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'That's because he treats her like dirt. Anyone can get a girl that way.'

'She wears a slave bracelet on her leg with his name on it.'

'He makes her wear it to needle Nately.'

'She even gives him some of the money she gets from Nately.'

'Listen, what do you want from me?'

'Did you ever screw my girl?'

'Your girl? Who the hell is your girl?'

'The one who hit me over the head with her shoe.'

'I've been with her a couple of times,' Yossarian admitted. 'Since when is she your girl? What are you getting at?'

'She don't like you, either.'

'What the hell do I care if she likes me or not? She likes me as much as she likes you.'

'Did she ever hit you over the head with her shoe?'

'Orr, I'm tired. Why don't you leave me alone?'

'Tee-hee-hee. How about that skinny countess in Rome and her skinny daughter-in-law?' Orr persisted impishly with increasing zest. 'Did you ever screw them?'

'Oh, how I wish I could,' sighed Yossarian honestly, imagining, at the mere question, the prurient, used, decaying feel in his petting hands of their teeny, pulpy buttocks and breasts.

'They don't like you either,' commented Orr. 'They like Aarfy, and they like Nately, but they don't like you. Women just don't seem to like you. I think they think you're a bad influence.'

'Women are crazy,' Yossarian answered, and waited grimly for what he knew was coming next.

'How about that other girl of yours?' Orr asked with a pretense of pensive curiosity. 'The fat one? The bald one? You know, that fat bald one in Sicily with the turban who kept sweating all over us all night long? Is she crazy too?'

'Didn't she like me either?'

'How could you do it to a girl with no hair?'

'How was I supposed to know she had no hair?'

'I knew it,' Orr bragged. 'I knew it all the time.'

'You knew she was bald?' Yossarian exclaimed in wonder.

'No, I knew this valve wouldn't work if I left a part out,' Orr answered, glowing with cranberry-red elation because he had just duped Yossarian again. 'Will you please hand me that small composition gasket that rolled over there? It's right near your foot.'

'No it isn't.'

'Right here,' said Orr, and took hold of something invisible with the tips of his fingernails and held it up for Yossarian to see. 'Now I'll have to start all over again.'

'I'll kill you if you do. I'll murder you right on the spot.'

'Why don't you ever fly with me?' Orr asked suddenly, and looked straight into Yossarian's face for the first time. 'There, that's the question I want you to answer. Why don't you ever fly with me?' Yossarian turned away with intense shame and embarrassment. 'I told you why. They've got me flying lead bombardier most of the time.'

'That's not why,' Orr said, shaking his head. 'You went to Piltchard and Wren after the first Avignon mission and told them you didn't ever want to fly with me. That's why, isn't it?' Yossarian felt his skin turn hot. 'No I didn't,' he lied.

'Yes you did,' Orr insisted equably. 'You asked them not to assign you to any plane piloted by me, Dobbs or Huple because you didn't have confidence in us at the controls. And Piltchard and Wren said they couldn't make an exception of you because it wouldn't be fair to the men who did have to fly with us.'