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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 347/452
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"
He
doesn
’
t
like
the
House
of
Representatives
"
"
Mamma
mia
!
What
’
s
the
matter
with
you
?
"
"
È
pazzo
,
"
observed
her
kid
sister
philosophically
.
"
That
’
s
what
’
s
the
matter
with
him
.
"
"
Si
,
"
the
older
girl
agreed
readily
,
tearing
at
her
long
brown
hair
with
both
hands
.
"
Lui
è
pazzo
.
"
But
she
missed
Nately
when
he
was
away
and
was
furious
with
Yossarian
when
he
punched
Nately
in
the
face
with
all
his
might
and
knocked
him
into
the
hospital
with
a
broken
nose
.
It
was
actually
all
Sergeant
Knight
’
s
fault
that
Yossarian
busted
Nately
in
the
nose
on
Thanksgiving
Day
,
after
everyone
in
the
squadron
had
given
humble
thanks
to
Milo
for
providing
the
fantastically
opulent
meal
on
which
the
officers
and
enlisted
men
had
gorged
themselves
insatiably
all
afternoon
and
for
dispensing
like
inexhaustible
largess
the
unopened
bottles
of
cheap
whiskey
he
handed
out
unsparingly
to
every
man
who
asked
.
Even
before
dark
,
young
soldiers
with
pasty
white
faces
were
throwing
up
everywhere
and
passing
out
drunkenly
on
the
ground
.
The
air
turned
foul
.
Other
men
picked
up
steam
as
the
hours
passed
,
and
the
aimless
,
riotous
celebration
continued
.
It
was
a
raw
,
violent
,
guzzling
saturnalia
that
spilled
obstreperously
through
the
woods
to
the
officers
"
club
and
spread
up
into
the
hills
toward
the
hospital
and
the
antiaircraft
-
gun
emplacements
.
There
were
fist
fights
in
the
squadron
and
one
stabbing
.
Corporal
Kolodny
shot
himself
through
the
leg
in
the
intelligence
tent
while
playing
with
a
loaded
gun
and
had
his
gums
and
toes
painted
purple
in
the
speeding
ambulance
as
he
lay
on
his
back
with
the
blood
spurting
from
his
wound
.
Men
with
cut
fingers
,
bleeding
heads
,
stomach
cramps
and
broken
ankles
came
limping
penitently
up
to
the
medical
tent
to
have
their
gums
and
toes
painted
purple
by
Gus
and
Wes
and
be
given
a
laxative
to
throw
into
the
bushes
.
The
joyous
celebration
lasted
long
into
the
night
,
and
the
stillness
was
fractured
often
by
wild
,
exultant
shouts
and
by
the
cries
of
people
who
were
merry
or
sick
.
There
was
the
recurring
sound
of
retching
and
moaning
,
of
laughter
,
greetings
,
threats
and
swearing
,
and
of
bottles
shattering
against
rock
.
There
were
dirty
songs
in
the
distance
.
It
was
worse
than
New
Year
’
s
Eve
.
Yossarian
went
to
bed
early
for
safety
and
soon
dreamed
that
he
was
fleeing
almost
headlong
down
an
endless
wooden
staircase
,
making
a
loud
,
staccato
clatter
with
his
heels
.
Then
he
woke
up
a
little
and
realized
someone
was
shooting
at
him
with
a
machine
gun
.
A
tortured
,
terrified
sob
rose
in
his
throat
.
His
first
thought
was
that
Milo
was
attacking
the
squadron
again
,
and
he
rolled
of
his
cot
to
the
floor
and
lay
underneath
in
a
trembling
,
praying
ball
,
his
heart
thumping
like
a
drop
forge
,
his
body
bathed
in
a
cold
sweat
.
There
was
no
noise
of
planes
.
A
drunken
,
happy
laugh
sounded
from
afar
.
"
Happy
New
Year
,
Happy
New
Year
!
"
a
triumphant
familiar
voice
shouted
hilariously
from
high
above
between
the
short
,
sharp
bursts
of
machine
gun
fire
,
and
Yossarian
understood
that
some
men
had
gone
as
a
prank
to
one
of
the
sandbagged
machine
-
gun
emplacements
Milo
had
installed
in
the
hills
after
his
raid
on
the
squadron
and
staffed
with
his
own
men
.
Yossarian
blazed
with
hatred
and
wrath
when
he
saw
he
was
the
victim
of
an
irresponsible
joke
that
had
destroyed
his
sleep
and
reduced
him
to
a
whimpering
hulk
.
He
wanted
to
kill
,
he
wanted
to
murder
.
He
was
angrier
than
he
had
ever
been
before
,
angrier
even
than
when
he
had
slid
his
hands
around
McWatt
’
s
neck
to
strangle
him
.
The
gun
opened
fire
again
.
Voices
cried
"
Happy
New
Year
!
"
and
gloating
laughter
rolled
down
from
the
hills
through
the
darkness
like
a
witch
’
s
glee
.
In
moccasins
and
coveralls
,
Yossarian
charged
out
of
his
tent
for
revenge
with
his
.
45
,
ramming
a
clip
of
cartridges
up
into
the
grip
and
slamming
the
bolt
of
the
gun
back
to
load
it
.
He
snapped
off
the
safety
catch
and
was
ready
to
shoot
.
He
heard
Nately
running
after
him
to
restrain
him
,
calling
his
name
.
The
machine
gun
opened
fire
once
more
from
a
black
rise
above
the
motor
pool
,
and
orange
tracer
bullets
skimmed
like
low
-
gliding
dashes
over
the
tops
of
the
shadowy
tents
,
almost
clipping
the
peaks
.
Roars
of
rough
laughter
rang
out
again
between
the
short
bursts
.
Yossarian
felt
resentment
boil
like
acid
inside
him
;
they
were
endangering
his
life
,
the
bastards
!
With
blind
,
ferocious
rage
and
determination
,
he
raced
across
the
squadron
past
the
motor
pool
,
running
as
fast
as
he
could
,
and
was
already
pounding
up
into
the
hills
along
the
narrow
,
winding
path
when
Nately
finally
caught
up
,
still
calling
"
Yo
-
Yo
!
Yo
-
Yo
!
"
with
pleading
concern
and
imploring
him
to
stop
.
He
grasped
Yossarian
’
s
shoulders
and
tried
to
hold
him
back
.
Yossarian
twisted
free
,
turning
.
Nately
reached
for
him
again
,
and
Yossarian
drove
his
fist
squarely
into
Nately
’
s
delicate
young
face
as
hard
as
he
could
,
cursing
him
,
then
drew
his
arm
back
to
hit
him
again
,
but
Nately
had
dropped
out
of
sight
with
a
groan
and
lay
curled
up
on
the
ground
with
his
head
buried
in
both
hands
and
blood
streaming
between
his
fingers
.
