Moving the bomb line did not fool the Germans, but it did fool Major ---de Coverley, who packed his musettebag, commandeered an airplane and, under the impression that Florence too had been captured by the Allies, hadhimself flown to that city to rent two apartments for the officers and the enlisted men in the squadron to use onrest leaves. He had still not returned by the time Yossarian jumped back outside Major Major’s office andwondered whom to appeal to next for help.
Major ---de Coverley was a splendid, awe-inspiring, grave old man with a massive leonine head and an angryshock of wild white hair that raged like a blizzard around his stern, patriarchal face. His duties as squadronexecutive officer did consist entirely, as both Doc Daneeka and Major Major had conjectured, of pitchinghorseshoes, kidnaping Italian laborers, and renting apartments for the enlisted men and officers to use on restleaves, and he excelled at all three.
Each time the fall of a city like Naples, Rome or Florence seemed imminent, Major ---de Coverley would packhis musette bag, commandeer an airplane and a pilot, and have himself flown away, accomplishing all thiswithout uttering a word, by the sheer force of his solemn, domineering visage and the peremptory gestures of hiswrinkled finger. A day or two after the city fell, he would be back with leases on two large and luxuriousapartments there, one for the officers and one for the enlisted men, both already staffed with competent, jollycooks and maids. A few days after that, newspapers would appear throughout the world with photographs of thefirst American soldiers bludgeoning their way into the shattered city through rubble and smoke. Inevitably,Major ---de Coverley was among them, seated straight as a ramrod in a jeep he had obtained from somewhere,glancing neither right nor left as the artillery fire burst about his invincible head and lithe young infantrymenwith carbines went loping up along the sidewalks in the shelter of burning buildings or fell dead in doorways. Heseemed eternally indestructible as he sat there surrounded by danger, his features molded firmly into that samefierce, regal, just and forbidding countenance which was recognized and revered by every man in the squadron.
To German intelligence, Major ---de Coverley was a vexatious enigma; not one of the hundreds of Americanprisoners would ever supply any concrete information about the elderly white-haired officer with the gnarled andmenacing brow and blazing, powerful eyes who seemed to spearhead every important advance so fearlessly andsuccessfully. To American authorities his identity was equally perplexing; a whole regiment of crack C.I.D. menhad been thrown into the front lines to find out who he was, while a battalion of combat-hardened public-relations officers stood on red alert twenty-four hours a day with orders to begin publicizing him the moment hewas located.
In Rome, Major --- de Coverley had outdone himself with the apartments. For the officers, who arrived in groupsof four or five, there was an immense double room for each in a new white stone building, with three spaciousbathrooms with walls of shimmering aquamarine tile and one skinny maid named Michaela who tittered ateverything and kept the apartment in spotless order. On the landing below lived the obsequious owners. On thelanding above lived the beautiful rich black-haired Countess and her beautiful, rich black-haired daughter-in-law,both of whom would put out only for Nately, who was too shy to want them, and for Aarfy, who was too stuffy to take them and tried to dissuade them from ever putting out for anyone but their husbands, who had chosen toremain in the north with the family’s business interests.
“They’re really a couple of good kids,” Aarfy confided earnestly to Yossarian, whose recurring dream it was tohave the nude milk-white female bodies of both these beautiful rich black-haired good kids lying stretched out inbed erotically with him at the same time.
The enlisted men descended upon Rome in gangs of twelve or more with Gargantuan appetites and heavy cratesfilled with canned food for the women to cook and serve to them in the dining room of their own apartment onthe sixth floor of a red brick building with a clinking elevator. There was always more activity at the enlistedmen’s place. There were always more enlisted men, to begin with, and more women to cook and serve and sweepand scrub, and then there were always the gay and silly sensual young girls that Yossarian had found and broughtthere and those that the sleepy enlisted men returning to Pianosa after their exhausting seven-day debauch hadbrought there on their own and were leaving behind for whoever wanted them next. The girls had shelter andfood for as long as they wanted to stay. All they had to do in return was hump any of the men who asked them to,which seemed to make everything just about perfect for them.
Every fourth day or so Hungry Joe came crashing in like a man in torment, hoarse, wild, and frenetic, if he hadbeen unlucky enough to finish his missions again and was flying the courier ship. Most times he slept at theenlisted men’s apartment. Nobody was certain how many rooms Major ---de Coverley had rented, not even thestout black-bodiced woman in corsets on the first floor from whom he had rented them. They covered the wholetop floor, and Yossarian knew they extended down to the fifth floor as well, for it was in Snowden’s room on thefifth floor that he had finally found the maid in the lime-colored panties with a dust mop the day after Bologna,after Hungry Joe had discovered him in bed with Luciana at the officers’ apartment that same morning and hadgone running like a fiend for his camera.
The maid in the lime-colored panties was a cheerful, fat, obliging woman in her mid-thirties with squashy thighsand swaying hams in lime-colored panties that she was always rolling off for any man who wanted her. She hada plain broad face and was the most virtuous woman alive: she laid for everybody, regardless of race, creed,color or place of national origin, donating herself sociably as an act of hospitality, procrastinating not even forthe moment it might take to discard the cloth or broom or dust mop she was clutching at the time she wasgrabbed. Her allure stemmed from her accessibility; like Mt. Everest, she was there, and the men climbed on topof her each time they felt the urge. Yossarian was in love with the maid in the lime-colored panties because sheseemed to be the only woman left he could make love to without falling in love with. Even the bald-headed girlin Sicily still evoked in him strong sensations of pity, tenderness and regret.
Despite the multiple perils to which Major ---de Coverley exposed himself each time he rented apartments, hisonly injury had occurred, ironically enough, while he was leading the triumphal procession into the open city ofRome, where he was wounded in the eye by a flower fired at him from close range by a seedy, cackling,intoxicated old man, who, like Satan himself, had then bounded up on Major --- de Coverley’s car with maliciousglee, seized him roughly and contemptuously by his venerable white head and kissed him mockingly on eachcheek with a mouth reeking with sour fumes of wine, cheese and garlic, before dropping back into the joyouscelebrating throngs with a hollow, dry, excoriating laugh. Major ---de Coverley, a Spartan in adversity, did not flinch once throughout the whole hideous ordeal. And not until he had returned to Pianosa, his business in Romecompleted, did he seek medical attention for his wound.
He resolved to remain binocular and specified to Doc Daneeka that his eye patch be transparent so that he couldcontinue pitching horseshoes, kidnaping Italian laborers and renting apartments with unimpaired vision. To themen in the squadron, Major ---de Coverley was a colossus, although they never dared tell him so. The only onewho ever did dare address him was Milo Minderbinder, who approached the horseshoe-pitching pit with a hardboiledegg his second week in the squadron and held it aloft for Major ---de Coverley to see. Major ---deCoverley straightened with astonishment at Milo’s effrontery and concentrated upon him the full fury of hisstorming countenance with its rugged overhang of gullied forehead and huge crag of a humpbacked nose thatcame charging out of his face wrathfully like a Big Ten fullback. Milo stood his ground, taking shelter behind thehard-boiled egg raised protectively before his face like a magic charm. In time the gale began to subside, and thedanger passed.
“What is that?” Major --- de Coverley demanded at last.
“An egg,” Milo answered“What kind of an egg?” Major --- de Coverley demanded.
“A hard-boiled egg,” Milo answered.
“What kind of a hard-boiled egg?” Major --- de Coverley demanded.
“A fresh hard-boiled egg,” Milo answered.
“Where did the fresh egg come from?” Major --- de Coverley demanded.
“From a chicken,” Milo answered.
“Where is the chicken?” Major --- de Coverley demanded.
“The chicken is in Malta,” Milo answered.
“How many chickens are there in Malta?”
“Enough chickens to lay fresh eggs for every officer in the squadron at five cents apiece from the mess fund,”
Milo answered.
“I have a weakness for fresh eggs,” Major --- de Coverley confessed.
“If someone put a plane at my disposal, I could fly down there once a week in a squadron plane and bring backall the fresh eggs we need,” Milo answered. “After all, Malta’s not so far away.”
“Malta’s not so far away,” Major ---de Coverley observed. “You could probably fly down there once a week ina squadron plane and bring back all the fresh eggs we need.”
“Yes,” Milo agreed. “I suppose I could do that, if someone wanted me to and put a plane at my disposal.”
“I like my fresh eggs fried,” Major --- de Coverley remembered. “In fresh butter.”
“I can find all the fresh butter we need in Sicily for twenty-five cents a pound,” Milo answered. “Twenty-fivecents a pound for fresh butter is a good buy. There’s enough money in the mess fund for butter too, and we couldprobably sell some to the other squadrons at a profit and get back most of what we pay for our own.”
“What’s your name, son?” asked Major --- de Coverl............