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'I didn't know whether to believe the doctor or not,' the father said. 'You know how crooked those guys are.'

'Giuseppe,' the mother said again, in a soft, broken chord of muted anguish.

'His name is Yossarian, Ma. She don't remember things too good any more. How're they treating you in here, kid? They treating you pretty good?'

'Pretty good,' Yossarian told him.

'That's good. Just don't let anybody in here push you around. You're just as good as anybody else in here even though you are Italian. You've got rights, too.' Yossarian winced and closed his eyes so that he would not have to look at his brother John. He began to feel sick.

'Now see how terrible he looks,' the father observed.

'Giuseppe,' the mother said.

'Ma, his name is Yossarian,' the brother interrupted her impatiently. 'Can't you remember?'

'It's all right,' Yossarian interrupted him. 'She can call me Giuseppe if she wants to.'

'Giuseppe,' she said to him.

'Don't worry, Yossarian,' the brother said. 'Everything is going to be all right.'

'Don't worry, Ma,' Yossarian said. 'Everything is going to be all right.'

'Did you have a priest?' the brother wanted to know.

'Yes,' Yossarian lied, wincing again.

'That's good,' the brother decided. 'Just as long as you're getting everything you've got coming to you. We came all the way from New York. We were afraid we wouldn't get here in time.'

'In time for what?'

'In time to see you before you died.'

'What difference would it make?'

'We didn't want you to die by yourself.'

'What difference would it make?'

'He must be getting delirious,' the brother said. 'He keeps saying the same thing over and over again.'

'That's really very funny,' the old man replied. 'All the time I thought his name was Giuseppe, and now I find out his name is Yossarian. That's really very funny.'

'Ma, make him feel good,' the brother urged. 'Say something to cheer him up.'

'Giuseppe.'

'It's not Giuseppe, Ma. It's Yossarian.'

'What difference does it make?' the mother answered in the same mourning tone, without looking up. 'He's dying.' Her tumid eyes filled with tears and she began to cry, rocking back and forth slowly in her chair with her hands lying in her lap like fallen moths. Yossarian was afraid she would start wailing. The father and brother began crying also. Yossarian remembered suddenly why they were all crying, and he began crying too. A doctor Yossarian had never seen before stepped inside the room and told the visitors courteously that they had to go. The father drew himself up formally to say goodbye.

'Giuseppe,' he began.

'Yossarian,' corrected the son.

'Yossarian,' said the father.

'Giuseppe,' corrected Yossarian.