Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Oneoftheguystakesascalpelfromaholsterathisbelt.There’sachainweldedtothescalpel.Theguylowersittotheworker,loopstheotherendofthechainaroundtherailingsotheworkercan’trunoffwithaweapon.

           TheworkertakesthescalpelandslicesupthefrontofoldBlasticwithacleanswingandtheoldmanstopsthrashingaround.Iexpecttobesick,butthere’snobloodorinnardsfallingoutlikeIwaslookingtosee—justashowerofrustandashes,andnowandagainapieceofwireorglass.Worker’sstandingtheretohiskneesinwhatlookslikeclinkers.

           Afurnacegotitsmouthopensomewhere,licksupsomebody.

           IthinkaboutjumpingupandrunningaroundandwakingupMcMurphyandHardingandasmanyoftheguysasIcan,buttherewouldn’tbeanysenseinit.IfIshooksomebodyawakehe’dsay,Whyyoucrazyidiot,whatthehell’seatingyou?Andthenprobablyhelponeoftheworkersliftmeontooneofthosehookshimself,saying,Howaboutlet’sseewhattheinsidesofanIndianarelike?

           Ihearthehigh,cold,whistlingwetbreathofthefogmachine,seethefirstwispsofitcomeseepingoutfromunderMcMurphy’sbed.Ihopeheknowsenoughtohideinthefog.

           Ihearasillyprattleremindsmeofsomebodyfamiliar,andIrollenoughtogetalookdowntheotherway.It’sthehairlessPublicRelationwiththebloatedface,thatthepatientsarealwaysarguingaboutwhyit’sbloated."I’llsayhedoes,"they’llargue."Me,I’llsayhedoesn’t;youeverhearofaguyreallywhoworeone?""Yeh,butyoueverhearofaguylikehimbefore?"Thefirstpatientshrugsandnods,"Interestingpoint."