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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 433/452
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"
I
’
m
cold
,
"
Snowden
moaned
with
half
-
closed
eyes
.
"
I
’
m
cold
.
"
The
edges
of
his
mouth
were
turning
blue
.
Yossarian
was
petrified
.
He
wondered
whether
to
pull
the
rip
cord
of
Snowden
’
s
parachute
and
cover
him
with
the
nylon
folds
.
It
was
very
warm
in
the
plane
.
Glancing
up
unexpectedly
,
Snowden
gave
him
a
wan
,
co
-
operative
smile
and
shifted
the
position
of
his
hips
a
bit
so
that
Yossarian
could
begin
salting
the
wound
with
sulfanilamide
.
Yossarian
worked
with
renewed
confidence
and
optimism
.
The
plane
bounced
hard
inside
an
air
pocket
,
and
he
remembered
with
a
start
that
he
had
left
his
own
parachute
up
front
in
the
nose
.
There
was
nothing
to
be
done
about
that
.
He
poured
envelope
after
envelope
of
the
white
crystalline
powder
into
the
bloody
oval
wound
until
nothing
red
could
be
seen
and
then
drew
a
deep
,
apprehensive
breath
,
steeling
himself
with
gritted
teeth
as
he
touched
his
bare
hand
to
the
dangling
shreds
of
drying
flesh
to
tuck
them
up
inside
the
wound
.
Quickly
he
covered
the
whole
wound
with
a
large
cotton
compress
and
jerked
his
hand
away
.
He
smiled
nervously
when
his
brief
ordeal
had
ended
.
The
actual
contact
with
the
dead
flesh
had
not
been
nearly
as
repulsive
as
he
had
anticipated
,
and
he
found
an
excuse
to
caress
the
wound
with
his
fingers
again
and
again
to
convince
himself
of
his
own
courage
.
Next
he
began
binding
the
compress
in
place
with
a
roll
of
gauze
.
The
second
time
around
Snowden
’
s
thigh
with
the
bandage
,
he
spotted
the
small
hole
on
the
inside
through
which
the
piece
of
flak
had
entered
,
a
round
,
crinkled
wound
the
size
of
a
quarter
with
blue
edges
and
a
black
core
inside
where
the
blood
had
crusted
.
Yossarian
sprinkled
this
one
with
sulfanilamide
too
and
continued
unwinding
the
gauze
around
Snowden
’
s
leg
until
the
compress
was
secure
.
Then
he
snipped
off
the
roll
with
the
scissors
and
slit
the
end
down
the
center
.
He
made
the
whole
thing
fast
with
a
tidy
square
knot
.
It
was
a
good
bandage
,
he
knew
,
and
he
sat
back
on
his
heels
with
pride
,
wiping
the
perspiration
from
his
brow
,
and
grinned
at
Snowden
with
spontaneous
friendliness
.
"
I
’
m
cold
,
"
Snowden
moaned
.
"
I
’
m
cold
.
"
"
You
’
re
going
to
be
all
right
,
kid
,
"
Yossarian
assured
him
,
patting
his
arm
comfortingly
.
"
Everything
’
s
under
control
.
"
Snowden
shook
his
head
feebly
.
"
I
’
m
cold
,
"
he
repeated
,
with
eyes
as
dull
and
blind
as
stone
.
"
I
’
m
cold
.
"
"
There
,
there
,
"
said
Yossarian
,
with
growing
doubt
and
trepidation
.
"
There
,
there
.
In
a
little
while
we
’
ll
be
back
on
the
ground
and
Doc
Daneeka
will
take
care
of
you
.
"
But
Snowden
kept
shaking
his
head
and
pointed
at
last
,
with
just
the
barest
movement
of
his
chin
,
down
toward
his
armpit
.
Yossarian
bent
forward
to
peer
and
saw
a
strangely
colored
stain
seeping
through
the
coveralls
just
above
the
armhole
of
Snowden
’
s
flak
suit
.
Yossarian
felt
his
heart
stop
,
then
pound
so
violently
he
found
it
difficult
to
breathe
.
Snowden
was
wounded
inside
his
flak
suit
.
Yossarian
ripped
open
the
snaps
of
Snowden
’
s
flak
suit
and
heard
himself
scream
wildly
as
Snowden
’
s
insides
slithered
down
to
the
floor
in
a
soggy
pile
and
just
kept
dripping
out
.
A
chunk
of
flak
more
than
three
inches
big
had
shot
into
his
other
side
just
underneath
the
arm
and
blasted
all
the
way
through
,
drawing
whole
mottled
quarts
of
Snowden
along
with
it
through
the
gigantic
hole
in
his
ribs
it
made
as
it
blasted
out
.
Yossarian
screamed
a
second
time
and
squeezed
both
hands
over
his
eyes
.
His
teeth
were
chattering
in
horror
.
He
forced
himself
to
look
again
.
Here
was
God
’
s
plenty
,
all
right
,
he
thought
bitterly
as
he
stared
—
liver
,
lungs
,
kidneys
,
ribs
,
stomach
and
bits
of
the
stewed
tomatoes
Snowden
had
eaten
that
day
for
lunch
Yossarian
hated
stewed
tomatoes
and
turned
away
dizzily
and
began
to
vomit
,
clutching
his
burning
throat
.
The
tail
gunner
woke
up
while
Yossarian
was
vomiting
,
saw
him
,
and
fainted
again
.
Yossarian
was
limp
with
exhaustion
,
pain
and
despair
when
he
finished
.
He
turned
back
weakly
to
Snowden
,
whose
breath
had
grown
softer
and
more
rapid
,
and
whose
face
had
grown
paler
.
He
wondered
how
in
the
world
to
begin
to
save
him
.
"
I
’
m
cold
,
"
Snowden
whimpered
.
"
I
’
m
cold
.
"
"
There
,
there
,
"
Yossarian
mumbled
mechanically
in
a
voice
too
low
to
be
heard
.
"
There
,
there
.
"
Yossarian
was
cold
,
too
,
and
shivering
uncontrollably
.
He
felt
goose
pimples
clacking
all
over
him
as
he
gazed
down
despondently
at
the
grim
secret
Snowden
had
spilled
all
over
the
messy
floor
.
It
was
easy
to
read
the
message
in
his
entrails
.
Man
was
matter
,
that
was
Snowden
’
s
secret
.
Drop
him
out
a
window
and
he
’
ll
fall
.
Set
fire
to
him
and
he
’
ll
burn
.
Bury
him
and
he
’
ll
rot
,
like
other
kinds
of
garbage
.
The
spirit
gone
,
man
is
garbage
.
That
was
Snowden
’
s
secret
.
Ripeness
was
all
.
