Chapter 8

           Comemorning,McMurphyisupbeforeIam,thefirsttimeanybodybeenupbeforemesinceUncleJulestheWallwalkerwashere.Juleswasashrewdoldwhite-hairedNegrowithatheorytheworldwasbeingtippedoveronitssideduringthenightbytheblackboys;heusedtoslipoutintheearlymornings,aimingtocatchthemtippingit.LikeJules,I’mupearlyinthemorningstowatchwhatmachinerythey’resneakingontothewardorinstallingintheshavingroom,andusuallyit’sjustmeandtheblackboysinthehallforfifteenminutesbeforethenextpatientisoutofbed.ButthismorningIhearMcMurphyoutthereinthelatrineasIcomeoutofthecovers.Hearhimsinging!Singingsoyou’dthinkhedidn’thaveaworryintheworld.Hisvoiceisclearandstrongslappingupagainstthecementandsteel.

           "‘Yourhorsesarehungry,that’swhatshedidsay.’"He’senjoyingthewaythesoundringsinthelatrine."‘Comesitdownbesideme,an’feedthemsomehay.’"Hegetsabreath,andhisvoicejumpsakey,gainingpitchandpowertillit’sjogglingthewiringinallthewalls."‘Myhorsesain’thungry,theywon’teatyourhay-ay-aeee.’"Heholdsthenoteandplayswithit,thenswoopsdownwiththerestoftheversetofinishitoff."‘Sofare-thee-well,darlin’,I’mgoneonmyway.’"

           Singing!Everybody’sthunderstruck.Theyhaven’theardsuchathinginyears,notonthisward.MostoftheAcutesinthedormareupontheirelbows,blinkingandlistening.Theylookatoneanotherandraisetheireyebrows.Howcometheblackboyshaven’thushedhimupoutthere?Theyneverletanybodyraisethatmuchracketbefore,didthey?Howcometheytreatthisnewguydifferent?