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1、【原著阅读】第二十二条军规 Catch-22（中英文对照）Chapter 1 The Texan It was love at first sight.The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him.Yossarian was in the hospital with a pain in his liver that fell just short of being jaundice. The doctors werepuzzled by the fact that it wasnt quite
2、jaundice. If it became jaundice they could treat it. If it didnt becomejaundice and went away they could discharge him. But this just being short of jaundice all the time confusedthem.Each morning they came around, three brisk and serious men with efficient mouths and inefficient eyes,accompanied by
3、 brisk and serious Nurse Duckett, one of the ward nurses who didnt like Yossarian. They readthe chart at the foot of the bed and asked impatiently about the pain. They seemed irritated when he told them itwas exactly the same.“Still no movement?” the full colonel demanded.The doctors exchanged a loo
4、k when he shook his head.“Give him another pill.”Nurse Duckett made a note to give Yossarian another pill, and the four of them moved along to the next bed.None of the nurses liked Yossarian. Actually, the pain in his liver had gone away, but Yossarian didnt sayanything and the doctors never suspect
5、ed. They just suspected that he had been moving his bowels and nottelling anyone.Yossarian had everything he wanted in the hospital. The food wasnt too bad, and his meals were brought to himin bed. There were extra rations of fresh meat, and during the hot part of the afternoon he and the others wer
6、eserved chilled fruit juice or chilled chocolate milk. Apart from the doctors and the nurses, no one ever disturbedhim. For a little while in the morning he had to censor letters, but he was free after that to spend the rest of eachday lying around idly with a clear conscience. He was comfortable in
7、 the hospital, and it was easy to stay onbecause he always ran a temperature of 101. He was even more comfortable than Dunbar, who had to keepfalling down on his face in order to get his meals brought to him in bed.After he had made up his mind to spend the rest of the war in the hospital, Yossarian
8、 wrote letters to everyone heknew saying that he was in the hospital but never mentioning why. One day he had a better idea. To everyone heknew he wrote that he was going on a very dangerous mission. “They asked for volunteers. Its very dangerous,but someone has to do it. Ill write you the instant I
9、 get back.” And he had not written anyone since.All the officer patients in the ward were forced to censor letters written by all the enlisted-men patients, whowere kept in residence in wards of their own. It was a monotonous job, and Yossarian was disappointed to learnthat the lives of enlisted men
10、 were only slightly more interesting than the lives of officers. After the first day hehad no curiosity at all. To break the monotony he invented games. Death to all modifiers, he declared one day,and out of every letter that passed through his hands went every adverb and every adjective. The next d
11、ay hemade war on articles. He reached a much higher plane of creativity the following day when he blacked outeverything in the letters but a, an and the. That erected more dynamic intralinear tensions, he felt, and in justabout every case left a message far more universal. Soon he was proscribing pa
12、rts of salutations and signaturesand leaving the text untouched. One time he blacked out all but the salutation “Dear Mary” from a letter, and atthe bottom he wrote, “I yearn for you tragically. R. O. Shipman, Chaplain, U.S. Army.” R. O. Shipman was thegroup chaplains name.When he had exhausted all
13、possibilities in the letters, he began attacking the names and addresses on theenvelopes, obliterating whole homes and streets, annihilating entire metropolises with careless flicks of his wristas though he were God. Catch-22 required that each censored letter bear the censoring officers name. Mostl
14、etters he didnt read at all. On those he didnt read at all he wrote his own name. On those he did read he wrote,“Washington Irving.” When that grew monotonous he wrote, “Irving Washington.” Censoring the envelopes hadserious repercussions, produced a ripple of anxiety on some ethereal military echel
15、on that floated a C.I.D. manback into the ward posing as a patient. They all knew he was a C.I.D. man because he kept inquiring about anofficer named Irving or Washington and because after his first day there he wouldnt censor letters. He found them too monotonous.It was a good ward this time, one o
16、f the best he and Dunbar had ever enjoyed. With them this time was thetwenty-four-year-old fighter-pilot captain with the sparse golden mustache who had been shot into the AdriaticSea in midwinter and not even caught cold. Now the summer was upon them, the captain had not been shotdown, and he said
17、he had the grippe. In the bed on Yossarians right, still lying amorously on his belly, was thestartled captain with malaria in his blood and a mosquito bite on his ass. Across the aisle from Yossarian wasDunbar, and next to Dunbar was the artillery captain with whom Yossarian had stopped playing che
18、ss. Thecaptain was a good chess player, and the games were always interesting. Yossarian had stopped playing chesswith him because the games were so interesting they were foolish. Then there was the educated Texan fromTexas who looked like someone in Technicolor and felt, patriotically, that people
19、of meansdecent folkshould be given more votes than drifters, whores, criminals, degenerates, atheists and indecent folkpeoplewithout means.Yossarian was unspringing rhythms in the letters the day they brought the Texan in. It was another quiet, hot,untroubled day. The heat pressed heavily on the roo
20、f, stifling sound. Dunbar was lying motionless on his backagain with his eyes staring up at the ceiling like a dolls. He was working hard at increasing his life span. He didit by cultivating boredom. Dunbar was working so hard at increasing his life span that Yossarian thought he wasdead. They put t
21、he Texan in a bed in the middle of the ward, and it wasnt long before he donated his views.Dunbar sat up like a shot. “Thats it,” he cried excitedly. “There was something missingall the time I knewthere was something missingand now I know what it is.” He banged his fist down into his palm. “Nopatrio
22、tism,” he declared.“Youre right,” Yossarian shouted back. “Youre right, youre right, youre right. The hot dog, the BrooklynDodgers. Moms apple pie. Thats what everyones fighting for. But whos fighting for the decent folk? Whosfighting for more votes for the decent folk? Theres no patriotism, thats w
23、hat it is. And no matriotism, either.”The warrant officer on Yossarians left was unimpressed. “Who gives a shit?” he asked tiredly, and turned overon his side to go to sleep.The Texan turned out to be good-natured, generous and likable. In three days no one could stand him.He sent shudders of annoya
24、nce scampering up ticklish spines, and everybody fled from himeverybody but thesoldier in white, who had no choice. The soldier in white was encased from head to toe in plaster and gauze. Hehad two useless legs and two useless arms. He had been smuggled into the ward during the night, and the menhad
25、 no idea he was among them until they awoke in the morning and saw the two strange legs hoisted from thehips, the two strange arms anchored up perpendicularly, all four limbs pinioned strangely in air by lead weightssuspended darkly above him that never moved. Sewn into the bandages over the insides
26、 of both elbows werezippered lips through which he was fed clear fluid from a clear jar. A silent zinc pipe rose from the cement on hisgroin and was coupled to a slim rubber hose that carried waste from his kidneys and dripped it efficiently into aclear, stoppered jar on the floor. When the jar on t
27、he floor was full, the jar feeding his elbow was empty, and thetwo were simply switched quickly so that the stuff could drip back into him. All they ever really saw of the soldier in white was a frayed black hole over his mouth.The soldier in white had been filed next to the Texan, and the Texan sat
28、 sideways on his own bed and talked tohim throughout the morning, afternoon and evening in a pleasant, sympathetic drawl. The Texan never mindedthat he got no reply.Temperatures were taken twice a day in the ward. Early each morning and late each afternoon Nurse Cramerentered with a jar full of ther
29、mometers and worked her way up one side of the ward and down the other,distributing a thermometer to each patient. She managed the soldier in white by inserting a thermometer into thehole over his mouth and leaving it balanced there on the lower rim. When she returned to the man in the firstbed, she
30、 took his thermometer and recorded his temperature, and then moved on to the next bed and continuedaround the ward again. One afternoon when she had completed her first circuit of the ward and came a secondtime to the soldier in white, she read his thermometer and discovered that he was dead.“Murder
31、er,” Dunbar said quietly.The Texan looked up at him with an uncertain grin.“Killer,” Yossarian said.What are you fellas talkin” about?” the Texan asked nervously.“You murdered him,” said Dunbar.“You killed him,” said Yossarian.The Texan shrank back. “You fellas are crazy. I didnt even touch him.”“Yo
32、u murdered him,” said Dunbar.“I heard you kill him,” said Yossarian.“You killed him because he was a nigger,” Dunbar said.“You fellas are crazy,” the Texan cried. “They dont allow niggers in here. They got a special place for niggers.”“The sergeant smuggled him in,” Dunbar said.“The Communist sergea
33、nt,” said Yossarian.“And you knew it.”The warrant officer on Yossarians left was unimpressed by the entire incident of the soldier in white. The warrant officer was unimpressed by everything and never spoke at all unless it was to show irritation.The day before Yossarian met the chaplain, a stove ex
34、ploded in the mess hall and set fire to one side of thekitchen. An intense heat flashed through the area. Even in Yossarians ward, almost three hundred feet away,they could hear the roar of the blaze and the sharp cracks of flaming timber. Smoke sped past the orange-tintedwindows. In about fifteen m
35、inutes the crash trucks from the airfield arrived to fight the fire. For a frantic halfhour it was touch and go. Then the firemen began to get the upper hand. Suddenly there was the monotonous olddrone of bombers returning from a mission, and the firemen had to roll up their hoses and speed back to
36、the fieldin case one of the planes crashed and caught fire. The planes landed safely. As soon as the last one was down, thefiremen wheeled their trucks around and raced back up the hill to resume their fight with the fire at the hospital.When they got there, the blaze was out. It had died of its own
37、 accord, expired completely without even an emberto be watered down, and there was nothing for the disappointed firemen to do but drink tepid coffee and hangaround trying to screw the nurses.The chaplain arrived the day after the fire. Yossarian was busy expurgating all but romance words from thelet
38、ters when the chaplain sat down in a chair between the beds and asked him how he was feeling. He had placedhimself a bit to one side, and the captains bars on the tab of his shirt collar were all the insignia Yossarian couldsee. Yossarian had no idea who he was and just took it for granted that he w
39、as either another doctor or anothermadman.“Oh, pretty good,” he answered. “Ive got a slight pain in my liver and I havent been the most regular offellows, I guess, but all in all I must admit that I feel pretty good.”“Thats good,” said the chaplain.“Yes,” Yossarian said. “Yes, that is good.”“I meant
40、 to come around sooner,” the chaplain said, “but I really havent been well.”“Thats too bad,” Yossarian said.“Just a head cold,” the chaplain added quickly.“Ive got a fever of a hundred and one,” Yossarian added just as quickly.“Thats too bad,” said the chaplain.“Yes,” Yossarian agreed. “Yes, that is
41、 too bad.”The chaplain fidgeted. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked after a while.“No, no.” Yossarian sighed. “The doctors are doing all thats humanly possible, I suppose.”“No, no.” The chaplain colored faintly. “I didnt mean anything like that. I meant cigarettes. or books. or.toys.”“No
42、, no,” Yossarian said. “Thank you. I have everything I need, I supposeeverything but good health.”“Thats too bad.”“Yes,” Yossarian said. “Yes, that is too bad.”The chaplain stirred again. He looked from side to side a few times, then gazed up at the ceiling, then down atthe floor. He drew a deep bre
43、ath.“Lieutenant Nately sends his regards,” he said.Yossarian was sorry to hear they had a mutual friend. It seemed there was a basis to their conversation after all.“You know Lieutenant Nately?” he asked regretfully.“Yes, I know Lieutenant Nately quite well.”“Hes a bit loony, isnt he?”The chaplains
44、smile was embarrassed. “Im afraid I couldnt say. I dont think I know him that well.”“You can take my word for it,” Yossarian said. “Hes as goofy as they come.”The chaplain weighed the next silence heavily and then shattered it with an abrupt question. “You are CaptainYossarian, arent you?”“Nately ha
45、d a bad start. He came from a good family.”“Please excuse me,” the chaplain persisted timorously. “I may be committing a very grave error. Are you CaptainYossarian?”“Yes,” Captain Yossarian confessed. “I am Captain Yossarian.”“Of the 256th Squadron?”“Of the fighting 256th Squadron,” Yossarian replie
46、d. “I didnt know there were any other Captain Yossarians. Asfar as I know, Im the only Captain Yossarian I know, but thats only as far as I know.”“I see,” the chaplain said unhappily.“Thats two to the fighting eighth power,” Yossarian pointed out, “if youre thinking of writing a symbolic poem about
47、our squadron.”“No,” mumbled the chaplain. “Im not thinking of writing a symbolic poem about your squadron.”Yossarian straightened sharply when he spied the tiny silver cross on the other side of the chaplains collar. Hewas thoroughly astonished, for he had never really talked with a chaplain before.
48、“Youre a chaplain,” he exclaimed ecstatically. “I didnt know you were a chaplain.”“Why, yes,” the chaplain answered. “Didnt you know I was a chaplain?”“Why, no. I didnt know you were a chaplain.” Yossarian stared at him with a big, fascinated grin. “Ive neverreally seen a chaplain before.”The chaplain flushed again and gazed down at his hands. He was a slight man of about thirty-two with tan hairand brown diffident eyes. His face was narrow and rather pale. An innocent nest of ancient pimple pricks lay