Island resided a war veteran for whom the war had ended. Yossarian lounged on a couch in the living room. He was reading a newspaper which had to be inches from his face due to his poor eyesight. He read the date in the upper left corner and it read “June 30, 1970”. He was reading about the Vietnam War. He read about the casualties that occurred from a previous battle. He was sick of it. The war caused him to wrinkle and contract arthritis or so he tells himself. Denying old age was just a part of Yossarian. During World War II he would say, “I am going to try to live forever or die in the attempt,” and so it was.
While lounging on the couch, the door rang, but Yossarian didn’t move. His wife Michaela had to come from the kitchen to the front door. Before she reached the door she stopped at Yossarian. “Oh get up and answer the door for once will you!” she lectured, however all Yossarian did was sit up.
“This war is taking it out of me,” he answered.
“What war? Vietnam? World War II? You are in neither of those now so tell me which one,” she yelled with more of a feeling of annoyance than being stern.
“I’m losing the war in my bladder and I don’t think it’s looking good,” he responded to show his joking side. She smirked.
“Well you better not do it over the couch or you are going to lose a war with me,”she joked as she proceeded to the door.There, she turned and one could see her curly blond hair with scarce gray strands. The war had taken its toll on everybody.
“With a wife as reliable as you, I can live in luxury,” noted Yossarian. Yossarian spoke the truth. He had met Michaela in the hospital during the war. When he was in the hospital due to a “bureaucratic” shot in the arm, she was the nurse who tended to him. He would grab her butt when she turned away from him next to his bed to change his morphine. She would respond back to his flirtatious gropes with sexual swaying of the hips on her way out of his hospital room. One thing led to another and they married after the war.
She answered the door to see that it was Orr. Orr was just as old as Yossarian and it was not difficult to distinguish that. His saggy cheeks, which he once had stuffed with crab apples, currently looked as though they were half filled with sand. Yossarian still loved him even though he was the same unattractive man who was the most tactless man in the airforce. Crashing one’s plane in the Mediterranean several times would give one the title of tactless.
“How’s it going Milo?” he asked even though Milo was not near. Michaela looked at Orr as she was puzzled but Yossarian had an immediate response.
“That whore sure beat you with that shoe good you dumbass. You can’t even tell the difference between me and Milo. Do I look like at any point in my life, I could ever run an international syndicate?” he reminded Orr. Orr had asked a whore to hit himself over the head with a shoe. Yossarian thought Orr would have turned out as dumb either way considering that he used to crash his plane so often, but it was funny to bring it up.
“Did she?” Orr asked cluelessly.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“That’s what you're proclaiming.”
“Just shut up!”
“Is Milo coming?”
“He’s coming.”
The conversation abruptly ended when they heard the news speak of what was taking place in Vietnam. The news of bombs being dropped over the Vietnamese villages reminded Yossarian of the days when he was a bombardier and more specifically his mission over Avignon. The sound of the bridge collapsing ruptured in his mind while he felt sorrow for his fellow soldiers who crashed on the mission.
“The fighting is senseless,” uttered Michaela as to break the silence.
“No it’s not. The enemy is trying to kill us,” he retorted.
“No they aren’t,” she retorted back.
“Yes they are.”
“Who is the enemy?” she questioned with a purely frustrated voice.
“If you don’t know who they are how do you know they are not trying to kill us?” he asked. He reminded himself of a similar conversation he had with Clevinger. He asked himself where Clevinger was, but being as old as he was, his memory failed him. Clevinger always came to Yossarian’s mind when he had an argument. His arguments these days tended to have the same kind of logic Clevinger used to use.
“Milo said he would be coming shortly,” said Yossarian.
“He’s probably selling eggs to a mess hall somewhere,” responded Orr.
“Orr, you are crazy. He’s 52 and has been out of the army since 44. Do you really think he is still selling eggs to the mess hall?” retorted Yossarian. He thought that whore had sure hit him over the head good. Orr had no response.
They had all sat there in the living room quietly. Not one of them even fidgeted except for Michaela. She had made subtle movements as if she had wanted to start a conversation. Her discomfort started to fill the room, but neither Yossarian nor Orr wanted to show signs of that. The bell rang and Michaela perked up like a puppy.
“Finally some more company!” she exclaimed. Neither Yossarian nor Orr responded.
She opened the door and in came Milo. One could tell his hair had grayed due to the strong prominence of dye in his hair. He denied getting old. He attempted to look 30 when he was 50 and it truly did look so. After Milo stopped running his international syndicate when the war ended, he needed to preoccupy his time. He felt as though he needed to keep up with the trends and stay with the current generation.
“Heya guys! Hows it going!” he said energetically.
After a few seconds of silence Yossarian responded, “We are fine Milo.” Orr didn’t even bother to look his way. He was too wrapped in the news or so it makes for a good excuse.
“Yossarian! Don’t be rude!” scolded Michaela. No one responded.
No one wanted to start a conversation and the television was only making an excuse for not starting one. The television gave them a reason to converse as it spoke of Milo’s expertise, money.
“Oh look here Milo. Since you are so young, why don’t you go to Vietnam and help them with finances,” remarked Orr. Orr never really liked Milo after the war. He hated him for denying age and even more for his horrible management of the syndicate in Pianosa.
Milo being the business oriented man, he took real consideration in what Orr said. “That’s not a bad idea. Money has been tight these days, and if Colonel Cathcart can write me a recommendation, I’ll be set,” he said.
“Milo, Cathcart died on one of his mission over 25 years ago on a milk run when his plane malfunctioned,” Yossarian said coldly. Age was failing them all. No matter how hard Milo tried to make himself look young, his mind was old. “It’s closing time for you Milo. It’s closing time for all of us.”
Michaela perked up and asked, “Closing time? What do you mean closing time? It’s not closing time for anyone. You men have a few good years left. Closing time for whom?”
Yossarian had the slightest grin. He said, “If you are asking for whom it’s closing time for, then how do you know it’s not closing time?” Yossarian had heard the term “closing time” only once but it was too memorable of a moment for him to forget.
Before one of his missions over, Avignon back in World War II he was chatting with his friend Snowden in the plane right before take off. Snowden was a recruit. He had barely been in the war, but he was more aware of what was happening in the war than most recruits. “It’s closing time, Yossarian,” said Snowden.
“What do you mean closing time? What’s closing?” Yossarian asked as he was utterly puzzled as to what he could mean.
“This era is closing, Yossarian, and America is soon to follow,” said Snowden with a face of a man who saw reality and came back. Yossarian didn’t think too much of it and concluded that he was just delusional and that what he said was the result of stress. In that mission over Avignon, the plane crashed and Snowden died in Yossarian’s arms. What Snowden said on that day had stuck with him.
As usual the conversation in the living room with the four of them would be put on hold as the sound of ammunition being fired in Vietnam had drawn their attention. “The war is coming to an end,” said the anchorman, and those were the last words of the broadcast as it ended. The sounds of bombs dropping echoed inaudibly. There was an awkward situation in the room as no one could muster up the courage to start the conversation again.
“Those men are idiots,” said Orr bluntly to break the silence.
“Which men?” questioned Yossarian.
“The soldiers.”
“How so?”
“They don’t know how to profit off of a war,” interjected Milo.
“No, Milo. Only your capitalist mind would think that,” said Orr who at that single moment showed the slightest sign of sanity. “They don’t know how to get themselves out of the war. Those soldiers need to learn how to crash their planes and escape to Sweden.” Then in a single moment he came back down to earth and with himself he brought everybody’s expectation sanity. Orr mentioning Sweden reminded him of when Orr crashed just so he could leave the army, which at the time didn’t seem too crazy.
“You had us going there for a second,” said Michaela.
“How so?” Orr asked.
Michaela was about to respond, but Yossarian interjected as he knew what she was going to say was going to stir up a large conversation covering the entirety of Orr’s insanity. “Just forget it.”
The pauses in the conversation became more frequent. Michaela noticed Yossarian’s placid face and found it unnerving. She looked away from him as to avoid eye contact when she said, “It’s funny how you don’t want to mention our son in the war, Yossarian.” The room was silent again, but the silence lasted for eons as opposed to a few seconds.
“I haven’t forgotten Edward,” was all he could say. Michaela only moved her head to the point where he was in her peripheral vision. She barely acknowledged his response and kept talking. She started twiddling with her thumbs.
“You know he really was considering doing another tour of duty,” she uttered which transitioned to a small sob towards the end.
“If he wants to do more missions, then he is about as crazy as Nately,” he said nonchalantly. Nately was one of Yossarian’s friends in the war. Nately was the son of a rich man and he didn’t feel as though he had much to go back to if he ever went home. When Yossarian would tell him not to keep doing mission, Nately did the total opposite and kept flying with a patriotic excuse.
Yossarian brought everyone in the room back to the past with what he had just said. In unconscious unison all of their minds went back to the moment they heard his plane crash right down into the Mediterranean and how Nately spoke of serving his country. They all remembered the fight Nately had with Yossarian in which the catalyst was Nately’s “American optimism”. The fight occurred not long before Nately crashed.
“If he still has optimism in his country, he hasn’t put to use anything I have told him. It’s closing time for America and it’s time everyone realized it. He is crazy!” he finalized passionately. Thats when Yossarian crossed the line. He called his son crazy.
“That is it! I can’t take it any more, Yossarian! First you speak some kind of insane philosophy. Then, you speak badly of Nately and our own son! Yossarian, you're not crazy. You are insane!” she stormed out of the room and to the kitchen where the men could only guess what she was doing.
As the room had many times before, it fell silent, but only in sound as the minds of the people through the room was vociferous. Orr had transferred his vociferous thoughts into quiet yet audible words. “Why don’t you care about your son?” he questioned.
With conciseness, Yossarian responded, “I raised Edward to get a good job - be a lawyer or a doctor. Even after I told him of the corruption in war he still admires those involved. You don’t admire idiots, Orr.”
“Well then maybe that’s why he didn’t admire you Yossarian,” Milo interjected. Milo being the self centered man in the room was the least expected to say that.
Before Yossarian could even take in a breath, Orr said, “I think it would be best if Milo and I leave.”
“That seems like the best thing for you to do,” Yossarian blatantly respond. Yossarian had not bothered to even look at Milo and Orr as they left until Milo opened the door.
Before leaving out of the door Milo turned his head to where the point at which Yossarian was just in his line of sight. “You’ve changed Yossarian and not for the better. It seems as though everyone has matured but you” Milo said. Then, he and Orr walked out the door without even looking back to Yossarian.
The room fell back into routine as it fell silent but this time not with the echo of bombs or the remembrance of deceased friends. This time it fell silent with an old, crazy, spiteful man and his crazy philosophy. “Every nation has its end along with every person and era. It’s closing time for America and its era. So it’s closing time for us all,” Yossarian said to himself. The philosophy would not be passed with the fact being that there was no one there to hear it. Yossarian sat on the couch waiting for not America’s, but his closing time.