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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 308/452
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"
I
do
know
,
"
Yossarian
teased
back
.
"
Nately
’
s
whore
told
me
.
"
Orr
grinned
like
a
gargoyle
.
"
No
she
didn
’
t
.
"
Yossarian
felt
sorry
for
Orr
.
Orr
was
so
small
and
ugly
.
Who
would
protect
him
if
he
lived
?
Who
would
protect
a
warm
-
hearted
,
simple
-
minded
gnome
like
Orr
from
rowdies
and
cliques
and
from
expert
athletes
like
Appleby
who
had
flies
in
their
eyes
and
would
walk
right
over
him
with
swaggering
conceit
and
self
-
assurance
every
chance
they
got
?
Yossarian
worried
frequently
about
Orr
.
Who
would
shield
him
against
animosity
and
deceit
,
against
people
with
ambition
and
the
embittered
snobbery
of
the
big
shot
’
s
wife
,
against
the
squalid
,
corrupting
indignities
of
the
profit
motive
and
the
friendly
neighborhood
butcher
with
inferior
meat
?
Orr
was
a
happy
and
unsuspecting
simpleton
with
a
thick
mass
of
wavy
polychromatic
hair
parted
down
the
center
.
He
would
be
mere
child
’
s
play
for
them
.
They
would
take
his
money
,
screw
his
wife
and
show
no
kindness
to
his
children
.
Yossarian
felt
a
flood
of
compassion
sweep
over
him
.
Orr
was
an
eccentric
midget
,
a
freakish
,
likable
dwarf
with
a
smutty
mind
and
a
thousand
valuable
skills
that
would
keep
him
in
a
low
income
group
all
his
life
.
He
could
use
a
soldering
iron
and
hammer
two
boards
together
so
that
the
wood
did
not
split
and
the
nails
did
not
bend
.
He
could
drill
holes
.
He
had
built
a
good
deal
more
in
the
tent
while
Yossarian
was
away
in
the
hospital
.
He
had
filed
or
chiseled
a
perfect
channel
in
the
cement
so
that
the
slender
gasoline
line
was
flush
with
the
floor
as
it
ran
to
the
stove
from
the
tank
he
had
built
outside
on
an
elevated
platform
.
He
had
constructed
andirons
for
the
fireplace
out
of
excess
bomb
parts
and
had
filled
them
with
stout
silver
logs
,
and
he
had
framed
with
stained
wood
the
photographs
of
girls
with
big
breasts
he
had
torn
out
of
cheesecake
magazines
and
hung
over
the
mantelpiece
.
Orr
could
open
a
can
of
paint
.
He
could
mix
paint
,
thin
paint
,
remove
paint
.
He
could
chop
wood
and
measure
things
with
a
ruler
.
He
knew
how
to
build
fires
.
He
could
dig
holes
,
and
he
had
a
real
gift
for
bringing
water
for
them
both
in
cans
and
canteens
from
the
tanks
near
the
mess
hall
.
He
could
engross
himself
in
an
inconsequential
task
for
hours
without
growing
restless
or
bored
,
as
oblivious
to
fatigue
as
the
stump
of
a
tree
,
and
almost
as
taciturn
.
He
had
an
uncanny
knowledge
of
wildlife
and
was
not
afraid
of
dogs
or
cats
or
beetles
or
moths
,
or
of
foods
like
scrod
or
tripe
.
Yossarian
sighed
drearily
and
began
brooding
about
the
rumored
mission
to
Bologna
.
The
valve
Orr
was
dismantling
was
about
the
size
of
a
thumb
and
contained
thirty
-
seven
separate
parts
,
excluding
the
casing
,
many
of
them
so
minute
that
Orr
was
required
to
pinch
them
tightly
between
the
tips
of
his
fingernails
as
he
placed
them
carefully
on
the
floor
in
orderly
,
catalogued
rows
,
never
quickening
his
movements
or
slowing
them
down
,
never
tiring
,
never
pausing
in
his
relentless
,
methodical
,
monotonous
procedure
unless
it
was
to
leer
at
Yossarian
with
maniacal
mischief
.
Yossarian
tried
not
to
watch
him
.
He
counted
the
parts
and
thought
he
would
go
clear
out
of
his
mind
.
He
turned
away
,
shutting
his
eyes
,
but
that
was
even
worse
,
for
now
he
had
only
the
sounds
,
the
tiny
maddening
,
indefatigable
,
distinct
clicks
and
rustles
of
hands
and
weightless
parts
.
Orr
was
breathing
rhythmically
with
a
noise
that
was
stertorous
and
repulsive
.
Yossarian
clenched
his
fists
and
looked
at
the
long
bone
-
handled
hunting
knife
hanging
in
a
holster
over
the
cot
of
the
dead
man
in
the
tent
.
As
soon
as
he
thought
of
stabbing
Orr
,
his
tension
eased
.
The
idea
of
murdering
Orr
was
so
ridiculous
that
he
began
to
consider
it
seriously
with
queer
whimsy
and
fascination
.
He
searched
the
nape
of
Orr
’
s
neck
for
the
probable
site
of
the
medulla
oblongata
.
Just
the
daintiest
stick
there
would
kill
him
and
solve
so
many
serious
,
agonizing
problems
for
them
both
.
"
Does
it
hurt
?
"
Orr
asked
at
precisely
that
moment
,
as
though
by
protective
instinct
.
Yossarian
eyed
him
closely
.
"
Does
what
hurt
?
"
"
Your
leg
,
"
said
Orr
with
a
strange
,
mysterious
laugh
.
"
You
still
limp
a
little
.
"
"
It
’
s
just
a
habit
,
I
guess
,
"
said
Yossarian
,
breathing
again
with
relief
.
"
I
’
ll
probably
get
over
it
soon
.
"
Orr
rolled
over
sideways
to
the
floor
and
came
up
on
one
knee
,
facing
toward
Yossarian
.
"
Do
you
remember
,
"
he
drawled
reflectively
,
with
an
air
of
labored
recollection
,
"
that
girl
who
was
hitting
me
on
the
head
that
day
in
Rome
?
"
He
chuckled
at
Yossarian
’
s
involuntary
exclamation
of
tricked
annoyance
.
"
I
’
ll
make
a
deal
with
you
about
that
girl
.
I
’
ll
tell
you
why
that
girl
was
hitting
me
on
the
head
with
her
shoe
that
day
if
you
answer
one
question
.
"
