Уловка 22

The Eternal City

           

           "Gone?"

           "Dead,"theoldwomantoldhim,noddinginemphaticlament,pointingtoherheadwiththeflatofherhand."Somethingbrokeinhere.Oneminutehewasliving,oneminutehewasdead."

           "Buthecan’tbedead!"Yossariancried,readytoargueinsistently.Butofcourseheknewitwastrue,knewitwaslogicalandtrue;onceagaintheoldmanhadmarchedalongwiththemajority.

           Yossarianturnedawayandtrudgedthroughtheapartmentwithagloomyscowl,peeringwithpessimisticcuriosityintoalltherooms.Everythingmadeofglasshadbeensmashedbythemenwiththeclubs.Torndrapesandbeddinglaydumpedonthefloor.Chairs,tablesanddressershadbeenoverturned.Everythingbreakablehadbeenbroken.Thedestructionwastotal.Nowildvandalscouldhavebeenmorethorough.Everywindowwassmashed,anddarknesspouredlikeinkycloudsintoeachroomthroughtheshatteredpanes.Yossariancouldimaginetheheavy,crashingfootfallsofthetallM.P.sinthehardwhitehats.Hecouldpicturethefieryandmaliciousexhilarationwithwhichtheyhadmadetheirwreckage,andtheirsanctimonious,ruthlesssenseofrightanddedication.Allthepooryounggirlsweregone.Everyonewasgonebuttheweepingoldwomaninthebulkybrownandgraysweatersandblackheadshawl,andsoonshetoowouldbegone.

           "Gone,"shegrieved,whenhewalkedbackin,beforehecouldevenspeak."Whowilltakecareofmenow?"Yossarianignoredthequestion.

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