Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           "Toughluck"—andpeelsthreebananasrightundertheblackboy’snoseandeatsoneaftertheother,tellstheboythatanytimeyouwantonesnuckoutathemesshallforyou,Sam,youjustgivetheword.

           WhenMcMurphyfinisheshislastbananaheslapshisbellyandgetsupandheadsforthedoor,andthebigblackboyblocksthedoorandtellshimtherulethatpatientssitinthemesshalltilltheyallleaveatseven-thirty.McMurphystaresathimlikehecan’tbelievehe’shearingright,thenturnsandlooksatHarding.Hardingnodshishead,soMcMurphyshrugsandgoesbacktohischair."Isuredon’twanttogoagainstthatgoddamnedpolicy."

           Theclockattheendofthemesshallshowsit’saquarterafterseven,liesabouthowweonlybeensittingherefifteenminuteswhenyoucantellit’sbeenatleastanhour.Everybodyisfinishedeatingandleanedback,watchingthebighandtomovetoseven-thirty.TheblackboystakeawaytheVegetables’splatteredtraysandwheelthetwooldmendowntogethosedoff.Inthemesshallabouthalftheguyslaytheirheadsontheirarms,figuringtogetalittlesleepbeforetheblackboysgetback.There’snothingelsetodo,withnocardsormagazinesorpicturepuzzles.Justsleeporwatchtheclock.

           ButMcMurphycan’tkeepstillforthat;he’sgottobeuptosomething.Afterabouttwominutesofpushingfoodscrapsaroundhisplatewithhisspoon,he’sreadyformoreexcitement.Hehookshisthumbsinhispocketsandtipsbackandone-eyesthatclockuponthewall.