McWatt

           Ordinarily,Yossarian’spilotwasMcWatt,who,shavinginloudred,cleanpajamasoutsidehistenteachmorning,wasoneoftheodd,ironic,incomprehensiblethingssurroundingYossarian.McWattwasthecraziestcombatmanofthemallprobably,becausehewasperfectlysaneandstilldidnotmindthewar.Hewasashort-legged,wide-shouldered,smilingyoungsoulwhowhistledbouncyshowtunescontinuouslyandturnedovercardswithsharpsnapswhenhedealtatblackjackorpokeruntilHungryJoedisintegratedintoquakingdespairfinallybeneaththeircumulativeimpactandbeganrantingathimtostopsnappingthecards.

           "Yousonofabitch,youonlydoitbecauseithurtsme,"HungryJoewouldyellfuriouslyasYossarianheldhimbacksoothinglywithonehand."That’stheonlyreasonhedoesit,becausehelikestohearmescreamyougoddamsonofabitch!"

           McWattcrinkledhisfine,frecklednoseapologeticallyandvowednottosnapthecardsanymore,butalwaysforgot.McWattworefleecybedroomslipperswithhisredpajamasandsleptbetweenfreshlypressedcoloredbed-sheetsliketheoneMilohadretrievedhalfofforhimfromthegrinningthiefwiththesweettoothinexchangefornoneofthepitteddatesMilohadborrowedfromYossarian.McWattwasdeeplyimpressedwithMilo,who,totheamusementofCorporalSnark,hismesssergeant,wasalreadybuyingeggsforsevencentsapieceandsellingthemforfivecents.ButMcWattwasneverasimpressedwithMiloasMilohadbeenwiththeletterYossarianhadobtainedforhisliverfromDocDaneeka.

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