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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 266/452
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When
he
sat
with
them
he
had
no
need
to
sit
with
anyone
else
;
his
problem
of
where
to
sit
was
solved
,
and
he
was
protected
against
the
undesired
company
of
all
those
fellow
officers
who
invariably
welcomed
him
with
excessive
cordiality
when
he
approached
and
waited
uncomfortably
for
him
to
go
away
.
He
made
so
many
people
uneasy
.
Everyone
was
always
very
friendly
toward
him
,
and
no
one
was
ever
very
nice
;
everyone
spoke
to
him
,
and
no
one
ever
said
anything
.
Yossarian
and
Dunbar
were
much
more
relaxed
,
and
the
chaplain
was
hardly
uncomfortable
with
them
at
all
.
They
even
defended
him
the
night
Colonel
Cathcart
tried
to
throw
him
out
of
the
officers
"
club
again
,
Yossarian
rising
truculently
to
intervene
and
Nately
shouting
out
,
"
Yossarian
!
"
to
restrain
him
.
Colonel
Cathcart
turned
white
as
a
sheet
at
the
sound
of
Yossarian
’
s
name
,
and
,
to
everyone
’
s
amazement
,
retreated
in
horrified
disorder
until
he
bumped
into
General
Dreedle
,
who
elbowed
him
away
with
annoyance
and
ordered
him
right
back
to
order
the
chaplain
to
start
coming
into
the
officers
"
club
every
night
again
.
The
chaplain
had
almost
as
much
trouble
keeping
track
of
his
status
at
the
officers
"
club
as
he
had
remembering
at
which
of
the
ten
mess
halls
in
the
group
he
was
scheduled
to
eat
his
next
meal
.
He
would
just
as
soon
have
remained
kicked
out
of
the
officers
"
club
,
had
it
not
been
for
the
pleasure
he
was
now
finding
there
with
his
new
companions
.
If
the
chaplain
did
not
go
to
the
officers
"
club
at
night
,
there
was
no
place
else
he
could
go
.
He
would
pass
the
time
at
Yossarian
’
s
and
Dunbar
’
s
table
with
a
shy
,
reticent
smile
,
seldom
speaking
unless
addressed
,
a
glass
of
thick
sweet
wine
almost
untasted
before
him
as
he
toyed
unfamiliarly
with
the
tiny
corncob
pipe
that
he
affected
selfconsciously
and
occasionally
stuffed
with
tobacco
and
smoked
.
He
enjoyed
listening
to
Nately
,
whose
maudlin
,
bittersweet
lamentations
mirrored
much
of
his
own
romantic
desolation
and
never
failed
to
evoke
in
him
resurgent
tides
of
longing
for
his
wife
and
children
.
The
chaplain
would
encourage
Nately
with
nods
of
comprehension
or
assent
,
amused
by
his
candor
and
immaturity
.
Nately
did
not
glory
too
immodestly
that
his
girl
was
a
prostitute
,
and
the
chaplain
’
s
awareness
stemmed
mainly
from
Captain
Black
,
who
never
slouched
past
their
table
without
a
broad
wink
at
the
chaplain
and
some
tasteless
,
wounding
gibe
about
her
to
Nately
.
The
chaplain
did
not
approve
of
Captain
Black
and
found
it
difficult
not
to
wish
him
evil
.
No
one
,
not
even
Nately
,
seemed
really
to
appreciate
that
he
,
Chaplain
Robert
Oliver
Shipman
,
was
not
just
a
chaplain
but
a
human
being
,
that
he
could
have
a
charming
,
passionate
,
pretty
wife
whom
he
loved
almost
insanely
and
three
small
blue
-
eyed
children
with
strange
,
forgotten
faces
who
would
grow
up
someday
to
regard
him
as
a
freak
and
who
might
never
forgive
him
for
all
the
social
embarrassment
his
vocation
would
cause
them
.
Why
couldn
’
t
anybody
understand
that
he
was
not
really
a
freak
but
a
normal
,
lonely
adult
trying
to
lead
a
normal
,
lonely
adult
life
?
If
they
pricked
him
,
didn
’
t
he
bleed
?
And
if
he
was
tickled
,
didn
’
t
he
laugh
?
It
seemed
never
to
have
occurred
to
them
that
he
,
just
as
they
,
had
eyes
,
hands
,
organs
,
dimensions
,
senses
and
affections
,
that
he
was
wounded
by
the
same
kind
of
weapons
they
were
,
warmed
and
cooled
by
the
same
breezes
and
fed
by
the
same
kind
of
food
,
although
,
he
was
forced
to
concede
,
in
a
different
mess
hall
for
each
successive
meal
.
The
only
person
who
did
seem
to
realize
he
had
feelings
was
Corporal
Whitcomb
,
who
had
just
managed
to
bruise
them
all
by
going
over
his
head
to
Colonel
Cathcart
with
his
proposal
for
sending
form
letters
of
condolence
home
to
the
families
of
men
killed
or
wounded
in
combat
.
The
chaplain
’
s
wife
was
the
one
thing
in
the
world
he
could
be
certain
of
,
and
it
would
have
been
sufficient
,
if
only
he
had
been
left
to
live
his
life
out
with
just
her
and
the
children
.
The
chaplain
’
s
wife
was
a
reserved
,
diminutive
,
agreeable
woman
in
her
early
thirties
,
very
dark
and
very
attractive
,
with
a
narrow
waist
,
calm
intelligent
eyes
,
and
small
,
bright
,
pointy
teeth
in
a
childlike
face
that
was
vivacious
and
petite
;
he
kept
forgetting
what
his
children
looked
like
,
and
each
time
he
returned
to
their
snapshots
it
was
like
seeing
their
faces
for
the
first
time
.
The
chaplain
loved
his
wife
and
children
with
such
tameless
intensity
that
he
often
wanted
to
sink
to
the
ground
helplessly
and
weep
like
a
castaway
cripple
.
He
was
tormented
inexorably
by
morbid
fantasies
involving
them
,
by
dire
,
hideous
omens
of
illness
and
accident
.
His
meditations
were
polluted
with
threats
of
dread
diseases
like
Ewing
’
s
tumor
and
leukemia
;
he
saw
his
infant
son
die
two
or
three
times
every
week
because
he
had
never
taught
his
wife
how
to
stop
arterial
bleeding
;
watched
,
in
tearful
,
paralyzed
silence
,
his
whole
family
electrocuted
,
one
after
the
other
,
at
a
baseboard
socket
because
he
had
never
told
her
that
a
human
body
would
conduct
electricity
;
all
four
went
up
in
flames
almost
every
night
when
the
water
heater
exploded
and
set
the
two
-
story
wooden
house
afire
;
in
ghastly
,
heartless
,
revolting
detail
he
saw
his
poor
dear
wife
’
s
trim
and
fragile
body
crushed
to
a
viscous
pulp
against
the
brick
wall
of
a
market
building
by
a
half
-
wined
drunken
automobile
driver
and
watched
his
hysterical
five
-
year
-
old
daughter
being
led
away
from
the
grisly
scene
by
a
kindly
middle
-
aged
gentleman
with
snow
-
white
hair
who
raped
and
murdered
her
repeatedly
as
soon
as
he
had
driven
her
off
to
a
deserted
sandpit
,
while
his
two
younger
children
starved
to
death
slowly
in
the
house
after
his
wife
’
s
mother
,
who
had
been
baby
-
sitting
,
dropped
dead
from
a
heart
attack
when
news
of
his
wife
’
s
accident
was
given
to
her
over
the
telephone
.
The
chaplain
’
s
wife
was
a
sweet
,
soothing
,
considerate
woman
,
and
he
yearned
to
touch
the
warm
flesh
of
her
slender
arm
again
and
stroke
her
smooth
black
hair
,
to
hear
her
intimate
,
comforting
voice
.
She
was
a
much
stronger
person
than
he
was
.
He
wrote
brief
,
untroubled
letters
to
her
once
a
week
,
sometimes
twice
.
He
wanted
to
write
urgent
love
letters
to
her
all
day
long
and
crowd
the
endless
pages
with
desperate
,
uninhibited
confessions
of
his
humble
worship
and
need
and
xwith
careful
instructions
for
administering
artificial
respiration
.
He
wanted
to
pour
out
to
her
in
torrents
of
self
-
pity
all
his
unbearable
loneliness
and
despair
and
warn
her
never
to
leave
the
boric
acid
or
the
aspirin
in
reach
of
the
children
or
to
cross
a
street
against
the
traffic
light
.
He
did
not
wish
to
worry
her
.
The
chaplain
’
s
wife
was
intuitive
,
gentle
,
compassionate
and
responsive
.
Almost
inevitably
,
his
reveries
of
reunion
with
her
ended
in
explicit
acts
of
love
-
making
.
The
chaplain
felt
most
deceitful
presiding
at
funerals
,
and
it
would
not
have
astonished
him
to
learn
that
the
apparition
in
the
tree
that
day
was
a
manifestation
of
the
Almighty
’
s
censure
for
the
blasphemy
and
pride
inherent
in
his
function
.
To
simulate
gravity
,
feign
grief
and
pretend
supernatural
intelligence
of
the
hereafter
in
so
fearsome
and
arcane
a
circumstance
as
death
seemed
the
most
criminal
of
offenses
.
He
recalled
—
or
was
almost
convinced
he
recalled
—
the
scene
at
the
cemetery
perfectly
.
He
could
still
see
Major
Major
and
Major
Danby
standing
somber
as
broken
stone
pillars
on
either
side
of
him
,
see
almost
the
exact
number
of
enlisted
men
and
almost
the
exact
places
in
which
they
had
stood
,
see
the
four
unmoving
men
with
spades
,
the
repulsive
coffin
and
the
large
,
loose
,
triumphant
mound
of
reddish
-
brown
earth
,
and
the
massive
,
still
,
depthless
,
muffling
sky
,
so
weirdly
blank
and
blue
that
day
it
was
almost
poisonous
.
He
would
remember
them
forever
,
for
they
were
all
part
and
parcel
of
the
most
extraordinary
event
that
had
ever
befallen
him
,
an
event
perhaps
marvelous
,
perhaps
pathological
—
the
vision
of
the
naked
man
in
the
tree
.
How
could
he
explain
it
?
It
was
not
already
seen
or
never
seen
,
and
certainly
not
almost
seen
;
neither
déjà
vu
,
jamais
vu
nor
presque
vu
was
elastic
enough
to
cover
it
.
Was
it
a
ghost
,
then
?
The
dead
man
’
s
soul
?
An
angel
from
heaven
or
a
minion
from
hell
?
Or
was
the
whole
fantastic
episode
merely
the
figment
of
a
diseased
imagination
,
his
own
,
of
a
deteriorating
mind
,
a
rotting
brain
?
The
possibility
that
there
really
had
been
a
naked
man
in
the
tree
—
two
men
,
actually
,
since
the
first
had
been
joined
shortly
by
a
second
man
clad
in
a
brown
mustache
and
sinister
dark
garments
from
head
to
toe
who
bent
forward
ritualistically
along
the
limb
of
the
tree
to
offer
the
first
man
something
to
drink
from
a
brown
goblet
—
never
crossed
the
chaplain
’
s
mind
.
