Уловка 22

Piltchard & Wren

           Aarfywaslikeaneerieogreinadream,incapableofbeingbruisedorevaded,andYossariandreadedhimforacomplexofreasonshewastoopetrifiedtountangle.Windwhistlingupthroughthejaggedgashinthefloorkeptthemyriadbitsofpapercirculatinglikealabasterparticlesinapaperweightandcontributedtoasensationoflacquered,waterloggedunreality.Everythingseemedstrange,sotawdryandgrotesque.Hisheadwasthrobbingfromashrillclamorthatdrilledrelentlesslyintobothears.ItwasMcWatt,beggingfordirectionsinanincoherentfrenzy.YossariancontinuedstaringintormentedfascinationatAarfy’ssphericalcountenancebeamingathimsoserenelyandvacantlythroughthedriftingwhorlsofwhitepaperbitsandconcludedthathewasaravinglunaticjustaseightburstsofflakbrokeopensuccessivelyateyelevelofftotheright,theneightmore,andtheneightmore,thelastgrouppulledovertowardtheleftsothattheywerealmostdirectlyinfront.

           "Turnlefthard!"heholleredtoMcWattasAarfykeptgrinning,andMcWattdidturnlefthard,buttheflakturnedlefthardwiththem,catchingupfast,andYossarianhollered,"Isaidhard,hard,hard,hard,youbastard,hard!"

           AndMcWattbenttheplanearoundevenharderstill,andsuddenly,miraculously,theywereoutofrange.Theflakended.Thegunsstoppedboomingatthem.Andtheywerealive.

           Behindhim,menweredying.

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