Уловка 22

Kid Sampson

           Theonlysoundswerehushedones,thebloatedgurgleofthestream,therespiratinghumofthetallgrassandshrubsbehindhim,theapatheticmoaningofthedumb,translucentwaves.Thesurfwasalwayssmall,thewaterclearandcool.Yossarianlefthisthingsonthesandandmovedthroughtheknee-highwavesuntilhewascompletelyimmersed.Ontheothersideofthesea,abumpysliverofdarklandlaywrappedinmist,almostinvisible.Heswamlanguorouslyouttotheraft,heldonamoment,andswamlanguorouslybacktowherehecouldstandonthesandbar.Hesubmergedhimselfheadfirstintothegreenwaterseveraltimesuntilhefeltcleanandwide-awakeandthenstretchedhimselfoutfacedowninthesandandsleptuntiltheplanesreturningfromBolognawerealmostoverheadandthegreat,cumulativerumbleoftheirmanyenginescamecrashinginthroughhisslumberinanearth-shatteringroar.

           Hewokeupblinkingwithaslightpaininhisheadandopenedhiseyesuponaworldboilinginchaosinwhicheverythingwasinproperorder.Hegaspedinutteramazementatthefantasticsightofthetwelveflightsofplanesorganizedcalmlyintoexactformation.Thescenewastoounexpectedtobetrue.Therewerenoplanesspurtingaheadwithwounded,nonelaggingbehindwithdamage.Nodistressflaressmokedinthesky.Noshipwasmissingbuthisown.Foraninstanthewasparalyzedwithasensationofmadness.Thenheunderstood,andalmostweptattheirony

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