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"Father!" Yossarian sprung out of a bush, grabbing the chaplain's wrist as he passed on his way to the mess hall. "There you are! I need your help."
The chaplain bit back his usual, futile correction about his denomination, too caught off-guard by the request. A soft flush appeared in his pockmarked cheeks, quivering sliver of a smile between them. "You do?" It was hard for him to believe, since he ordinarily felt so useless-- especially when it came to Yossarian.
Yossarian grinned, big and broad and crinkling. "I do. I've figured it out. I know how to get myself sent home, damn the mission count and all." He clutched his wrist so tightly, shaking it back and forth with fervour. The chaplain blinked at him, wide-eyed.
"You do?"
"I do!"
"Oh," his smile grew, hesitantly, "that's wonderful! Well- well, what do you need from me? I'll help out as best I can."
"I need you to kiss me."
The chaplain's face turned white. "What?"
"No, no, wait. I'll kiss you." Yossarian grabbed his other wrist, shaking them like jump-ropes. "Right there in the mess hall in front of Cathcart. Big old Hollywood smooch."
"But- I..." The chaplain's brow furrowed, a nervous sweat breaking out on his face, "why..?"
"It's the rules they've got." He pressed the chaplain's hands together. "Homosexuality's against the law, or something or other. But they don't want to spend all the time and money on a court-martial, so if they find out you're a homo, they'll just ship you home. Ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen told me. He said they're blue-slipping guys all over Europe."
If the chaplain was pale before, he'd now taken on the approximate hue of blanched snow. He stuttered out weakly, "but- but Yossarian, that'd be a dishonourable discharge. That's no good for you-- no good for either of us! Why, I can't go home to my wife like that. What would she think?"
"That she's sure glad you're back?"
"What would your family think?" The chaplain appealed desperately, quivering. "Would you really want them to think you're a homosexual?"
Yossarian thought about it, lips pursed, then his face lit up with realisation. "They think I'm dead. I forgot to tell them I'm not, way back when I told them I was. I'd guess they'll be so happy to have me back they won't even think about it."
"But..." the chaplain stammered, out of words. He wanted to wring his hands, but Yossarian was still holding them. "But it's just... well, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't go through with it. I do want to help, but I couldn't get myself discharged too." His lower lip trembled, and he pled, "you understand, don't you?"
Yossarian didn't frown, but grew contemplative. The chaplain knew well enough by now that that was a bad sign.
"H-How about this?" He offered, desperate to appease. "I'll go see Colonel Cathcart this afternoon, and I'll tell him you tried to proposition me. It won't be a lie because you did proposition me, just now. And that should be enough to prove your criminality and have you sent home."
Yossarian blinked, then smiled, finally letting him go. "Alright." He was a little disappointed he wouldn't get to kiss the dear sweet chaplain-- but he was sure he could find another chaplain back home, away from the imminent threat of death. "That's just fine by me. Thank you, Father."
The chaplain smiled weakly. Yossarian threw an arm around his shoulder, and they headed off for hopefully one of his last meals on this miserable sea-lined rock.
"Sir," the chaplain stood meekly outside Colonel Cathcart's office, hand raised in an uncertain salute. Cathcart was sitting on the edge of his desk, column of smoke leaving his mouth like a chimney as he sucked on his cigarette holder. He gestured for the chaplain to enter, and he scurried inside, taking an awkward stance somewhere in the centre of the room. Cathcart ignored him for a while, then finally shot him a lazy sidelong glance.
"What is it now, Father?"
The chaplain bit his tongue. "I... I have to report the behaviour of one of the officers. I'm afraid I had an issue with him."
"Right." Cathcart crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again, realising he couldn't smoke like that. "Well, spit it out."
The chaplain nodded, hands clasped nervously and worrying at each other. "It was Captain Yossarian, sir. He asked to kiss me."
Cathcart squinted at him. "Now why the hell would he do that?"
"Well, I believe he's a homosexual, sir," the chaplain clarified. "They like to kiss other men."
Cathcart stared off out the window as he processed this, taking a long drag off his cigarette holder. The chaplain's palms grew clammy.
"That's no good. That's no good at all." Cathcart tapped out his ashes, straightening as he stared back at him. "If I got known as the colonel who promoted a homosexual, that'd be a real black eye for me. A black eye for the whole squadron, I'd say-- I mean, we gave the bastard a medal, for crying out loud. And what were you doing this whole time? Didn't you ever notice, when you were giving confession?"
The chaplain winced, answering faintly, "I did notice, sir."
"Then why the hell didn't you say anything?"
"I did, sir. I'm the one who told you."
Cathcart puffed on his cigarette, giving him a dour look. "Is that so?" He took a few more contemplative puffs. "Well, it wouldn't be an issue if you hadn't told me, Father, so you'll be the one to deal with it."
The chaplain sighed, relieved at least that this was almost over. "I'll bring him his discharge papers, then?"
"Oh, god no. If we discharge him, it'll be all over The Saturday Evening Post. No, I want you to keep him quiet. Read him a Bible passage, give him a baptism, whatever it takes. If he has to kiss you to get his urges out, then kiss him back like the war effort depends on it."
The chaplain stared at him, bewildered and distressed. "But- but for me to do that would be a sin-"
"What's more important, Father?" Cathcart snapped. "God, or your country?" He pointed his cigarette holder at the chaplain, whose watering eyes followed the glowing butt. "You think about that. Dismissed."
The chaplain marched out, head spinning, a queasy roiling feeling heavy in his guts. He was sure that Yossarian would be utterly disappointed in him. He dreaded telling him the bad news.
"They won't send me home?"
Yossarian leant against the outer wall of the officer's club, arms crossed and face torn with a despairing frown. The chaplain shook his head apologetically, lacing his fingers together.
"Colonel Cathcart doesn't want the word to get out. He asked me to, er, cover this up instead."
"Cover what up?"
"Your homosexuality."
This was news to Yossarian. He didn't remember ever being a homosexual, except for the time he almost pretended to be one to piss off Colonel Cathcart. But the chaplain was looking at him with such a sombre face that he knew it must be true. He nodded, softening his tone.
"Ah. Right."
The chaplain fidgeted, cheeks flushing in the dim light as he avoided his gaze. Yossarian was captivated. And he did take note when, for the hundredth time since he'd met him, he had the urge to kiss the chaplain all over his acne-cratered cheeks. His heart thudded when the chaplain's eyes met his again, a little watery and limpid, like the eyes of a dead fish.
"He told me to help you suppress your urges. But you don't... you don't really have any urges, do you?"
"No, I do," Yossarian informed him, staring at his lips.
The chaplain put a hand to his mouth self-consciously, feeling around for crumbs or smears of dinner. When he was sure it was clean, he added, with a small laugh, "he made some ridiculous suggestions. He even told me I should kiss you, if I had to."
Yossarian nodded sagely. Even Cathcart had some brains sometimes.
The chaplain fumbled in his pocket for his Bible, flicking through it uncertainly. "Well I suppose, if you're really struggling with temptation- well, I suppose that's what I'm meant to help with. I could try preach to you, or we could pray together..." He glanced up. "Have you ever been baptised, Yossarian?"
Yossarian shrugged. "I don't remember."
"Right." The chaplain chewed his lip. "Well I could baptise you again, to reaffirm your faith in God..." But Yossarian shook his head before he could finish, and he fell diffidently silent.
"That won't work," he said soberly, "I've got no faith in God."
"You don't?" The chaplain stammered.
"How could I? He hasn't done anything to help me stay alive, and to top it off, he made me a homosexual." Yossarian curled his lip. "If he did exist, I'd sock the bastard in the face harder than I wanna sock Colonel Cathcart."
The chaplain paled, wringing his hands. "You can't say that!"
"Sure I can," Yossarian pointed out. "I just did."
"Well..." The chaplain ran a hand over his flaxen hair, sweating nervously. "Well, what can I do for you, then? If you don't believe in God, I certainly can't preach to you." He recalled Colonel Cathcart's suggestion again, and pursed his lips grimly, looking up at Yossarian. "Would it help to kiss me? To, uh, to... to get the urges out."
He couldn't believe he was saying it, and he couldn't believe even more that Yossarian immediately brightened at the idea. He clasped the chaplain's shoulders, beaming wildly.
"Let's give it a shot."
"But it's to help you hide these feelings," the chaplain clarified nervously, "to keep them down, so you won't kiss anyone else."
"I don't want to kiss anyone else."
"Or- or so you won't have sex with any men, if that's what you wanted."
"I won't want it," Yossarian promised. "I'll be a model heterosexual if I can kiss you."
The chaplain nodded, eyelids fluttering, and he leant in a little and Yossarian took the invite, pressing a firm kiss onto his cheek. The chaplain blinked, staring at his ear. "I think he meant on the mouth..."
"Oh." Yossarian pulled back, cupping his face a little shyly. "I'm not as good at that, but I'll try."
The chaplain was starting to question the logic of all this when Yossarian's lips met his, and then he couldn't question much of anything because his brain slammed to a stop. His eyes fell shut, dry lips pressing firmly against Yossarian's own, heart beating fast as he felt Yossarian's hand slip down onto the small of his back. Then Yossarian shoved his tongue against his lips and he broke it off in shock, realising the position they were in and stumbling back, cheeks burning.
"Well... how was that?" he managed to fumble out, heart still racing like a rabbit's.
Yossarian beamed at him, cheeks just as hot. "Great. You're amazing."
"Did it help?" The chaplain flinched as he heard a few men exit the club, just round the corner. God, they'd been far too public.
"Oh, yeah." Yossarian said, only half-attentive. "Can we do it again?"
The chaplain hesitated for just a moment-- to his dismay, he was eager to say yes.
"Let's get somewhere more private," he murmured. "We're meant to keep it a secret."
They made their way to Yossarian's tent, where Orr wasn't waiting because he'd crashed once more into the Adriatic sea. But even if he was, Yossarian explained patiently, he wouldn't notice. He always had his head clogged up with other things. So it was on his thin canvas bed that they shared their second kiss, then their third, and then their first with the tongue Yossarian was so inelegantly insistent on shoving down his throat. And though he lay awake all that night moaning in theological despair, the chaplain loathed to admit that he'd enjoyed it.
Clevinger called to Yossarian as he headed down the dirt path away from the tents, one hand raised and a towel thrown over his bare shoulder. "Hey, Yossarian!"
Yossarian stopped, and Clevinger jogged over to meet him.
"Everyone's heading to the beach right now. Are you coming?"
"Can't." Yossarian shrugged, palms up. "I've gotta go make out with the chaplain."
Clevinger squinted at him warily, eyes raking him up and down. He knew it was a trap, another idiotic ramble, and he thought to just ignore it, but as the seconds ticked passed it niggled at him more and more until with a frustrated sigh, he asked, "why are you going to make out with the chaplain, Yossarian."
"Colonel Cathcart told me to," Yossarian said, as though it were obvious. "It's to stave off my homosexual urges."
"Homosexual-" Clevinger made an affronted sound, "you sleep with at least three different women every time we go to Rome. You don't have homosexual urges!"
"Sure I do."
"Since when?"
"Since Colonel Cathcart said I did."
"And why on earth, Yossarian, would he say something like that?"
"Because I asked the chaplain to make out with me."
"You're insane!" Clevinger snapped. Yossarian started to walk off, but Clevinger stalked after him, sputtering and flailing his hands. "You're deranged and perverted and- and sexually obsessed!"
"Not sexually," Yossarian corrected, "that's the point. He kisses me so I won't want to have sex with him."
"Suppose that works out for you!" Clevinger cried.
Yossarian thought about it, finger on his chin. "No."
But he wasn't going to stop for any logical protestations. He was a homosexual, after all, and a rather sneaky one at that. So sneaky, in fact, that he'd even hidden it from himself, until the first time he'd pushed his tongue into the chaplain's mouth.
It was the second time, though, that cemented it. And by the twenty-third time Yossarian was sure Cathcart was right, and he no longer bothered to keep counting. So when he pressed the chaplain into his thin scratchy sheets and mashed their mouths together again, he couldn't think that they'd hit a prime number, or a square number, or stretched the gaps between Pythagorean triples. He could only think about how hot he felt-- his ragged breath, his thin chapped lips, the whimpering sounds that vibrated into his own mouth and burrowed somewhere deep inside his stomach. Yossarian pulled back for just a second to admire him, and the chaplain stared up with a hazy, hay-brown gaze. Their hips were pressed together but Yossarian pushed that from his head, shoved it out with more fervent kisses, quick and messy and coming on soft groans, his fingers curling in the sheets with the frustration of not being allowed to rut against him. That's what this was for, after all. To keep from sex. He was starting to wonder if it wasn't working.
The chaplain only turned his head away when they both started to get hard, fond and tender glow on his face replaced with an eyewhite-baring fear. He pushed Yossarian off, and they both sat there awkwardly, staring down at their laps.
"This is wrong," he mumbled.
Yossarian raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
"Because we're both far too into this!" His lower lip trembled, and he dropped his head into his hands. "I'm supposed to be helping you, but all I've done is- is give in to lust myself. And my wife-- Yossarian, my wife is back home and she has no idea I've done these things with you! How can I face her again? How can I face my congregation, or- or even call myself a Christian man at all?"
Yossarian had quite a few things he could say about Christianity, and fidelity, and the idiocy of being expected to abstain from carnal pleasures when one had such little good in their life beyond them. But he knew that'd hardly win him over. He tried a different approach, sidling closer to put an arm around his shoulder.
"But it's all been to help me keep from sin, right, Father? And it's worked. I haven't made love to one single man since we started spending time together."
"But did you even make love to men before this? Or kiss them?"
"Well, no," Yossarian countered, "but I might've. The only reason I haven't tried to make love to you is because I know you're so against it. If you hadn't kept up the good fight against me, who knows what might've happened?"
The chaplain's mouth still pulled down miserably, though he'd tilted his face toward him, somewhat affected. Yossarian leant against his shoulder, smiling fondly as he pressed on.
"If it was Dunbar who'd asked me to kiss him, we'd probably have had sex a dozen times by now. Or Chief White Halfoat, or Milo- - actually, I'm not so sure about Milo."
"Orr?" the chaplain offered, lips finally turning up.
Yossarian screwed up his nose, about to retort before he paused and reconsidered. "Well..."
Just as he said it, Orr stepped in through the tent-flap, a cocky grin on his face. "What's this about me?"
"I'm talking about if I'd have sex with you," Yossarian answered, making the chaplain flush and stammer.
Orr looked him up and down, then shrugged, sitting to fiddle with one of his half-assembled machines. "I'd do it if you'd come flying with me sometime."
"You're crazy." Yossarian turned to the chaplain. "He's crazy. Maybe I'd have sex with him if he wasn't."
"Your loss," Orr sing-songed, beginning to disassemble his thing. An overhead light, if Yossarian recalled correctly. He shot him a dirty look.
"Orr, we're exchanging platonic affections right now. Get out."
"Oh, I don't mind."
"Who asked if you don't mind? I mind. Screw."
"I think he's alright," the chaplain countered timidly.
Yossarian huffed, resting his cheek against his shoulder. "But I can't kiss you if he's here, and there's not one other place around that we'd get privacy right now."
The chaplain winced at his words, darting a nervous glance over at Orr. To his end, Orr didn't even lift his head, too busy unplugging wires and laying them out on the concrete floor.
"You won't say anything, will you, Orr?" He implored. "It's a matter of secrecy."
Orr glanced up, squinting at them. "What is?"
"Our mission," Yossarian said. "Colonel Cathcart told us to kiss each other so I'd stop being a homosexual. He doesn't want anyone to know."
"Oh." Orr nodded, grinning blithely. "Okay."
The chaplain stared at him, uncertain and confused, until Yossarian ducked into his field of view again.
"Are you alright now?"
The chaplain blinked, considering it. Was he? Deep down he wasn't sure he could buy Yossarian's claims-- wasn't sure he could believe any of this was a help, and not just enabling his deviant desires. And it troubled him greatly that he felt such a heat in his stomach every time they touched, that he'd sweated and whined and had erotic dreams about Yossarian every other night since they'd begun. When he caught himself in a lucid one, he'd try to push him out of his head, try to replace him with the fading image of his loyal, gorgeous wife. But he couldn't. And increasingly he was beginning to wish that he had a chaplain to talk to himself, or a line with God so he could sort out this mess of want and piety embroiling in his mind-- but when Yossarian looked at him, with those dark, eager eyes and those full lips and that broad, sunkissed body, he couldn't keep hold of his inhibitions. He nodded, and let Yossarian kiss him-- then they parted, and he was the one to meet him first this time, fingers curling in his thick dark hair, eager hum leaving his throat as Yossarian's arms wrapped tightly round his waist. He didn't even care that Orr was watching. For now, he couldn't care if anyone was.