Category: yossarian
Quotes of Category: yossarian
- Kad sam bio klinac – odvrati Orr – hodao sam po cijeli dan s divljim jabukama u ustima. S po jednom ispod svakog obraza.
Yossarian odloži torbicu iz koje je počeo vaditi toaletne potrepštine, pa se sumnjičavo sav ukruti. Prođe jedna minuta.
- A zašto? – nije mogao da najposlije ne zapita.
Orr se slavodobitno naceri.
- Zato što su bolje nego divlje kestenje – odgovori.
Orr je klečao na podu šatora. Radio je bez predaha, rastavljao ventil, pomno rasprostirao sve sićušne djeliće, brojio ih i onda beskonačno proučavao svaki pojedini od njih, kao da nikad u životu nije vidio ništa ni približno slično, pa onda ponovo sastavljao cijeli mali mehanizam, pa opet, i opet, i opet, i opet, a da nije ni najmanje gubio strpljenje ni zanimanje, niti pokazivao znakove umora ni namjeru da ikad završi posao. Yossarian ga je promatrao kako se bakće, i bio je uvjeren da će biti prisiljen da ga ubije s predumišljajem ako ne bude prestao. Pogled mu pade na lovački nož koji je mrtvac objesio iznad okvira mreže protiv komaraca onoga dana kad je stigao. Nož je visio uz mrtvačevu praznu kožnu futrolu iz koje je Havermayer ukrao revolver.
- Kad nisam mogao doći do divljih jabuka – nastavi Orr – uzimao sam divlje kestenove. Divlji kestenovi su otprilike iste veličine kao divlje jabuke i zapravo imaju bolji oblik, iako oblik nije uopće važan.
- A zašto si nosio divlje jabuke u ustima? – upita ga iznova Yossarian. – To sam te pitao.
- Zato što imaju bolji oblik nego divlji kestenovi – odgovori Orr – Upravo sam ti to sad rekao.
- A zašto si ti – opsova Yossarian i zadivljeno – zlopogleđo, odrode i kučkin sine sa sklonošću za tehniku, nosio bilo šta u ustima?
- Ja nisam nosio bilo šta u ustima – reče Orr – Ja sam nosio divlje jabuke u ustima. Kad nisam imao divlje jabuke, nosio sam divlje kestenove. U ustima.
Orr se kesio. Yossarian odluči da šuti i šutio je. Orr je čekao. Yossarian je čekao dulje.
- Po jedan ispod svakog obraza – reče Orr.
- Zašto?
Orr to jedva dočeka.
- Kako zašto?
Yossarian odmahnu glavom smješkajući se i ne hoteći dalje govoriti.
- Nešto je čudno na ovom ventilu – razmišljaše Orr naglas.
- Šta to? – priupita Yossarian.
- Zato što sam htio…
Yossarian je već znao.
- Isuse Kriste! Zašto si htio…
- … Da imam obraze kao jabuke.
- … Da imaš obraze kao jabuke? – pripita Yossarian.
- Htio sam da imam obraze kao jabuke – ponovi Orr. – Još dok sam bio klinac, htio sam da jednom imam obraze kao jabuke, pa sam odlučio da radim na tome dok ih ne dobijem, i bogami sam radio dok ih nisam dobio, a eto vidiš kako sam to postigao, noseći divlje jabuke u ustima po cijele dane. On se ponovo naceri. – Po jednu ispod svakog obraza.
- A zašto si htio da imaš obraze kao jabuke?
- Nisam ja htio da imam obraze kao jabuke – reče Orr. – Ja sam htio da imam velike obraze. Nije mi bilo toliko stalo do boje, samo sam htio da budu veliki. Radio sam na tome baš kao oni luđaci o kojima pišu u novinama kako po cijele dane stišću gumene lopte samo zato da ojačaju ruke. Zapravo sam i ja bio jedan od tih luđaka. I ja sam po cijele dane nosio u rukama lopte.
- Zašto?
- Kako zašto?
- Zašto si po cijele dane nosio u rukama lopte?
- Zato što su lopte… - poče Orr.
- … Bolje nego divlje jabuke yossariankesteniobraziorrAs far back as Yossarian could recall, he explained to Clevinger with a patient smile, somebody was always hatching a plot to kill him. There were people who cared for him and people who didn't, and those who hated him were out to get him. They hated him because he was Assyrian. But they couldn't touch him, he told Clevinger, because he had a sound mind in a pure body and was as strong as an ox. They couldn't touch him because he was Tarzan, Mandrake, Flash Gordon. He was Bill Shakespeare. He was Cain, Ulysses, the Flying Dutchman; he was Lot in Sodom, Deirdre of the Sorrows, Sweeney in the nightingales among trees. He was miracle ingredient Z-247. He was - Crazy!" Clevinger interrupted, shrieking. "That's what you are! Crazy!" "immense. I'm a real slam-bang, honest-to-goodness, three-fisted humdinger. I'm a bona fide Supraman." "Superman?" Clevinger cried. "Superman?" Supraman," Yossarian corrected. book-quoteyossarianFour times during the first six days they were assembled and briefed and then sent back. Once, they took off and were flying in formation when the control tower summoned them down. The more it rained, the worse they suffered. The worse they suffered, the more they prayed that it would continue raining. All through the night, men looked at the sky and were saddened by the stars. All through the day, they looked at the bomb line on the big, wobbling easel map of Italy that blew over in the wind and was dragged in under the awning of the intelligence tent every time the rain began. The bomb line was a scarlet band of narrow satin ribbon that delineated the forward most position of the Allied ground forces in every sector of the Italian mainland.For hours they stared relentlessly at the scarlet ribbon on the map and hated it because it would not move up high enough to encompass the city.When night fell, they congregated in the darkness with flashlights, continuing their macabre vigil at the bomb line in brooding entreaty as though hoping to move the ribbon up by the collective weight of their sullen prayers. "I really can't believe it," Clevinger exclaimed to Yossarian in a voice rising and falling in protest and wonder. "It's a complete reversion to primitive superstition. They're confusing cause and effect. It makes as much sense as knocking on wood or crossing your fingers. They really believe that we wouldn't have to fly that mission tomorrow if someone would only tiptoe up to the map in the middle of the night and move the bomb line over Bologna. Can you imagine? You and I must be the only rational ones left."In the middle of the night Yossarian knocked on wood, crossed his fingers, and tiptoed out of his tent to move the bomb line up over Bologna. book-quotewarhumorfunny
