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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 14/452
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Clevinger
really
thought
he
was
right
,
but
Yossarian
had
proof
,
because
strangers
he
didn
’
t
know
shot
at
him
with
cannons
every
time
he
flew
up
into
the
air
to
drop
bombs
on
them
,
and
it
wasn
’
t
funny
at
all
.
And
if
that
wasn
’
t
funny
,
there
were
lots
of
things
that
weren
’
t
even
funnier
.
There
was
nothing
funny
about
living
like
a
bum
in
a
tent
in
Pianosa
between
fat
mountains
behind
him
and
a
placid
blue
sea
in
front
that
could
gulp
down
a
person
with
a
cramp
in
the
twinkling
of
an
eye
and
ship
him
back
to
shore
three
days
later
,
all
charges
paid
,
bloated
,
blue
and
putrescent
,
water
draining
out
through
both
cold
nostrils
.
The
tent
he
lived
in
stood
right
smack
up
against
the
wall
of
the
shallow
,
dull
-
colored
forest
separating
his
own
squadron
from
Dunbar
’
s
.
Immediately
alongside
was
the
abandoned
railroad
ditch
that
carried
the
pipe
that
carried
the
aviation
gasoline
down
to
the
fuel
trucks
at
the
airfield
.
Thanks
to
Orr
,
his
roommate
,
it
was
the
most
luxurious
tent
in
the
squadron
.
Each
time
Yossarian
returned
from
one
of
his
holidays
in
the
hospital
or
rest
leaves
in
Rome
,
he
was
surprised
by
some
new
comfort
Orr
had
installed
in
his
absence
—
running
water
,
wood
-
burning
fireplace
,
cement
floor
.
Yossarian
had
chosen
the
site
,
and
he
and
Orr
had
raised
the
tent
together
.
Orr
,
who
was
a
grinning
pygmy
with
pilot
’
s
wings
and
thick
,
wavy
brown
hair
parted
in
the
middle
,
furnished
all
the
knowledge
,
while
Yossarian
,
who
was
taller
,
stronger
,
broader
and
faster
,
did
most
of
the
work
.
Just
the
two
of
them
lived
there
,
although
the
tent
was
big
enough
for
six
.
When
summer
came
,
Orr
rolled
up
the
side
flaps
to
allow
a
breeze
that
never
blew
to
flush
away
the
air
baking
inside
.
Immediately
next
door
to
Yossarian
was
Havermeyer
,
who
liked
peanut
brittle
and
lived
all
by
himself
in
the
two
-
man
tent
in
which
he
shot
tiny
field
mice
every
night
with
huge
bullets
from
the
.
45
he
had
stolen
from
the
dead
man
in
Yossarian
’
s
tent
.
On
the
other
side
of
Havermeyer
stood
the
tent
McWatt
no
longer
shared
with
Clevinger
,
who
had
still
not
returned
when
Yossarian
came
out
of
the
hospital
.
McWatt
shared
his
tent
now
with
Nately
,
who
was
away
in
Rome
courting
the
sleepy
whore
he
had
fallen
so
deeply
in
love
with
there
who
was
bored
with
her
work
and
bored
with
him
too
.
McWatt
was
crazy
.
He
was
a
pilot
and
flew
his
plane
as
low
as
he
dared
over
Yossarian
’
s
tent
as
often
as
he
could
,
just
to
see
how
much
he
could
frighten
him
,
and
loved
to
go
buzzing
with
a
wild
,
close
roar
over
the
wooden
raft
floating
on
empty
oil
drums
out
past
the
sand
bar
at
the
immaculate
white
beach
where
the
men
went
swimming
naked
.
Sharing
a
tent
with
a
man
who
was
crazy
wasn
’
t
easy
,
but
Nately
didn
’
t
care
.
He
was
crazy
,
too
,
and
had
gone
every
free
day
to
work
on
the
officers
’
club
that
Yossarian
had
not
helped
build
.
Actually
,
there
were
many
officers
’
clubs
that
Yossarian
had
not
helped
build
,
but
he
was
proudest
of
the
one
on
Pianosa
.
It
was
a
sturdy
and
complex
monument
to
his
powers
of
determination
.
Yossarian
never
went
there
to
help
until
it
was
finished
;
then
he
went
there
often
,
so
pleased
was
he
with
the
large
,
fine
,
rambling
shingled
building
.
It
was
truly
a
splendid
structure
,
and
Yossarian
throbbed
with
a
mighty
sense
of
accomplishment
each
time
he
gazed
at
it
and
reflected
that
none
of
the
work
that
had
gone
into
it
was
his
.
There
were
four
of
them
seated
together
at
a
table
in
the
officers
’
club
the
last
time
he
and
Clevinger
had
called
each
other
crazy
.
They
were
seated
in
back
near
the
crap
table
on
which
Appleby
always
managed
to
win
.
Appleby
was
as
good
at
shooting
crap
as
he
was
at
playing
Ping
-
Pong
,
and
he
was
as
good
at
playing
Ping
-
Pong
as
he
was
at
everything
else
.
Everything
Appleby
did
,
he
did
well
.
Appleby
was
a
fair
-
haired
boy
from
Iowa
who
believed
in
God
,
Motherhood
and
the
American
Way
of
Life
,
without
ever
thinking
about
any
of
them
,
and
everybody
who
knew
him
liked
him
.
"
I
hate
that
son
of
a
bitch
,
"
Yossarian
growled
.
The
argument
with
Clevinger
had
begun
a
few
minutes
earlier
when
Yossarian
had
been
unable
to
find
a
machine
gun
.
It
was
a
busy
night
.
The
bar
was
busy
,
the
crap
table
was
busy
,
the
Ping
-
Pong
table
was
busy
.
The
people
Yossarian
wanted
to
machine
-
gun
were
busy
at
the
bar
singing
sentimental
old
favorites
that
nobody
else
ever
tired
of
.
Instead
of
machine
-
gunning
them
,
he
brought
his
heel
down
hard
on
the
Ping
-
Pong
ball
that
came
rolling
toward
him
off
the
paddle
of
one
of
the
two
officers
playing
.
"
That
Yossarian
,
"
the
two
officers
laughed
,
shaking
their
heads
,
and
got
another
ball
from
the
box
on
the
shelf
.
