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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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"
What
target
?
"
Captain
Aardvaark
,
Yossarian
’
s
plump
,
pipe
-
smoking
navigator
would
say
from
the
confusion
of
maps
he
had
created
at
Yossarian
’
s
side
in
the
nose
of
the
ship
.
"
I
don
’
t
think
we
’
re
at
the
target
yet
.
Are
we
?
"
"
Yossarian
,
did
the
bombs
hit
the
target
?
"
"
What
bombs
?
"
answered
Yossarian
,
whose
only
concern
had
been
the
flak
.
"
Oh
,
well
,
"
McWatt
would
sing
,
"
what
the
hell
.
"
Yossarian
did
not
give
a
damn
whether
he
hit
the
target
or
not
,
just
as
long
as
Havermeyer
or
one
of
the
other
lead
bombardiers
did
and
they
never
had
to
go
back
.
Every
now
and
then
someone
grew
angry
enough
at
Havermeyer
to
throw
a
punch
at
him
.
"
I
said
you
men
leave
Captain
Havermeyer
alone
,
"
Colonel
Cathcart
warned
them
all
angrily
.
"
I
said
he
’
s
the
best
damned
bombardier
we
’
ve
got
,
didn
’
t
I
?
"
Havermeyer
grinned
at
the
colonel
’
s
intervention
and
shoved
another
piece
of
peanut
brittle
inside
his
face
.
Havermeyer
had
grown
very
proficient
at
shooting
field
mice
at
night
with
the
gun
he
had
stolen
from
the
dead
man
in
Yossarian
’
s
tent
.
His
bait
was
a
bar
of
candy
and
he
would
presight
in
the
darkness
as
he
sat
waiting
for
the
nibble
with
a
finger
of
his
other
hand
inside
a
loop
of
the
line
he
had
run
from
the
frame
of
his
mosquito
net
to
the
chain
of
the
unfrosted
light
bulb
overhead
.
The
line
was
taut
as
a
banjo
string
,
and
the
merest
tug
would
snap
it
on
and
blind
the
shivering
quarry
in
a
blaze
of
light
.
Havermeyer
would
chortle
exultantly
as
he
watched
the
tiny
mammal
freeze
and
roll
its
terrified
eyes
about
in
frantic
search
of
the
intruder
.
Havermeyer
would
wait
until
the
eyes
fell
upon
his
own
and
then
he
laughed
aloud
and
pulled
the
trigger
at
the
same
time
,
showering
the
rank
,
furry
body
all
over
the
tent
with
a
reverberating
crash
and
dispatching
its
timid
soul
back
to
his
or
her
Creator
.
Late
one
night
,
Havermeyer
fired
a
shot
at
a
mouse
that
brought
Hungry
Joe
bolting
out
at
him
barefoot
,
ranting
at
the
top
of
his
screechy
voice
and
emptying
his
own
.
45
into
Havermeyer
’
s
tent
as
he
came
charging
down
one
side
of
the
ditch
and
up
the
other
and
vanished
all
at
once
inside
one
of
the
slit
trenches
that
had
appeared
like
magic
beside
every
tent
the
morning
after
Milo
Minderbinder
had
bombed
the
squadron
.
It
was
just
before
dawn
during
the
Great
Big
Siege
of
Bologna
,
when
tongueless
dead
men
peopled
the
night
hours
like
living
ghosts
and
Hungry
Joe
was
half
out
of
his
mind
with
anxiety
because
he
had
finished
his
missions
again
and
was
not
scheduled
to
fly
Hungry
Joe
was
babbling
incoherently
when
they
fished
him
out
from
the
dank
bottom
of
the
slit
trench
,
babbling
of
snakes
,
rats
and
spiders
.
The
others
flashed
their
searchlights
down
just
to
make
sure
.
There
was
nothing
inside
but
a
few
inches
of
stagnant
rain
water
.
