"What business?"
"Real estate, of course."
"Real estate!" scoffed Yossarian.
"You refuse to believe me," said Gaffney, smiling, "and yet you think you want the truth."
"The truth will make us free, won't it?"
"It doesn't," answered Gaffney. "And it won't. It never has." He pointed down to McBride. "Let's go, Yo-Yo. He has another truth to show you. Recognize that music?"
Yossarian was almost sure he was hearing the Leverkuhn passages again on the speaker system, from the work that had never been written, in a mellow version for orchestra, played rubato, legato, vibrato, tremolo, glissando, and ritardando, sweetly disguised for popular absorption, with no quavering, jolting hint of fearful climax.
"Gaffney, you're wrong about that Leverkuhn, you know. It's from the Apocalypse."
"I know that now. I looked it up and saw I was mistaken. I can't tell you how it embarrasses me to say so. But I bet I do know what you're going to ask me next."
"Notice anything?" asked Yossarian anyway.
"Of course," said Gaffney. "We cast no shadows down here, our feet make no noise. Do you notice anything?" Gaffney asked, as they joined McBride. He was not referring to the guard in the archway on a chair at the elevator. "Do you?"
> It was Kilroy.
He was gone.
The words on his plaque had been effaced.
Kilroy was dead, McBride revealed. "I felt I should tell you."
"I had a feeling he was," said Yossarian. "There are people my age who'll be sorry to hear that. Vietnam?"
"Oh, no, no," McBride answered with surprise. "It was cancer. Of the prostate, the bone, the lungs, and the brain. They have it down as a natural death."
"A natural death," repeated Yossarian in lament.
"It could be worse," said Gaffney, sympathizing. "At least Yossarian is alive."
"Sure," said McBride, like a hearty fellow. "Yossarian still lives."
"Yossarian lives?" repeated Yossarian.
"Sure, Yossarian lives," said McBride. "Maybe we can put that one up on the wall instead."
"Sure, and for how long?" Yossarian answered, and the alarm went off.
McBride gave an immediate start. "Hey, what the hell is that?" He looked frightened. "Isn't that the alert?"
Gaffney was nodding. "I think so too."
"You guys wait here!" McBride was already running toward the guard. "I'll go find out."
"Gaffney?" asked Yossarian, quivering.
"I don't know down here," Gaffney answered grimly. "It may be the war, triage time."
"Shouldn't we get the hell out? Let's jump outside."
"Don't go crazy, Yossarian. We're much safer here."