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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 406/452
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"
Keep
him
under
arrest
!
"
the
M
.
P
.
shouted
,
doubling
over
with
raucous
laughter
at
his
jest
,
and
sped
away
in
his
jeep
.
Yossarian
recalled
that
he
had
no
leave
papers
and
moved
prudently
past
the
strange
group
toward
the
sound
of
muffled
voices
emanating
from
a
distance
inside
the
murky
darkness
ahead
.
The
broad
,
rain
-
blotched
boulevard
was
illuminated
every
half
-
block
by
short
,
curling
lampposts
with
eerie
,
shimmering
glares
surrounded
by
smoky
brown
mist
.
From
a
window
overhead
he
heard
an
unhappy
female
voice
pleading
,
"
Please
don
’
t
.
Please
don
’
t
.
"
A
despondent
young
woman
in
a
black
raincoat
with
much
black
hair
on
her
face
passed
with
her
eyes
lowered
.
At
the
Ministry
of
Public
Affairs
on
the
next
block
,
a
drunken
lady
was
backed
up
against
one
of
the
fluted
Corinthian
columns
by
a
drunken
young
soldier
,
while
three
drunken
comrades
in
arms
sat
watching
nearby
on
the
steps
with
wine
bottles
standing
between
their
legs
.
"
Pleeshe
don
’
t
,
"
begged
the
drunken
lady
.
"
I
want
to
go
home
now
.
Pleeshe
don
’
t
.
"
One
of
the
sitting
men
cursed
pugnaciously
and
hurled
a
wine
bottle
at
Yossarian
when
he
turned
to
look
up
.
The
bottle
shattered
harmlessly
far
away
with
a
brief
and
muted
noise
.
Yossarian
continued
walking
away
at
the
same
listless
,
unhurried
pace
,
hands
buried
in
his
pockets
.
"
Come
on
,
baby
,
"
he
heard
the
drunken
soldier
urge
determinedly
.
"
It
’
s
my
turn
now
.
"
"
Pleeshe
don
’
t
,
"
begged
the
drunken
lady
.
"
Pleeshe
don
’
t
.
"
At
the
very
next
corner
,
deep
inside
the
dense
,
impenetrable
shadows
of
a
narrow
,
winding
side
street
,
he
heard
the
mysterious
,
unmistakable
sound
of
someone
shoveling
snow
.
The
measured
,
labored
,
evocative
scrape
of
iron
shovel
against
concrete
made
his
flesh
crawl
with
terror
as
he
stepped
from
the
curb
to
cross
the
ominous
alley
and
hurried
onward
until
the
haunting
,
incongruous
noise
had
been
left
behind
.
Now
he
knew
where
he
was
:
soon
,
if
he
continued
without
turning
,
he
would
come
to
the
dry
fountain
in
the
middle
of
the
boulevard
,
then
to
the
officers
"
apartment
seven
blocks
beyond
.
He
heard
snarling
,
inhuman
voices
cutting
through
the
ghostly
blackness
in
front
suddenly
.
The
bulb
on
the
corner
lamp
post
had
died
,
spilling
gloom
over
half
the
street
,
throwing
everything
visible
off
balance
.
On
the
other
side
of
the
intersection
,
a
man
was
beating
a
dog
with
a
stick
like
the
man
who
was
beating
the
horse
with
a
whip
in
Raskolnikov
’
s
dream
.
Yossarian
strained
helplessly
not
to
see
or
hear
.
The
dog
whimpered
and
squealed
in
brute
,
dumbfounded
hysteria
at
the
end
of
an
old
Manila
rope
and
groveled
and
crawled
on
its
belly
without
resisting
,
but
the
man
beat
it
and
beat
it
anyway
with
his
heavy
,
flat
stick
.
A
small
crowd
watched
.
A
squat
woman
stepped
out
and
asked
him
please
to
stop
.
"
Mind
your
own
business
,
"
the
man
barked
gruffly
,
lifting
his
stick
as
though
he
might
beat
her
too
,
and
the
woman
retreated
sheepishly
with
an
abject
and
humiliated
air
.
Yossarian
quickened
his
pace
to
get
away
,
almost
ran
.
The
night
was
filled
with
horrors
,
and
he
thought
he
knew
how
Christ
must
have
felt
as
he
walked
through
the
world
,
like
a
psychiatrist
through
a
ward
full
of
nuts
,
like
a
victim
through
a
prison
full
of
thieves
.
What
a
welcome
sight
a
leper
must
have
been
!
At
the
next
corner
a
man
was
beating
a
small
boy
brutally
in
the
midst
of
an
immobile
crowd
of
adult
spectators
who
made
no
effort
to
intervene
.
Yossarian
recoiled
with
sickening
recognition
.
He
was
certain
he
had
witnessed
that
same
horrible
scene
sometime
before
.
Déjà
vu
?
The
sinister
coincidence
shook
him
and
filled
him
with
doubt
and
dread
.
It
was
the
same
scene
he
had
witnessed
a
block
before
,
although
everything
in
it
seemed
quite
different
.
What
in
the
world
was
happening
?
Would
a
squat
woman
step
out
and
ask
the
man
to
please
stop
?
Would
he
raise
his
hand
to
strike
her
and
would
she
retreat
?
Nobody
moved
.
The
child
cried
steadily
as
though
in
drugged
misery
.
The
man
kept
knocking
him
down
with
hard
,
resounding
open
-
palm
blows
to
the
head
,
then
jerking
him
up
to
his
feet
in
order
to
knock
him
down
again
.
No
one
in
the
sullen
,
cowering
crowd
seemed
to
care
enough
about
the
stunned
and
beaten
boy
to
interfere
.
The
child
was
no
more
than
nine
.
One
drab
woman
was
weeping
silently
into
a
dirty
dish
towel
.
The
boy
was
emaciated
and
needed
a
haircut
.
Bright
-
red
blood
was
streaming
from
both
ears
.
Yossarian
crossed
quickly
to
the
other
side
of
the
immense
avenue
to
escape
the
nauseating
sight
and
found
himself
walking
on
human
teeth
lying
on
the
drenched
,
glistening
pavement
near
splotches
of
blood
kept
sticky
by
the
pelting
raindrops
poking
each
one
like
sharp
fingernails
.
Molars
and
broken
incisors
lay
scattered
everywhere
.
He
circled
on
tiptoe
the
grotesque
debris
and
came
near
a
doorway
containing
a
crying
soldier
holding
a
saturated
handkerchief
to
his
mouth
,
supported
as
he
sagged
by
two
other
soldiers
waiting
in
grave
impatience
for
the
military
ambulance
that
finally
came
clanging
up
with
amber
fog
lights
on
and
passed
them
by
for
an
altercation
on
the
next
block
between
a
civilian
Italian
with
books
and
a
slew
of
civilian
policemen
with
armlocks
and
clubs
.
The
screaming
,
struggling
civilian
was
a
dark
man
with
a
face
white
as
flour
from
fear
.
His
eyes
were
pulsating
in
hectic
desperation
,
flapping
like
bat
’
s
wings
,
as
the
many
tall
policemen
seized
him
by
the
arms
and
legs
and
lifted
him
up
.
His
books
were
spilled
on
the
ground
.
"
Help
!
"
he
shrieked
shrilly
in
a
voice
strangling
in
its
own
emotion
,
as
the
policemen
carried
him
to
the
open
doors
in
the
rear
of
the
ambulance
and
threw
him
inside
.
"
Police
!
Help
!
Police
!
"
The
doors
were
shut
and
bolted
,
and
the
ambulance
raced
away
.
There
was
a
humorless
irony
in
the
ludicrous
panic
of
the
man
screaming
for
help
to
the
police
while
policemen
were
all
around
him
.
Yossarian
smiled
wryly
at
the
futile
and
ridiculous
cry
for
aid
,
then
saw
with
a
start
that
the
words
were
ambiguous
,
realized
with
alarm
that
they
were
not
,
perhaps
,
intended
as
a
call
for
police
but
as
a
heroic
warning
from
the
grave
by
a
doomed
friend
to
everyone
who
was
not
a
policeman
with
a
club
and
a
gun
and
a
mob
of
other
policemen
with
clubs
and
guns
to
back
him
up
.
"
Help
!
Police
!
"
the
man
had
cried
,
and
he
could
have
been
shouting
of
danger
.
Yossarian
responded
to
the
thought
by
slipping
away
stealthily
from
the
police
and
almost
tripped
over
the
feet
of
a
burly
woman
of
forty
hastening
across
the
intersection
guiltily
,
darting
furtive
,
vindictive
glances
behind
her
toward
a
woman
of
eighty
with
thick
,
bandaged
ankles
doddering
after
her
in
a
losing
pursuit
.
The
old
woman
was
gasping
for
breath
as
she
minced
along
and
muttering
to
herself
in
distracted
agitation
.
There
was
no
mistaking
the
nature
of
the
scene
;
it
was
a
chase
.
The
triumphant
first
woman
was
halfway
across
the
wide
avenue
before
the
second
woman
reached
the
curb
.
The
nasty
,
small
,
gloating
smile
with
which
she
glanced
back
at
the
laboring
old
woman
was
both
wicked
and
apprehensive
.
Yossarian
knew
he
could
help
the
troubled
old
woman
if
she
would
only
cry
out
,
knew
he
could
spring
forward
and
capture
the
sturdy
first
woman
and
hold
her
for
the
mob
of
policemen
nearby
if
the
second
woman
would
only
give
him
license
with
a
shriek
of
distress
.
But
the
old
woman
passed
by
without
even
seeing
him
,
mumbling
in
terrible
,
tragic
vexation
,
and
soon
the
first
woman
had
vanished
into
the
deepening
layers
of
darkness
and
the
old
woman
was
left
standing
helplessly
in
the
center
of
the
thoroughfare
,
dazed
,
uncertain
which
way
to
proceed
,
alone
.
Yossarian
tore
his
eyes
from
her
and
hurried
away
in
shame
because
he
had
done
nothing
to
assist
her
.
He
darted
furtive
,
guilty
glances
back
as
he
fled
in
defeat
,
afraid
the
old
woman
might
now
start
following
him
,
and
he
welcomed
the
concealing
shelter
of
the
drizzling
,
drifting
,
lightless
,
nearly
opaque
gloom
.
Mobs
…
mobs
of
policemen
—
everything
but
England
was
in
the
hands
of
mobs
,
mobs
,
mobs
.
Mobs
with
clubs
were
in
control
everywhere
.
