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- Джозеф Хеллер
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- Уловка 22
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- Стр. 49/452
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Appleby
heaved
an
immense
sigh
of
relief
.
Havermeyer
had
tiny
bits
of
peanut
brittle
adhering
to
his
lips
,
chin
and
cheeks
.
"
You
’
ve
got
peanut
brittle
crumbs
on
your
face
,
"
Appleby
remarked
to
him
.
"
I
’
d
rather
have
peanut
brittle
crumbs
on
my
face
than
flies
in
my
eyes
,
"
Havermeyer
retorted
.
The
officers
of
the
other
five
planes
in
each
flight
arrived
in
trucks
for
the
general
briefing
that
took
place
thirty
minutes
later
.
The
three
enlisted
men
in
each
crew
were
not
briefed
at
all
,
but
were
carried
directly
out
on
the
airfield
to
the
separate
planes
in
which
they
were
scheduled
to
fly
that
day
,
where
they
waited
around
with
the
ground
crew
until
the
officers
with
whom
they
had
been
scheduled
to
fly
swung
off
the
rattling
tailgates
of
the
trucks
delivering
them
and
it
was
time
to
climb
aboard
and
start
up
.
Engines
rolled
over
disgruntledly
on
lollipop
-
shaped
hardstands
,
resisting
first
,
then
idling
smoothly
awhile
,
and
then
the
planes
lumbered
around
and
nosed
forward
lamely
over
the
pebbled
ground
like
sightless
,
stupid
,
crippled
things
until
they
taxied
into
the
line
at
the
foot
of
the
landing
strip
and
took
off
swiftly
,
one
behind
the
other
,
in
a
zooming
,
rising
roar
,
banking
slowly
into
formation
over
mottled
treetops
,
and
circling
the
field
at
even
speed
until
all
the
flights
of
six
had
been
formed
and
then
setting
course
over
cerulean
water
on
the
first
leg
of
the
journey
to
the
target
in
northern
Italy
or
France
.
The
planes
gained
altitude
steadily
and
were
above
nine
thousand
feet
by
the
time
they
crossed
into
enemy
territory
.
One
of
the
surprising
things
always
was
the
sense
of
calm
and
utter
silence
,
broken
only
by
the
test
rounds
fired
from
the
machine
guns
,
by
an
occasional
toneless
,
terse
remark
over
the
intercom
,
and
,
at
last
,
by
the
sobering
pronouncement
of
the
bombardier
in
each
plane
that
they
were
at
the
I
.
P
.
and
about
to
turn
toward
the
target
.
There
was
always
sunshine
,
always
a
tiny
sticking
in
the
throat
from
the
rarefied
air
.
The
B
-
25s
they
flew
in
were
stable
,
dependable
,
dull
-
green
ships
with
twin
rudders
and
engines
and
wide
wings
.
Their
single
fault
,
from
where
Yossarian
sat
as
a
bombardier
,
was
the
tight
crawlway
separating
the
bombardier
’
s
compartment
in
the
Plexiglas
nose
from
the
nearest
escape
hatch
.
The
crawlway
was
a
narrow
,
square
,
cold
tunnel
hollowed
out
beneath
the
flight
controls
,
and
a
large
man
like
Yossarian
could
squeeze
through
only
with
difficulty
.
A
chubby
,
moon
-
faced
navigator
with
little
reptilian
eyes
and
a
pipe
like
Aarfy
’
s
had
trouble
,
too
,
and
Yossarian
used
to
chase
him
back
from
the
nose
as
they
turned
toward
the
target
,
now
minutes
away
.
There
was
a
time
of
tension
then
,
a
time
of
waiting
with
nothing
to
hear
and
nothing
to
see
and
nothing
to
do
but
wait
as
the
antiaircraft
guns
below
took
aim
and
made
ready
to
knock
them
all
sprawling
into
infinite
sleep
if
they
could
.
The
crawlway
was
Yossarian
’
s
lifeline
to
outside
from
a
plane
about
to
fall
,
but
Yossarian
swore
at
it
with
seething
antagonism
,
reviled
it
as
an
obstacle
put
there
by
providence
as
part
of
the
plot
that
would
destroy
him
.
There
was
room
for
an
additional
escape
hatch
right
there
in
the
nose
of
a
B
-
25
,
but
there
was
no
escape
hatch
.
Instead
there
was
the
crawlway
,
and
since
the
mess
on
the
mission
over
Avignon
he
had
learned
to
detest
every
mammoth
inch
of
it
,
for
it
slung
him
seconds
and
seconds
away
from
his
parachute
,
which
was
too
bulky
to
be
taken
up
front
with
him
,
and
seconds
and
seconds
more
after
that
away
from
the
escape
hatch
on
the
floor
between
the
rear
of
the
elevated
flight
deck
and
the
feet
of
the
faceless
top
turret
gunner
mounted
high
above
.
Yossarian
longed
to
be
where
Aarfy
could
be
once
Yossarian
had
chased
him
back
from
the
nose
;
Yossarian
longed
to
sit
on
the
floor
in
a
huddled
ball
right
on
top
of
the
escape
hatch
inside
a
sheltering
igloo
of
extra
flak
suits
that
he
would
have
been
happy
to
carry
along
with
him
,
his
parachute
already
hooked
to
his
harness
where
it
belonged
,
one
fist
clenching
the
red
-
handled
rip
cord
,
one
fist
gripping
the
emergency
hatch
release
that
would
spill
him
earthward
into
air
at
the
first
dreadful
squeal
of
destruction
.
That
was
where
he
wanted
to
be
if
he
had
to
be
there
at
all
,
instead
of
hung
out
there
in
front
like
some
goddam
cantilevered
goldfish
in
some
goddam
cantilevered
goldfish
bowl
while
the
goddam
foul
black
tiers
of
flak
were
bursting
and
booming
and
billowing
all
around
and
above
and
below
him
in
a
climbing
,
cracking
,
staggered
,
banging
,
phantasmagorical
,
cosmological
wickedness
that
jarred
and
tossed
and
shivered
,
clattered
and
pierced
,
and
threatened
to
annihilate
them
all
in
one
splinter
of
a
second
in
one
vast
flash
of
fire
.
Aarfy
had
been
no
use
to
Yossarian
as
a
navigator
or
as
anything
else
,
and
Yossarian
drove
him
back
from
the
nose
vehemently
each
time
so
that
they
would
not
clutter
up
each
other
’
s
way
if
they
had
to
scramble
suddenly
for
safety
.
Once
Yossarian
had
driven
him
back
from
the
nose
,
Aarfy
was
free
to
cower
on
the
floor
where
Yossarian
longed
to
cower
,
but
he
stood
bolt
upright
instead
with
his
stumpy
arms
resting
comfortably
on
the
backs
of
the
pilot
’
s
and
co
-
pilot
’
s
seats
,
pipe
in
hand
,
making
affable
small
talk
to
McWatt
and
whoever
happened
to
be
co
-
pilot
and
pointing
out
amusing
trivia
in
the
sky
to
the
two
men
,
who
were
too
busy
to
be
interested
.
McWatt
was
too
busy
responding
at
the
controls
to
Yossarian
’
s
strident
instructions
as
Yossarian
slipped
the
plane
in
on
the
bomb
run
and
then
whipped
them
all
away
violently
around
the
ravenous
pillars
of
exploding
shells
with
curt
,
shrill
,
obscene
commands
to
McWatt
that
were
much
like
the
anguished
,
entreating
nightmare
yelpings
of
Hungry
Joe
in
the
dark
.
Aarfy
would
puff
reflectively
on
his
pipe
throughout
the
whole
chaotic
clash
,
gazing
with
unruffled
curiosity
at
the
war
through
McWatt
’
s
window
as
though
it
were
a
remote
disturbance
that
could
not
affect
him
.
Aarfy
was
a
dedicated
fraternity
man
who
loved
cheerleading
and
class
reunion
s
and
did
not
have
brains
enough
to
be
afraid
.
Yossarian
did
have
brains
enough
and
was
,
and
the
only
thing
that
stopped
him
from
abandoning
his
post
under
fire
and
scurrying
back
through
the
crawlway
like
a
yellow
-
bellied
rat
was
his
unwillingness
to
entrust
the
evasive
action
out
of
the
target
area
to
anybody
else
.
There
was
nobody
else
in
the
world
he
would
honor
with
so
great
a
responsibility
.
There
was
nobody
else
he
knew
who
was
as
big
a
coward
.
Yossarian
was
the
best
man
in
the
group
at
evasive
action
,
but
had
no
idea
why
.
