Уловка-22. Джозеф Хеллер - параллельный перевод
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‘What do you want from me?’ he yelled at her in whining and exasperated confusion.
— Что тебе от меня нужно? — завопил он с надрывом, в полном смятении.
‘I didn’t kill him.’
She hurled a heavy glass ash tray at his head.
He made a fist and wanted to punch her in the stomach when she came charging at him again, but he was afraid he might harm her.
He wanted to clip her very neatly on the point of the jaw and run from the room, but there was no clear target, and he merely skipped aside neatly at the last second and helped her along past him with a strong shove.
She banged hard against the other wall.
Now she was blocking the door.
She threw a large vase at him.
Then she came at him with a full wine bottle and struck him squarely on the temple, knocking him down half-stunned on one knee.
His ears were buzzing, his whole face was numb.
More than anything else, he was embarrassed.
He felt awkward because she was going to murder him.
He simply did not understand what was going on.
He had no idea what to do.
But he did know he had to save himself, and he catapulted forward off the floor when he saw her raise the wine bottle to clout him again and barreled into her midriff before she could strike him.
He had momentum, and he propelled her before him backward in his driving rush until her knees buckled against the side of the bed and she fell over onto the mattress with Yossarian sprawled on top of her between her legs.
She plunged her nails into the side of his neck and gouged as he worked his way up the supple, full hills and ledges of her rounded body until he covered her completely and pressed her into submission, his fingers pursuing her thrashing arm persistently until they arrived at the wine bottle finally and wrenched it free.
She was still kicking and cursing and scratching ferociously.
She tried to bite him cruelly, her coarse, sensual lips stretched back over her teeth like an enraged omnivorous beast’s.
Now that she lay captive beneath him, he wondered how he would ever escape her without leaving himself vulnerable.
He could feel the tensed, straddling inside of her buffeting thighs and knees squeezing and churning around one of his legs.
He was stirred by thoughts of sex that made him ashamed.
He was conscious of the voluptuous flesh of her firm, young-woman’s body straining and beating against him like a humid, fluid, delectable, unyielding tide, her belly and warm, live, plastic breasts thrusting upward against him vigorously in sweet and menacing temptation.
Her breath was scalding.
All at once he realized—though the writhing turbulence beneath him had not diminished one whit—that she was no longer grappling with him, recognized with a quiver that she was not fighting him but heaving her pelvis up against him remorselessly in the primal, powerful, rhapsodic instinctual rhythm of erotic ardor and abandonment.
He gasped in delighted surprise.
Her face—as beautiful as a blooming flower to him now—was distorted with a new kind of torture, the tissues serenely swollen, her half-closed eyes misty and unseeing with the stultifying languor of desire.
‘Caro,’ she murmured hoarsely as though from the depths of a tranquil and luxurious trance.
‘Ooooh, caro mio.’
He stroked her hair.
She drove her mouth against his face with savage passion.
He licked her neck.
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged.
He felt himself falling, falling ecstatically in love with her as she kissed him again and again with lips that were steaming and wet and soft and hard, mumbling deep sounds to him adoringly in an incoherent oblivion of rapture, one caressing hand on his back slipping deftly down inside his trouser belt while the other groped secretly and treacherously about on the floor for the bread knife and found it.
He saved himself just in time.
She still wanted to kill him!
He was shocked and astounded by her depraved subteruge as he tore the knife from her grasp and hurled it away.
He bounded out of the bed to his feet.
His face was agog with befuddlement and disillusion.
He did not know whether to dart through the door to freedom or collapse on the bed to fall in love with her and place himself abjectly at her mercy again.
She hurled a heavy glass ash tray at his head.
He made a fist and wanted to punch her in the stomach when she came charging at him again, but he was afraid he might harm her.
He wanted to clip her very neatly on the point of the jaw and run from the room, but there was no clear target, and he merely skipped aside neatly at the last second and helped her along past him with a strong shove.
She banged hard against the other wall.
Now she was blocking the door.
She threw a large vase at him.
Then she came at him with a full wine bottle and struck him squarely on the temple, knocking him down half-stunned on one knee.
His ears were buzzing, his whole face was numb.
More than anything else, he was embarrassed.
He felt awkward because she was going to murder him.
He simply did not understand what was going on.
He had no idea what to do.
But he did know he had to save himself, and he catapulted forward off the floor when he saw her raise the wine bottle to clout him again and barreled into her midriff before she could strike him.
He had momentum, and he propelled her before him backward in his driving rush until her knees buckled against the side of the bed and she fell over onto the mattress with Yossarian sprawled on top of her between her legs.
She plunged her nails into the side of his neck and gouged as he worked his way up the supple, full hills and ledges of her rounded body until he covered her completely and pressed her into submission, his fingers pursuing her thrashing arm persistently until they arrived at the wine bottle finally and wrenched it free.
She was still kicking and cursing and scratching ferociously.
She tried to bite him cruelly, her coarse, sensual lips stretched back over her teeth like an enraged omnivorous beast’s.
Now that she lay captive beneath him, he wondered how he would ever escape her without leaving himself vulnerable.
He could feel the tensed, straddling inside of her buffeting thighs and knees squeezing and churning around one of his legs.
He was stirred by thoughts of sex that made him ashamed.
He was conscious of the voluptuous flesh of her firm, young-woman’s body straining and beating against him like a humid, fluid, delectable, unyielding tide, her belly and warm, live, plastic breasts thrusting upward against him vigorously in sweet and menacing temptation.
Her breath was scalding.
All at once he realized—though the writhing turbulence beneath him had not diminished one whit—that she was no longer grappling with him, recognized with a quiver that she was not fighting him but heaving her pelvis up against him remorselessly in the primal, powerful, rhapsodic instinctual rhythm of erotic ardor and abandonment.
He gasped in delighted surprise.
Her face—as beautiful as a blooming flower to him now—was distorted with a new kind of torture, the tissues serenely swollen, her half-closed eyes misty and unseeing with the stultifying languor of desire.
‘Caro,’ she murmured hoarsely as though from the depths of a tranquil and luxurious trance.
‘Ooooh, caro mio.’
He stroked her hair.
She drove her mouth against his face with savage passion.
He licked her neck.
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged.
He felt himself falling, falling ecstatically in love with her as she kissed him again and again with lips that were steaming and wet and soft and hard, mumbling deep sounds to him adoringly in an incoherent oblivion of rapture, one caressing hand on his back slipping deftly down inside his trouser belt while the other groped secretly and treacherously about on the floor for the bread knife and found it.
He saved himself just in time.
She still wanted to kill him!
He was shocked and astounded by her depraved subteruge as he tore the knife from her grasp and hurled it away.
He bounded out of the bed to his feet.
His face was agog with befuddlement and disillusion.
He did not know whether to dart through the door to freedom or collapse on the bed to fall in love with her and place himself abjectly at her mercy again.
— Я его не убивал!
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