Catch As Catch Can

by Joseph Heller

  “Look,” Esther said. She tapped his arm lightly with the branch and pointed it toward the water. “They’re fishing.”

  A large rock formation stood on the water’s edge, and behind it, a small, flat peninsula jutted out into the lake. Some young boys stood above the water, dangling makeshift poles out expectantly. Behind them, a mother or two watched with benign surveillance, and on the other side, a young couple in love laughed as they snapped pictures with a cheap camera.

  “Do you want to go down and watch?”

  She nodded and they left the road and moved down until they were standing behind the boys. A young boy in a sailor suit, the smallest boy there, pulled up a tiny fish. He fought it with his small hands, removing it from the hook. It jerked from his fingers and fell to the ground, flapping in the dirt with wet, whipping noises. The boy pounced on it, scooped it up, and dropped it into a tin can. The other boys watched admiringly, and he was proud and very precise as he baited his hook and returned it to the water. In the can, the fish continued its wild flailing.

  “Let’s go,” Esther said. She turned and started up the path. “I feel sorry for the fish. I feel sorry for everything today.”

  Andy took her arm and helped her up to the road. “Do you want to take a boat out?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not much good today, I guess. It hasn’t anything to do with seeing you again. You know I get this way every now and then.”

  They walked until the boys dropped from sight behind some trees and then seated themselves on a bench. Esther was silent, staring pensively out at the water. Andy watched her from the side, studying the planes of her face and the melancholy in her dark eyes. It was nice being with her again, and he forgot for the moment that he was awaiting an answer.

  She turned from the water slowly. “How long were you in the country?”

  “About a week,” he said.

  “I thought you’d stay longer.”

  “I was going to. I got bored after a week and came back. I knew it wouldn’t take you that long to move. Did you have any trouble finding a place?”

  “No trouble,” she said. “I was out in two days.” Her hand was moving the branch in the dust beneath the bench and she stared down intently at the crude patterns it made. “I cleaned the whole apartment just before I left,” she said proudly. “It was clean, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It was very clean.”

  “And I didn’t leave anything. I went over the whole place like a vacuum cleaner, picking up everything that belonged to me, even my toothpaste. I didn’t leave anything, did I?”

  “No. There wasn’t a thing.”

  The apartment was spotless when he returned. Some dust had gathered in the few days, but everything was neatly in place. The linoleum in the foyer and the tile in the bathroom and the sink, basin, and bathtub had all been scrubbed clean, but when he got into bed that night and moved the pillows he found one of the small combs she was always losing. He didn’t tell her about the comb now. She was so pleased for having done everything just right, and the comb wasn’t important.

  Esther turned her face slowly. “It’s a stupid world, isn’t it?” she said unhappily.

  “Yes,” Andy said. “It’s very stupid.”

  They sat without talking for several minutes. She stood up unexpectedly and looked around with displeasure. “Fresh air is over-rated,” she said. “Let’s go someplace else.”

  “All right,” Andy said. He stood up, buttoning his topcoat. The sun was paling as it moved in the sky, and the late hours were bringing in a brisk wind. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s find a bar and drink wine.”

  Andy nodded, frowning. They both drank a lot, but never excessively, and only in the evening. He took her arm and they walked to the exit. “Do you drink in the daytime now?”

  “Not usually. I just feel like drinking now. The mood demands it. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Sure,” he said. “It’s all right.”

  They found a bar on Columbus Avenue. It was empty except for the bartender, a small, wizened man who sat on a high stool behind the bar reading a newspaper. He looked up when they entered and watched them move into the room and seat themselves in a booth against the wall. He rose reluctantly and came to them. He waited without a word, his face determinedly vacant as his sharp eyes scrutinized them closely.

  “What do you want?” Esther asked Andy. “Is wine all right?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Wine is all right.”

  “Sweet or dry?”

  “Anything you say.”

  “How about port? Is port all right?”

  He nodded and she turned to the bartender. “Port for both,” she told him. “And forget the small glasses. Pour it into a big glass. Fill up a highball glass, and bring mixers so we can play with them instead of smoking.”

  The bartender waited a moment when she stopped. When he was sure she was through he turned away. Esther leaned back and sighed. She shook her coat from her back, and her small shoulders fitted nicely into the corner formed by the wall. Her thin fingers had already discovered the matchbook in the ashtray, and they were busily picking it apart. Andy lit two cigarettes and held one out. She shook her head and he placed it on the ashtray. A moment later she picked it up.

  “Well?” he said, after a few minutes. He had the matchbook now, and he stared at his thumbnail as it shredded the paper.

  “Did you have any trouble finding me?”

  He shook his head. “I just asked some people.”

  She regarded him sadly. “Things certainly get confused, don’t they?” she said.

  “Yes. They get very confused.”

  “I mean simple things, things that are clear and obvious and have no right getting confused. They get themselves all tangled up like a ball of yarn, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” he said. “They do.”

  “And now you want me back.” She waited until he nodded. “Why did you want me to go?”

  He leaned back and shrugged with embarrassment. “You know me,” he said. “You know why, don’t you?”

  “I know. But I want you to tell me.”

  He shrugged again and shifted uncomfortably. “Futility, I guess,” he said. “Shame, futility, disillusion, despair. The whole Thesaurus. They all keep piling up until they get too big. You want to get involved with something important. You want to reach out and grab a piece of something permanent. Instead, there’s nothing, nothing at all. It’s too much, and you feel you have to do something.”

  “So you got rid of me,” she said. “I’m not blaming you,” she added quickly.

  “I know you’re not,” he said. “You never blame anyone for anything.”

  She smiled again, and she seemed paler and more forlorn. She seemed tiny and lost, and he wanted to lean forward and throw his arms around her and assure her that everything was all right. Instead he played with the matches and waited.

  “What a rotten world,” she said. “What a rotten, stinking world.”

  He nodded understandingly.

  “We get so tangled up, don’t we?”

  “Like a ball of yarn.”

  “Just like a ball of yarn,” she agreed. “And for no reason. For no reason at all we make ourselves miserable.”

  He nodded again.

  “And besides,” she said. “I’m in love.”

  Andy straightened with surprise. “With who?”

  “You don’t know him. He paints. He does a lot of magazine work. He’s very successful, very intelligent, and very unhappy. He wants me to live with him.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t know, Andy,” she said. She shook her head with distress. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Neither of them spoke. To escape the uncomfortable silence, they turned to the bartender. He had been very slow with the drinks, and he was just getting them on a tray. He returned to the table slowly, a dogged look on his thin face, and s
et the drinks before them. He placed the tray beneath his arm and waited defiantly. The wine had been delivered in small glasses. Esther looked at them with surprise. Puzzled, she turned to him. The bartender maintained a stubborn silence, forcing her to speak first.

  “We asked for big glasses,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

  “We don’t serve wine in big glasses here,” he said, making each word solid and distinct so that his small speech sounded prearranged.

  “You could have told us that when we ordered,” Esther said.

  “I could do a lot of things,” the bartender said. “But I don’t. ’t like it you can leave. Nobody asked you to come here.”

  Andy studied him closely, without anger, but searchingly, and he thought he knew, but Esther was completely baffled and looked from one to the other with bewilderment.

  “We don’t want your kind here,” the bartender continued.

  Esther raised her hands in exasperation. “So that’s it,” she exclaimed, looking despairingly at Andy. “There it is again. Everytime you forget about it, someone comes along to remind you.”

  The bartender, very content now, smiled with satisfaction. “’t like it you can go,” he said again.

  “It’s too much,” Esther said. “On top of everything else, you. All in the same day. I wish to hell you’d go.”

  “This is my place,” the bartender said. “You go.”

  Andy sat up straight, bunching his shoulders, and seated, he was almost as tall as the man. “All right,” he said. “That’s enough. You made your point and we understand. I’m twice your size, and if you say one more word, I’ll pick you up in both hands and snap you in two.”

  He spoke slowly in a grim, careful voice, and there was no mistaking the sincerity behind his threat. The bartender stepped back, frightened. His face paled and his eyes shifted wildly as though hoping to discover strength in some unexpected corner of the room. Andy watched the fear come, and he felt sorry for the man.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Esther said.

  “No,” Andy said. “You wanted to drink and you’re going to.” He turned to face her, dismissing the bartender. The bartender left resentfully with a last sullen glance. He returned to his stool, turned a page, and resumed reading without another look at them.

  “I’m miserable now,” Esther said. “Now I’m really miserable.”

  “Forget about it,” Andy said. “It isn’t anything new. What’s his name?”

  “Whose?”

  “This man you’re in love with.”

  “His name is Proust.” She anticipated his question and laughed. “No, it’s Harry. Harry Proust. Do you know him?”

  “I don’t think so. Are you sure about this?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t know. It wouldn’t solve anything if I came back. Everything would still be the same. You’d want me to leave again. Then you’d want me back, and it would go on and on and on, and all the time I’d be getting older and less pretty until even you would stop wanting me, and then I would be old and all alone.”

  She continued looking at him as though she might go on, and he waited, watching her. Then, as if realizing with surprise that she was through, she smiled weakly and turned away.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Andy said. “We could get married this time.”

  “That wouldn’t help anything. It would only make everything worse, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I guess it would.”

  “It’s a rotten world, Andy. Whatever is, isn’t right. It’s wrong, completely wrong. Don’t you feel that way?”

  He nodded soberly. He felt like crying.

  “It isn’t our fault,” she continued. “It’s the world. It’s bigger than we are and there’s nothing we can do. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I guess it is.”

  She touched his hand gently. “I’m sorry, Andy.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I’m really sorry. I want you to know I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” he said. “There’s no need to be.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said abruptly. “I don’t like it. It’s dark and gloomy and the host doesn’t like us.”

  “Do you want the rest of your drink?”

  She said no. He left a dollar bill on the table and they walked to the door, walking slowly and silently and ignoring the wary glance of the bartender. Outside, it had gotten colder. A derelict wind swooped down suddenly and chased a tumbling cloud of leaves and papers down the street before them. It whipped the refuse up into a swirling circle by the curb and then spilled it out into the gutter beneath the wheels of a sudden surge of traffic. Unconsciously, they walked back toward the park.

  They both saw the pigeons in the street near the end of the block, but neither of them mentioned it. Neither of them spoke at all. When they came to the pigeons they stopped to watch. A large mob of them waddled in the street, picking at crumbs that had been scattered for them and wading in the grimy puddles that lay in the gutter against the sidewalk, filling the air with their quiet, croaking noises.

  “I could never decide if they’re pretty,” Esther said. “Are pigeons pretty?”

  “I wouldn’t say so. They remind me of pregnant women.”

  “And they’re very stupid. All they do is perch on the rooftops and come down to eat. You’d think they’d find something better to do with their freedom, wouldn’t you?”

  “There’s no such thing as freedom,” Andy said. “Freedom is an illusion.”

  “Proust doesn’t think so. He’s an existentialist.”

  “I don’t care what he is. You tell him that I said there’s no such thing as freedom. Tell him he’s being tricked. Tell him if he doesn’t believe me he can come here and watch the pigeons and see for himself.”

  “A canary would know what to do,” Esther said. “Set a canary free and he’d know what to do.” She stopped abruptly as if struck with a sudden thought. She hesitated, her lips pursed in an expression of deliberation, and clutched his arm excitedly. “Andy, let’s do it. It’s a fine idea.”

  He was puzzled and he smiled at her unexpected burst of eagerness. “Do what?”

  “Set a canary free. It isn’t much and it would make me feel good. Please, Andy. It wouldn’t cost much. We passed a pet shop near Columbus Circle.”

  “Sure,” he said, watching her with surprise. She was almost feverish with the idea, and he laughed at her intense manner. He took her arm and hurried her to the avenue.

  In the cab going downtown, she chatted unceasingly about the canary. She was no longer sad. The world, like herself, had suddenly become beautiful. She was unable to sit still but shifted animatedly with the impulsive delight of a little girl, clasping and unclasping her hands with ecstatic joy.

  “I’ll wait here,” she said, when they had left the cab and were standing across from the pet shop. “You get it, Andy. And hurry.”

  She pushed him forward impatiently. He nodded and started away. She ran after him and pulled him to a stop, her face suddenly grave. “I just remembered, Andy. It’s very important. Should we get an old one or a young one?”

  “A young one,” he said immediately. “A very young one.”

  “No, an old one. The oldest one they have.” She pushed him forward again. He stepped from the curb and started across the street. “Remember,” she called after him. “The oldest one they have.”

  He nodded without turning and hurried to the door of the shop. A man approached to greet him when he entered, watching him with a questioning smile.

  “I want a canary,” he said. The man nodded and invited him to the rear. Andy shook his head. “You pick it out for me. I want a young one, the youngest one you have.”

  The man eyed him with surprise. He shrugged indulgently and went to the back. He returned, carrying a green cage, and moved behind the counter to wrap it.

  “Never mind,” Andy said. “I’l
l take it that way. How much?”

  He paid the man, seized the cage, and strode to the door, holding it carefully before him and watching the small, yellow bird inside. He stopped by the door and turned slowly. He hesitated and walked back to the man.

  “This bird,” he said, in a sober tone. “What would happen to it if it had to live by itself in this weather?”

  The man thought for a moment. “It wouldn’t last long,” he decided. “It would probably die from the cold.”

  Andy nodded and walked out. Esther was waiting impatiently, and she rushed forward to meet him. She took the cage from his hands and held it up before her. A few passersby stopped to watch, but she didn’t notice them.

  “It’s very small,” she said. “It doesn’t look old.”

  “That’s the way they are,” he lied. “It’s very old for a canary.”

  “Well,” she said solemnly. “This is a very important moment.”

  She opened the door of the cage. The bird remained on its perch for a moment, jerking its small head about nervously. It hopped down to the floor of the cage and approached the opening. It paused, staring out suspiciously. After a moment it leaped up and stood in the opening, facing its freedom with concern. It looked for a second as though the bird would return to the interior, but then, with surprising swiftness, it flew into the air above their heads. It stopped there as if stunned by the miracle of space, fluttering its wings rapidly. It seemed to hesitate fearfully, and then it rose gloriously, shooting upward in erratic lunges until it was above the rooftops. It disappeared over a building while they craned their necks upward watching. It returned in a moment, flying toward the opposite side of the street, and vanished over the tops of the buildings there. Andy continued staring after it until he was sure it would not return. When he looked down, Esther was smiling at him happily. She took his arm.