Уловка 22

Bologna

           "HeswearstoGodhedidn’thaveathingtodowithit,"YossarianreportedbacktoMilo.

           Milopouteddubiously."DunbarsaysthereisnoGod."

           Therewasnohopeleft.Bythemiddleofthesecondweek,everyoneinthesquadronbegantolooklikeHungryJoe,whowasnotscheduledtoflyandscreamedhorriblyinhissleep.Hewastheonlyonewhocouldsleep.Allnightlong,menmovedthroughthedarknessoutsidetheirtentsliketonguelesswraithswithcigarettes.Inthedaytimetheystaredatthebomblineinfutile,droopingclustersoratthestillfigureofDocDaneekasittinginfrontofthecloseddoorofthemedicaltentbeneaththemorbidhand-letteredsign.Theybegantoinventhumorless,glumjokesoftheirownanddisastrousrumorsaboutthedestructionawaitingthematBologna.

           YossariansidledupdrunkenlytoColonelKornattheofficers’clubonenighttokidwithhimaboutthenewLepagegunthattheGermanshadmovedin.

           "WhatLepagegun?"ColonelKorninquiredwithcuriosity.

           "Thenewthree-hundred-and-forty-four-millimeterLepagegluegun,"Yossariananswered."Itgluesawholeformationofplanestogetherinmid-air."

           ColonelKornjerkedhiselbowfreefromYossarian’sclutchingfingersinstartledaffront."Letgoofme,youidiot!"hecriedoutfuriously,glaringwithvindictiveapprovalasNatelyleapeduponYossarian’sbackandpulledhimaway."Whoisthatlunatic,anyway?"

           ColonelCathcartchortledmerrily."That’sthemanyoumademegiveamedaltoafterFerrara.

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