Пролетая над гнездом кукушки
Chapter 8
Hetipshiscaptoherandtothepatientsoglingandpokingfunathiswhite-whaleshorts,andgoestothedormwithoutaword.Sheturnsandstartsoffintheotherdirection,herflatredsmilegoingoutbeforeher;beforeshe’sgotthedoorclosedonherglassstation,hissingingisrollingfromthedormdoorintothehallagain.
"‘Shetookmetoherparlor,andcoo-oo-ooledmewithherfan’"—Icanhearthewhackasheslapshisbarebelly—"‘whisperedlowinhermamma’sear,Iluh-uhvvvthatgamblin’man.’"
Sweepingthedormsoon’sit’sempty,I’mafterdustmiceunderhisbedwhenIgetasmellofsomethingthatmakesmerealizeforthefirsttimesinceIbeeninthehospitalthatthisbigdormfullofbeds,sleepsfortygrownmen,hasalwaysbeenstickywithathousandothersmells—smellsofgermicide,zincointment,andfootpowder,smellofpissandsourold-manmanure,ofPablumandeyewash,ofmustyshortsandsocksmustyevenwhenthey’refreshbackfromthelaundry,thestiffodorofstarchinthelinen,theacidstenchofmorningmouths,thebananasmellofmachineoil,andsometimesthesmellofsingedhair—butneverbeforenow,beforehecamein,themansmellofdustanddirtfromtheopenfields,andsweat,andwork.
