it was actually all sergeant knight’s fault that yossarian busted nately in the nose on thanksgiving day, aftereveryone in the squadron had given humble thanks to milo for providing the fantastically opulent meal on whichthe officers and enlisted men had gorged themselves insatiably all afternoon and for dispensing like inexhaustiblelargess the unopened bottles of cheap whiskey he handed out unsparingly to every man who asked. even beforedark, young soldiers with pasty white faces were throwing up everywhere and passing out drunkenly on theground. the air turned foul. other men picked up steam as the hours passed, and the aimless, riotous celebrationcontinued. it was a raw, violent, guzzling saturnalia that spilled obstreperously through the woods to the officers’
club and spread up into the hills toward the hospital and the antiaircraft-gun emplacements. there were fist fightsin the squadron and one stabbing. corporal kolodny shot himself through the leg in the intelligence tent whileplaying with a loaded gun and had his gums and toes painted purple in the speeding ambulance as he lay on hisback with the blood spurting from his wound. men with cut fingers, bleeding heads, stomach cramps and brokenankles came limping penitently up to the medical tent to have their gums and toes painted purple by gus andwes and be given a laxative to throw into the bushes. the joyous celebration lasted long into the night, and thestillness was fractured often by wild, exultant shouts and by the cries of people who were merry or sick. therewas the recurring sound of retching and moaning, of laughter, greetings, threats and swearing, and of bottlesshattering against rock. there were dirty songs in the distance. it was worse than new year’s eve.
yossarian went to bed early for safety and soon dreamed that he was fleeing almost headlong down an endlesswooden staircase, making a loud, staccato clatter with his heels. then he woke up a little and realized someonewas shooting at him with a machine gun. a tortured, terrified sob rose in his throat. his first thought was thatmilo was attacking the squadron again, and he rolled of his cot to the floor and lay underneath in a trembling,praying ball, his heart thumping like a drop forge, his body bathed in a cold sweat. there was no noise of planes.
a drunken, happy laugh sounded from afar. “happy new year, happy new year!” a triumphant familiar voiceshouted hilariously from high above between the short, sharp bursts of machine gun fire, and yossarianunderstood that some men had gone as a prank to one of the sandbagged machine-gun emplacements milo hadinstalled in the hills after his raid on the squadron and staffed with his own men.
yossarian blazed with hatred and wrath when he saw he was the victim of an irresponsible joke that haddestroyed his sleep and reduced him to a whimpering hulk. he wanted to kill, he wanted to murder. he wasangrier than he had ever been before, angrier even than when he had slid his hands around mcwatt’s neck tostrangle him. the gun opened fire again. voices cried “happy new year!” and gloating laughter rolled downfrom the hills through the darkness like a witch’s glee. in moccasins and coveralls, yossarian charged out of histent for revenge with his .45, ramming a clip of cartridges up into the grip and slamming the bolt of the gun backto load it. he snapped off the safety catch and was ready to shoot. he heard nately running after him to restrainhim, calling his name. the machine gun opened fire once more from a black rise above the motor pool, andorange tracer bullets skimmed like low-gliding dashes over the tops of the shadowy tents, almost clipping thepeaks. roars of rough laughter rang out again between the short bursts. yossarian felt resentment boil like acidinside him; they were endangering his life, the bastards! with blind, ferocious rage and determination, he racedacross the squadron past the motor pool, running as fast as he could, and was already pounding up into the hillsalong the narrow, winding path when nately finally caught up, still calling “yo-yo! yo-yo!” with pleadingconcern and imploring him to stop. he grasped yossarian’s shoulders and tried to hold him back. yossariantwisted free, turning. nately reached for him again, and yossarian drove his fist squarely into nately’s delicateyoung face as hard as he could, cursing him, then drew his arm back to hit him again, but nately had dropped out of sight with a groan and lay curled up on the ground with his head buried in both hands and blood streamingbetween his fingers. yossarian whirled and plunged ahead up the path without looking back.
soon he saw the machine gun. two figures leaped up in silhouette when they heard him and fled into the nightwith taunting laughter before he could get there. he was too late. their footsteps receded, leaving the circle ofsandbags empty and silent in the crisp and windless moonlight. he looked about dejectedly. jeering laughtercame to him again, from a distance. a twig snapped nearby. yossarian dropped to his knees with a cold thrill ofelation and aimed. he heard a stealthy rustle of leaves on the other side of the sandbags and fired two quickrounds. someone fired back at him once, and he recognized the shot.
“dunbar? he called.
“yossarian?”
the two men left their hiding places and walked forward to meet in the clearing with weary disappointment, theirguns down. they were both shivering slightly from the frosty air and wheezing from the labor of their uphillrush.
“the bastards,” said yossarian. “they got away.”
“they took ten years off my life,” dunbar exclaimed. “i thought that son of a bitch milo was bombing us again.
i’ve never been so scared. i wish i knew who the bastards were.
“one was sergeant knight.”
“let’s go kill him.” dunbar’s teeth were chattering. “he had no right to scare us that way.”
yossarian no longer wanted to kill anyone. “let’s help nately first. i think i hurt him at the bottom of the hill.”
but there was no sign of nately along the path, even though yossarian located the right spot by the blood on thestones. nately was not in his tent either, and they did not catch up with him until the next morning when theychecked into the hospital as patients after learning he had checked in with a broken nose the night before. natelybeamed in frightened surprise as they padded into the ward in their slippers and robes behind nurse cramer andwere assigned to their beds. nately’s nose was in a bulky cast, and he had two black eyes. he kept blushinggiddily in shy embarrassment and saying he was sorry when yossarian came over to apologize for hitting him.
yossarian felt terrible; he could hardly bear to look at nately’s battered countenance, even though the sight wasso comical he was tempted to guffaw. dunbar was disgusted by their sentimentality, and all three were relievedwhen hungry joe came barging in unexpectedly with his intricate black camera and trumped-up symptoms ofappendicitis to be near enough to yossarian to take pictures of him feeling up nurse duckett. like yossarian, hewas soon disappointed. nurse duckett had decided to marry a doctor—any doctor, because they all did so well inbusiness—and would not take chances in the vicinity of the man who might someday be her husband. hungryjoe was irate and inconsolable until—of all people—the chaplain was led in wearing a maroon corduroybathrobe, shining like a skinny lighthouse with a radiant grin of self-satisfaction too tremendous to be concealed.
the chaplain had entered the hospital with a pain in his heart that the doctors thought was gas in his stomach andwith an advanced case of wisconsin shingles.
“what in the world are wisconsin shingles?” asked yossarian.
“that’s just what the doctors wanted to know!” blurted out the chaplain proudly, and burst into laughter. no onehad ever seen him so waggish, or so happy. “there’s no such thing as wisconsin shingles. don’t youunderstand? i lied. i made a deal with the doctors. i promised that i would let them know when my wisconsinshingles went away if they would promise not to do anything to cure them. i never told a lie before. isn’t itwonderful?”
the chaplain had sinned, and it was good. common sense told him that telling lies and defecting from duty weresins. on the other hand, everyone knew that sin was evil, and that no good could come from evil. but he did feelgood; he felt positively marvelous. consequently, it followed logically that telling lies and defecting from dutycould not be sins. the chaplain had mastered, in a moment of divine intuition, the handy technique of protectiverationalization, and he was exhilarated by his discovery. it was miraculous. it was almost no trick at all, he saw,to turn vice into virtue and slander into truth, impotence into abstinence, arrogance into humility, plunder intophilanthropy, thievery into honor, blasphemy into wisdom, brutality into patriotism, and sadism into justice.
anybody could do it; it required no brains at all. it merely required no character. with effervescent agility thechaplain ran through the whole gamut of orthodox immoralities, while nately sat up in bed with flushed elation,astounded by the mad gang of companions of which he found himself the nucleus. he was flattered andapprehensive, certain that some severe official would soon appear and throw the whole lot of them out like apack of bums. no one bothered them. in the evening they all trooped exuberantly out to see a lousy hollywoodextravaganza in technicolor, and when they trooped exuberantly back in after the lousy hollywoodextravaganza, the soldier in white was there, and dunbar screamed and went to pieces.
“he’s back!” dunbar screamed. “he’s back! he’s back!”
yossarian froze in his tracks, paralyzed as much by the eerie shrillness in dunbar’s voice as by the familiar,white, morbid sight of the soldier in white covered from head to toe in plaster and gauze. a strange, quavering,involuntary noise came bubbling from yossarian’s throat.
“he’s back!” dunbar screamed again.
“he’s back!” a patient delirious with fever echoed in automatic terror.
all at once the ward erupted into bedlam. mobs of sick and injured men began ranting incoherently and runningand jumping in the aisle as though the building were on fire. a patient with one foot and one crutch was hoppingback and forth swiftly in panic crying, “what is it? what is it? are we burning? are we burning?”
“he’s back!” someone shouted at him. “didn’t you hear him? he’s back! he’s back!”
“who’s back?” shouted someone else. “who is it?”
“what does it mean? what should we do?”
“are we on fire?”
“get up and run, damn it! everybody get up and run!”
everybody got out of bed and began running from one end of the ward to the other. one c.i.d. man was lookingfor a gun to shoot one of the other c.i.d. men who had jabbed his elbow into his eye. the ward had turned intochaos. the patient delirious with the high fever leaped into the aisle and almost knocked over the patient withone foot, who accidentally brought the black rubber tip of his crutch down on the other’s bare foot, crushingsome toes. the delirious man with the fever and the crushed toes sank to the floor and wept in pain while othermen tripped over him and hurt him more in their blind, milling, agonized stampede. “he’s back!” all the menkept mumbling and chanting and calling out hysterically as they rushed back and forth. “he’s back, he’s back!”
nurse cramer was there in the middle suddenly like a spinning policeman, trying desperately to restore order,dissolving helplessly into tears when she failed. “be still, please be still,” she urged uselessly through hermassive sobs. the chaplain, pale as a ghost, had no idea what was going on. neither did nately, who kept closeto yossarian’s side, clinging to his elbow, or hungry joe, who followed dubiously with his scrawny fistsclenched and glanced from side to side with a face that was scared.
“hey, what’s going on?” hungry joe pleaded. “what the hell is going on?”
“it’s the same one!” dunbar shouted at him emphatically in a voice rising clearly above the raucous commotion.
“don’t you understand? it’s the same one.”
“the same one!” yossarian heard himself echo, quivering with a deep and ominous excitement that he could notcontrol, and shoved his way after dunbar toward the bed of the soldier in white.
“take it easy, fellas,” the short patriotic texan counseled affably, with an uncertain grin. “there’s no cause to beupset. why don’t we all just take it easy?”
“the same one!” others began murmuring, chanting and shouting.
suddenly nurse duckett was there, too. “what’s going on?” she demanded.
“he’s back!” nurse cramer screamed, sinking into her arms. “he’s back, he’s back!”
it was, indeed, the same man. he had lost a few inches and added some weight, but yossarian remembered himinstantly by the two stiff anus and the two stiff, thick, useless legs all drawn upward into the air almostperpendicularly by the taut ropes and the long lead weights suspended from pulleys over him and by the frayedblack hole in the bandages over his mouth. he had, in fact, hardly changed at all. there was the same zinc piperising from the hard stone mass over his groin and leading to the clear glass jar on the floor. there was the sameclear glass jar on a pole dripping fluid into him through the crook of his elbow. yossarian would recognize him anywhere. he wondered who he was.
“there’s no one inside!” dunbar yelled out at him unexpectedly.
yossarian felt his heart skip a beat and his legs grow weak. “what are you talking about?” he shouted withdread, stunned by the haggard, sparking anguish in dunbar’s eyes and by his crazed look of wild shock andhorror. “are you nuts or something? what the hell do you mean, there’s no one inside?”
“they’ve stolen him away!” dunbar shouted back. “he’s hollow inside, like a chocolate soldier. they just tookhim away and left those bandages there.”
“why should they do that?”
“why do they do anything?”
“they’ve stolen him away!” screamed someone else, and people all over the ward began screaming, “they’vestolen him away. they’ve stolen him away!”
“go back to your beds,” nurse duckett pleaded with dunbar and yossarian, pushing feebly against yossarian’schest. “please go back to your beds.”
“you’re crazy!” yossarian shouted angrily at dunbar. “what the hell makes you say that?”
“did anyone see him?” dunbar demanded with sneering fervor.
“you saw him, didn’t you?” yossarian said to nurse duckett. “tell dunbar there’s someone inside.”
“lieutenant schmulker is inside,” nurse duckett said. “he’s burned all over.”
“did she see him?”
“you saw him, didn’t you?”
“the doctor who bandaged him saw him.”
“go get him, will you? which doctor was it?”
nurse duckett reacted to the question with a startled gasp. “the doctor isn’t even here!” she exclaimed. “thepatient was brought to us that way from a field hospital.”
“you see?” cried nurse cramer. “there’s no one inside!”
“there’s no one inside!” yelled hungry joe, and began stamping on the floor.
dunbar broke through and leaped up furiously on the soldier in white’s bed to see for himself, pressing hisgleaming eye down hungrily against the tattered black hole in the shell of white bandages. he was still bent overstaring with one eye into the lightless, unstirring void of the soldier in white’s mouth when the doctors and them.p.s came running to help yossarian pull him away. the doctors wore guns at the waist. the guards carriedcarbines and rifles with which they shoved and jolted the crowd of muttering patients back. a stretcher onwheels was there, and the solder in white was lifted out of bed skillfully and rolled out of sight in a matter ofseconds. the doctors and m.p.s moved through the ward assuring everyone that everything was all right.
nurse duckett plucked yossarian’s arm and whispered to him furtively to meet her in the broom closet outsidein the corridor. yossarian rejoiced when he heard her. he thought nurse duckett finally wanted to get laid andpulled her skirt up the second they were alone in the broom closet, but she pushed him away. she had urgentnews about dunbar.
“they’re going to disappear him,” she said.
yossarian squinted at her uncomprehendingly. “they’re what?” he asked in surprise, and laughed uneasily.
“what does that mean?”
“i don’t know. i heard them talking behind a door.”
“who?”
“i don’t know. i couldn’t see them. i just heard them say they were going to disappear dunbar.”
“why are they going to disappear him?”
“i don’t know.”
“it doesn’t make sense. it isn’t even good grammar. what the hell does it mean when they disappear somebody?”
“i don’t know.”
“jesus, you’re a great help!”
“why are you picking on me?” nurse duckett protested with hurt feelings, and began sniffing back tears. “i’monly trying to help. it isn’t my fault they’re going to disappear him, is it? i shouldn’t even be telling you.”
yossarian took her in his arms and hugged her with gentle, contrite affection. “i’m sorry,” he apologized, kissingher cheek respectfully, and hurried away to warn dunbar, who was nowhere to be found.
34、感恩节
感恩节那天，约塞连一拳砸在内特利的鼻子上。这其实全是奈特中士的过错。那一天，中队里每一个人都谦卑恭敬地前去向米洛表示感谢，因为他为官兵们准备了丰盛得令人难以置信的午餐，让大伙狼吞虎咽地猛吃了一个下午。而且，他还弄来了大批没启封的廉价威士忌赏赐给众人，毫不吝惜地把它们递给每一个要酒喝的人。天还没黑，面色苍白的年轻士兵就四处呕吐起来，横七竖八地醉倒了一地。空气变得臭哄哄的。过了一阵子，另外一些人又来了精神，漫无目的、肆意妄为的庆祝活动又继续下去了。从树林到军官俱乐部，到处是粗鄙、狂野的滥饮和纵情狂欢，闹哄哄的场面一直延伸到医院和高射炮阵地外面的山上。中队里有人动手打了起来，还有一个人被刀刺伤了。在情报室的帐篷里，科洛尼下士玩一枝子弹上了膛的手枪时走了火，打穿了自己的腿。他仰面躺在飞驰的救护车里，鲜血一个劲地从伤口往外喷，牙龈和脚趾上都涂着紫药水。那些割破了手指头、打破了脑袋、扭伤了脚脖子和吃得胃痉挛的家伙，一个个后悔不迭地一腐一拐地走进了医务室的帐篷。
格斯和韦斯往他们的牙龈和脚趾头上涂点紫药水，又发给他们一些轻泻剂。他们一出帐篷，就把轻泻剂扔到灌木丛里去了。欢乐的庆祝活动一直进行到深夜。夜晚的寂静一再被兴高采烈的狂呼乱喊以及快活或者伤心的军人们的叫声打破。呕吐、呻吟、欢笑、问候、威胁、诅咒，各种声音此起彼伏，时不时还会传来往岩石上摔瓶子的声音。远处有人唱着下流的小调。这个场面比除夕夜还要乱七八糟。
约塞连怕出事，早早地上了床睡觉。不一会，他就梦见自己连滚带爬地顺着无穷无尽的木制楼梯往下逃，一路上脚后跟磕磕碰碰，带出一阵嘈杂的咔哒咔哒声。后来，他有几分醒了，意识到这是有人用机关枪向他扫射。他痛苦而恐惧地从喉咙眼里发出一声呜咽，脑子里闪过的第一个念头就是米洛又来袭击中队营地了。他急忙翻身从行军床上滚到地下，钻到床底缩成一团，哆哆嗦嗦地祈求上帝保佑，他的心咚咚直跳，浑身直冒冷汗。可是，天上并没有飞机的轰鸣声，远处却响起了醉鬼快活的笑声。“新年好，新年好！”一个熟悉的声音夹杂在阵阵短促刺耳的机关枪射击声中间，得意洋洋、兴高采烈地高声叫喊着，约塞连明白了，这是有人恶作剧地跑到沙包掩体里打机关枪玩。米洛袭击中队营地后，在山上设置了这些沙包掩体，并在里面配备了他自己的人。
约塞连这才意识到自己成了这场冒冒失失的恶作剧的受害者。想到自己被害得睡不好觉，还差点给吓成了呜呜咽咽的白痴，他恨得咬牙切齿，不禁火冒三丈。他真想杀掉他们中的一个解解恨。他从来也没有发过这么大的火，甚至当他卡住麦克沃特的脖子要掐死他时也没有眼下这么愤怒。机关枪又开火了。“新年好！”的叫喊声和幸灾乐祸的笑声从山上飘落下来，听起来就像女巫得意洋洋的狞笑。约塞连伸手抓过他那把零点四五口径的手枪，穿着软拖鞋和工作服冲出帐篷去报仇。他装上一梭子子弹，拉动枪栓，把子弹顶上膛，随后打开保险，准备射击。
机关枪又从汽车调度场背后一座黑乎乎的小山丘上升起火来，桔红色的曳光弹就像低空俯冲的飞机那样，贴着这片黑乎乎的帐篷顶飞掠而过，差一点削去它们的尖顶，粗野的狂笑声又一次夹杂在短促的射击声中间传了过来。约塞连内心怒火熊熊燃烧：这帮狗杂种，他们是打算要他的命了！他满脸杀气，决心跟他们拼个你死我活。他不顾一切地冲出中队营地，跑过汽车调度场，沿着弯弯曲曲的羊肠小道，脚步咚咚地朝山上跑去。内特利追了上来，诚恳而关切地叫着“约一约！约一约！”恳求约塞连停下来。他抓住约塞连的肩膀，想把他往回拖。约塞连扭身挣脱了他。他又伸出手来想抓住约塞连，约塞连骂了他一声，握紧拳头使足了力气对准内特利那张稚嫩的脸猛击过去。他收回胳膊想再给他一拳，可内特利已经哼了一声倒下去了。他蜷缩着身子躺在地上，双手捂着脸，鲜血从指缝中流了出来。约塞连转过身，头也不回地沿着小道往山上冲去。
不一会，他就看到了那挺机关枪。那两个人影听到他的脚步声立刻跳了起来。不等他跑到跟前，他们便嘲弄地大笑着逃到夜幕里去了。他到得太晚了，他们的脚步声渐渐消逝，只留下一圈空无一人的沙包掩体静悄悄地躺在冷清的月光下，他垂头丧气地四下里打量着。远处又传来嘲弄的笑声，附近一根树枝啪的一声折断了。
约塞连不由得一阵惊喜，赶忙跪下瞄准。他听到沙包另一侧隐隐约的地传来树叶的沙沙声，立刻往那边打了两枪。随即有人朝他还击，他听出了是谁开的枪。
“是邓巴吗？”他喊道。
“是约塞连吗？”
两个人从各自的隐蔽处走了出来，疲倦而失望地拖着枪互相迎上前去，他们在中间的空地上相会了。方才往山坡上的那阵猛冲累得他们俩呼哧呼哧地直喘气，这会儿给寒气一吹，两个人不禁微微打起寒战来。
“狗杂种，”约塞连说，“他们逃走了。”
“他们害得我要少活十年，”邓巴叫道，“我还以为是米洛那个狗娘养的又来轰炸我们了呢。我从来也没有这么害怕过。我真想知道这些狗杂种是谁。”
“有一个是奈特中士。”
“我们去杀了他。”邓巴的牙齿在格格打战。“他没有权利这么吓唬我们。”
约塞连已经不再想杀人了。“我们先去救内特利吧。刚才在山脚下我怕是把他打伤了。”
但是，虽然约塞连顺着石头上的血迹找到了内特利倒下的地方，小道上却哪儿也没有他的身影。他也没在帐篷里。他们到处都找不到他。直到第二天早上，他们才得知内特利头天晚上因鼻梁骨被打断而被送进了医院。他们装作病人住进了医院。当他们穿着拖鞋和睡衣，跟着克拉默护士走进病房，来到指定的病床前时，内特利吃了一惊，随即笑了起来。内特利的鼻梁上贴着一块沉甸甸的石膏，双眼青紫青紫的。约塞连走过去为打他一事向他道歉时，他窘得满脸通红，一再说自己也很抱歉。约塞连心里很不是滋味；他几乎不忍心看内特利那被他打得不成形的脸，尽管内特利的那副模样非常滑稽，逗得他直想放声大笑。看到他们俩这种悲悲切切的样子，邓巴在一旁直感到恶心。后来，亨格利·乔背着他那架结构复杂的黑色照相机出人意料地闯了进来，这才给他们三个解了围。
为了接近约塞连，替他拍几张抚摸达克特护士时的照片，亨格利·乔装成阑尾炎患者住进了医院。可是，他和约塞连一样，很快就失望了。达克特护士已经决定嫁给一个医生——哪个医生都行，因为他们干起本职工作来都很棒——所以在那个将来某一天可能成为她丈夫的人看得见的地方，她是不愿意干那种事的。亨格利·乔又愤怒又沮丧，直到牧师——偏偏是牧师！——被领了进来。牧师穿着一件栗色灯芯绒浴衣，喜气洋洋地笑着，满脸掩饰不住的得意神情，就像一座小小的灯塔那样闪闪发光。他是因为心口痛来住院的，医生们却认为他是胃胀气并染上了晚期威斯康星疱疹。
“到底什么是威斯康星疱疹？”约塞连问。
“这正是医生们想知道的！”牧师自豪地脱口说道，接着便哈哈大笑起来。以前还没有人见过他这么滑稽，这么开心。“世上根本就没有威斯康星疱疹这种病，难道你不明白吗？是我编出来的，我跟医生们做了笔交易。我答应他们，只要他们答应不采取任何治疗措施，等我的威斯康星疱疹消失时，我就会告诉他们的。我以前从来没说过谎。这不是妙极了吗？”
牧师犯下了罪孽，这可真不错。常识告诉他，撒谎和擅离职守是罪孽。而且，人人都知道，罪孽是邪恶的，邪恶是没有好结果的。
可是，他却感觉良好，他甚至觉得飘飘然。因此，他顺理成章地断定，撒谎和擅离职守不是罪孽。凭借着转瞬即逝的天赐直觉，牧师一下子掌握住了这种自我开脱的最方便的推理法。他为自己的这一成就而振奋不已。这真是奇妙至极。他认识到，用这种推理法可以轻而易举地把恶习说成美德，把谣言说成真理，把阳痿说成禁欲，把傲慢说成谦卑，把掠夺说成行善，把贼赃说成荣誉，把亵渎神灵说成明智之举，把野蛮暴行说成爱国行为，把淫威说成正义。任何人都能做到这一点，这根本不需要开动脑筋，也不需要什么个性。牧师饶有兴致地把各种各样违反习俗的不道德行为在脑子里匆匆过了一遍，而此时内特利正被自己那群疯子似的伙伴团团围在中央。他端坐在床上，又惊又喜，满脸通红。他很得意，也很担心，过一会肯定会有一位正言厉色的军官出现在他们面前，像赶流浪汉似的把他们这一群人全轰出去。然而，没有谁来打搅他们。到了晚上，他们成群结伙兴高采烈地跑出去看了一部蹩脚的、场面华丽的好莱坞彩色影片。当他们看完电影成群结伙兴高采烈地回到病房时，那个白色士兵已经在那儿了。邓巴尖叫一声，当时就给吓垮了。
“他回来了！”邓巴尖叫道，“他回来了！他回来了！”
约塞连一下子呆住了。邓巴惊恐的尖叫声吓得他浑身瘫软，更叫他毛骨悚然的是他又看见了那个他十分熟悉的从头顶到脚趾都裹着石膏、缠着绷带的白色士兵。他不由自主地从喉咙眼里发出一阵古怪的颤音。
“他回来了！”邓巴又尖叫起来。
“他回来了！”一个正在发高烧说胡话的病人也下意识地跟着叫了起来。
病房里登时大乱，简直成了疯人院。一群群的伤病员在走道里东跳西窜，语无伦次地狂呼乱叫，就好像楼里着了火似的。一个只有一只脚的伤员拄着拐杖蹦来蹦去，惊恐万状地到处大声问：“出了什么事？出了什么事？我们这儿失火了吗？我们这儿失火了吗？”
“他回来了！”有人对他喊道，“你难道没听见吗？他回来了，他回来了！”
“谁回来了？”另一个人叫道，“他是谁？”
“这是什么意思，我们该怎么办？”
“我们这儿失火了吗？”
“快起来逃命吧，真见鬼！大家快起来逃命吧！”
于是所有的人都跳下床，来来回回地从病房的一头往另一头跑。一个刑事调查部的人跳起来找手枪要去打另一个刑事调查部的人，因为那人的胳膊肘碰了他的眼睛，病房里乱作一团。那个发高烧说胡话的病人蹦到走道中间，差点把那个只有一只脚的伤员撞倒：后者一不小心把拐杖的黑色橡皮头拄到了对方的光脚上，压破了他好几个脚趾头，痛得他一屁股坐到地上，哭喊起来。那些痛苦万状的人惊慌失措地四处乱窜着，不顾一切地在他身上踩来踩去，又踩伤了他更多的地方。“他回来了！”人们一边来回跑着一边反反复复地咕哝着这句话，念叨着这句话，或者干脆歇斯底里地喊着这句话。“他回来了！他回来了！”克拉默护士突然出现在人群中间。她像个警察似的转来转去，竭力想恢复秩序，可是却无能为力，急得她掉下眼泪来。“静一静，请静一静。”她一边粗声粗气地抽泣着，一边徒劳地恳求着人们。牧师的脸色苍白得像个鬼魂，他并不明白出了什么事。内特利也不明白。他身体贴着约塞连站着，紧紧抓住他的胳膊肘。亨格利·乔也是一样。他握紧瘦骨鳞峋的拳头，疑惑不解地跟在约塞连后面，东瞧瞧西望望，满脸惧色。
“喂，出了什么事？”亨格利·乔恳求地问，“到底出了什么事？”
“还是那个人！”邓巴提高嗓门对他说。他的声音明显地盖过了周围的喧哗。“你难道不明白吗？还是那个人。”
“是那个人！”约塞连不自觉地附和了一声。他内心涌起一阵不祥的预感，激动得不能自持，不禁打起哆嗦来。他跟在邓巴后面，挤出一条路走到那个白色士兵的床前。
“别紧张，伙计们，”那个小个子得克萨斯爱国主义者友善地劝说道。他的脸上浮现出令人难以捉摸的微笑。“没有必要这么惊慌失措。为什么我们不能放松一点？”
“是那个人！”其他人又开始咕哝着，念叨着，喊叫着。
突然，达克特护士也到了床前。“出了什么事？”她问道。
“他回来了！”克拉默护士尖叫着扑到她的怀里。“他回来了，回来了！”
是的，的确是那个人。他矮了几英寸，体重却增加了。他那两只僵硬的胳膊和两条僵硬、丝毫不起作用的粗腿被绷得紧紧的吊索几乎垂直地拉向上空，吊索的另一端是从他身体上方的滑轮上悬垂下来的长长的铅块。他的嘴上缠着绷带，绷带中间有个边沿破损的黑洞。约塞连一看到这些，马上就记起他来了。事实上，他几乎一点都没有变样。一根与原来一模一样的锌管从他腹股沟上面那块坚硬的石膏中伸出来，一直引到地上一个与原来一模一样的透明玻璃瓶子里。另外一个与原来一模一样的透明玻璃瓶子挂在一根竹杆上，里面的液体通过他胳膊弯上的绷带处滴入他的体内。
约塞连走到哪儿也认得他。他很想知道这个人到底是谁。
“里面没有人！”邓巴突然冲他叫起来。
约塞连感到自己的心脏猛然停止了跳动，双腿直发软。“你在说什么呀？”他畏惧地大声问。邓巴眼里闪动着的焦虑苦恼的神态以及他那惊恐狂乱的表情把约塞连吓得晕头转向。“你是疯了还是怎么了？你究竟是什么意思，里面没有人？”
“他们把他偷走了！”邓巴大叫着答道，“他里面是空的，就像空心巧克力玩具兵棒糖。他们就这么把他弄走了，只留下这些绷带。”
“他们为什么要做这件事？”
“他们为什么要做任何一件事？”
“他们把他偷走了！”另一个人尖叫起来，于是病房里所有的人都跟着尖叫起来。“他们把他偷走了，他们把他偷走了！”
“回到你们的床上去吧。”达克特护士轻轻推着约塞连的胸脯，一个劲地央求邓巴和约塞连。“请回到你们的床上去吧。”
“你疯了！”约塞连生气地对邓巴喊道，“你究竟为什么要这么说？”
“有人看见过他吗？”邓巴情绪激动地嘲笑着质问道。
“你看见过他，对吗？”约塞连对达克特护士说，“告诉邓巴里面有人。”
“施穆尔克上尉在里面，”达克特护士说，“他全身都烧伤了。”
“她看见过他吗？”
“你看见过他，对吗？”
“给他包扎的医生看见过他。”
“把那医生叫来，行吗？是哪个医生？”
这个问题把达克特护士吓得透不过气来。“那医生根本不在这儿！”她叫道，“这伤员从野战医院转送过来时就是这个样子。”
“你明白了吗？”克拉默护士大声叫道，“那里面没有人。”
“那里面没有人！”亨格利·乔一边嚷着，一边在地板上跺开了脚。
邓巴推开众人，发疯似地跳到那个浑身洁白的士兵身上，想亲眼看个究竟。他忽闪着眼睛，凑上去紧贴着白色绷带躯壳上那个边沿破损的黑洞急切地往里看。就在他正弯着腰，瞪起一只眼往白色士兵那既无光亮也无气息的空洞洞的嘴里盯着时，医生们和宪兵们急匆匆跑过来，帮着约塞连把他拉开了。那些医生腰间全都别着手枪，卫兵们则端着卡宾枪和步枪。他们推推搡搡地把嘀嘀咕咕的病员全都赶开了。一副有轮子的担架推到了床前，白色士兵被巧妙地抬到担架上，一转眼就给推走了。医生们和宪兵们在病房里转了一圈，告诉大家只管放心，一切都很正常。
达克特护士拉了拉约塞连的胳膊，悄声地约他在走廊里放扫帚的小屋里见面。听到这句话，约塞连非常高兴。他还以为达克特护士终于又想跟他做爱了呢。他们两个一走进那间小屋，他就伸手往上撩她的裙子，可她却把他推开了。她说她有关于邓巴的紧急消息。
“他们打算失踪他，”她说。
约塞连莫名其妙地斜眼瞅着她。“他们要干什么？”他不自然池笑着，惊奇地问道，“你这话是什么意思？”
“我不知道。我在门外听见他们说这件事。”
“谁？”
“我不知道。我看不见他们，我只听见他们说他们打算失踪邓巴。”
“他们为什么打算失踪他？”
“我不知道。”
“这话真是莫名其妙，甚至从语法上都说不通。他们打算失踪什么人，这到底是什么意思？”
“我不知道。”
“天哪，你可真是个好帮手！”
“你为什么要拿我出气？”达克特护士感到自己的感情受到了伤害，抽抽搭搭地抗议着。“我不过是想帮帮忙。他们打算失踪他，这又不是我的错，对不对？我真不应该告诉你。”
约塞连把她搂到怀里，温存地、满怀歉意地拥抱着她。“很对不起，”他道歉说。他彬彬有礼地吻了吻她的面颊，便匆匆忙忙地跑出去提醒邓巴当心，可是到处都找不到他了。
