'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
- Я его не убивал!
| 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 spared him from doing either by bursting unpredictably into tears. He was stunned again. | Неожиданно она ударилась в слезы и этим поставила Йоссариана в тупик. |
| This time she wept with no other emotion than grief, profound, debilitating, humble grief, forgetting all about him. Her desolation was pathetic as she sat with her tempestuous, proud, lovely head bowed, her shoulders sagging, her spirit melting. This time there was no mistaking her anguish. | А она плакала от горя, глубокого горя, обессилевшая, покорная, вовсе позабывшая о Йоссариане. Трогательная в своем несчастье, она сидела, низко опустив красивую, гордую, забубенную голову. Плечи ее обмякли, ярость улетучилась. Страдание ее было неподдельным. |
| Great racking sobs choked and shook her. | Громкие, мучительные рыдания душили и сотрясали ее. |
| She was no longer aware of him, no longer cared. | Она перестала замечать его, он ее больше не интересовал. |
| He could have walked from the room safely then. | Теперь он мог уйти без всякого риска. |
| But he chose to remain and console and help her. | Но он предпочел остаться, чтобы утешить, ее и поддержать. |
| 'Please,' he urged her inarticulately with his arm about her shoulders, recollecting with pained sadness how inarticulate and enfeebled he had felt in the plane coming back from Avignon when Snowden kept whimpering to him that he was cold, he was cold, and all Yossarian could offer him in return was 'There, there. There, there.' 'Please,' he repeated to her sympathetically. 'Please, please.' | - Ну пожалуйста, ну не надо, - беспомощно бормотал он, обняв ее за плечи и вспоминая с тоской и болью, каким беспомощным и слабым он чувствовал себя в самолете, когда они возвращались после налета на Авиньон и Сноуден хныкал: "Мне холодно, мне холодно", а Йоссариан отвечал: "Ну, ну, не надо, ну, ну". И это было все, что он мог тогда придумать. Вот и теперь, когда надо было ей посочувствовать, он только твердил: "Ну пожалуйста, прошу тебя, ну не надо". |
| She rested against him and cried until she seemed too weak to cry any longer, and did not look at him once until he extended his handkerchief when she had finished. She wiped her cheeks with a tiny, polite smile and gave the handkerchief back, murmuring 'Grazie, grazie' with meek, maidenly propriety, and then, without any warning whatsoever of a change in mood, clawed suddenly at his eyes with both hands. She landed with each and let out a victorious shriek. 'Ha! Assassino!' she hooted, and raced joyously across the room for the bread knife to finish him off. |