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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 366/452
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Nately
’
s
death
almost
killed
the
chaplain
.
Chaplain
Shipman
was
seated
in
his
tent
,
laboring
over
his
paperwork
in
his
reading
spectacles
,
when
his
phone
rang
and
news
of
the
mid
-
air
collision
was
given
to
him
from
the
field
.
His
insides
turned
at
once
to
dry
clay
.
His
hand
was
trembling
as
he
put
the
phone
down
.
His
other
hand
began
trembling
.
The
disaster
was
too
immense
to
contemplate
.
Twelve
men
killed
—
how
ghastly
,
how
very
,
very
awful
!
His
feeling
of
terror
grew
.
He
prayed
instinctively
that
Yossarian
,
Nately
,
Hungry
Joe
and
his
other
friends
would
not
be
listed
among
the
victims
,
then
berated
himself
repentantly
,
for
to
pray
for
their
safety
was
to
pray
for
the
death
of
other
young
men
he
did
not
even
know
.
It
was
too
late
to
pray
;
yet
that
was
all
he
knew
how
to
do
.
His
heart
was
pounding
with
a
noise
that
seemed
to
be
coming
from
somewhere
outside
,
and
he
knew
he
would
never
sit
in
a
dentist
’
s
chair
again
,
never
glance
at
a
surgical
tool
,
never
witness
an
automobile
accident
or
hear
a
voice
shout
at
night
,
without
experiencing
the
same
violent
thumping
in
his
chest
and
dreading
that
he
was
going
to
die
.
He
would
never
watch
another
fist
fight
without
fearing
he
was
going
to
faint
and
crack
his
skull
open
on
the
pavement
or
suffer
a
fatal
heart
attack
or
cerebral
hemorrhage
.
He
wondered
if
he
would
ever
see
his
wife
again
or
his
three
small
children
.
He
wondered
if
he
ever
should
see
his
wife
again
,
now
that
Captain
Black
had
planted
in
his
mind
such
strong
doubts
about
the
fidelity
and
character
of
all
women
.
There
were
so
many
other
men
,
he
felt
,
who
could
prove
more
satisfying
to
her
sexually
.
When
he
thought
of
death
now
,
he
always
thought
of
his
wife
,
and
when
he
thought
of
his
wife
he
always
thought
of
losing
her
.
In
another
minute
the
chaplain
felt
strong
enough
to
rise
and
walk
with
glum
reluctance
to
the
tent
next
door
for
Sergeant
Whitcomb
.
They
drove
in
Sergeant
Whitcomb
’
s
jeep
.
The
chaplain
made
fists
of
his
hands
to
keep
them
from
shaking
as
they
lay
in
his
lap
.
He
ground
his
teeth
together
and
tried
not
to
hear
as
Sergeant
Whitcomb
chirruped
exultantly
over
the
tragic
event
.
Twelve
men
killed
meant
twelve
more
form
letters
of
condolence
that
could
be
mailed
in
one
bunch
to
the
next
of
kin
over
Colonel
Cathcart
’
s
signature
,
giving
Sergeant
Whitcomb
hope
of
getting
an
article
on
Colonel
Cathcart
into
The
Saturday
Evening
Post
in
time
for
Easter
.
At
the
field
a
heavy
silence
prevailed
,
overpowering
motion
like
a
ruthless
,
insensate
spell
holding
in
thrall
the
only
beings
who
might
break
it
.
The
chaplain
was
in
awe
.
He
had
never
beheld
such
a
great
,
appalling
stillness
before
.
Almost
two
hundred
tired
,
gaunt
,
downcast
men
stood
holding
their
parachute
packs
in
a
somber
and
unstirring
crowd
outside
the
briefing
room
,
their
faces
staring
blankly
in
different
angles
of
stunned
dejection
.
They
seemed
unwilling
to
go
,
unable
to
move
.
The
chaplain
was
acutely
conscious
of
the
faint
noise
his
footsteps
made
as
he
approached
.
His
eyes
searched
hurriedly
,
frantically
,
through
the
immobile
maze
of
limp
figures
.
He
spied
Yossarian
finally
with
a
feeling
of
immense
joy
,
and
then
his
mouth
gaped
open
slowly
in
unbearable
horror
as
he
noted
Yossarian
’
s
vivid
,
beaten
,
grimy
look
of
deep
,
drugged
despair
.
He
understood
at
once
,
recoiling
in
pain
from
the
realization
and
shaking
his
head
with
a
protesting
and
imploring
grimace
,
that
Nately
was
dead
.
The
knowledge
struck
him
with
a
numbing
shock
.
A
sob
broke
from
him
.
The
blood
drained
from
his
legs
,
and
he
thought
he
was
going
to
drop
.
Nately
was
dead
.
All
hope
that
he
was
mistaken
was
washed
away
by
the
sound
of
Nately
’
s
name
emerging
with
recurring
clarity
now
from
the
almost
inaudible
babble
of
murmuring
voices
that
he
was
suddenly
aware
of
for
the
first
time
.
Nately
was
dead
:
the
boy
had
been
killed
.
A
whimpering
sound
rose
in
the
chaplain
’
s
throat
,
and
his
jaw
began
to
quiver
.
His
eyes
filled
with
tears
,
and
he
was
crying
.
He
started
toward
Yossarian
on
tiptoe
to
mourn
beside
him
and
share
his
wordless
grief
.
At
that
moment
a
hand
grabbed
him
roughly
around
the
arm
and
a
brusque
voice
demanded
,
"
Chaplain
Shipman
?
"
He
turned
with
surprise
to
face
a
stout
,
pugnacious
colonel
with
a
large
head
and
mustache
and
a
smooth
,
florid
skin
.
He
had
never
seen
the
man
before
.
"
Yes
.
What
is
it
?
"
The
fingers
grasping
the
chaplain
’
s
arm
were
hurting
him
,
and
he
tried
in
vain
to
squirm
loose
.
"
Come
along
.
"
The
chaplain
pulled
back
in
frightened
confusion
.
"
Where
?
Why
?
Who
are
you
,
anyway
?
"
"
You
’
d
better
come
along
with
us
,
Father
,
"
a
lean
,
hawk
-
faced
major
on
the
chaplain
’
s
other
side
intoned
with
reverential
sorrow
.
"
We
’
re
from
the
government
.
We
want
to
ask
you
some
questions
.
"
"
What
kind
of
questions
?
What
’
s
the
matter
?
"
"
Aren
’
t
you
Chaplain
Shipman
?
"
demanded
the
obese
colonel
.
