Пролетая над гнездом кукушки
Chapter 11
Withnopokerorblackjack,it’squietinthetubroom,justthesoundofthespeakerdriftinginfromthedayroom.It’ssoquietyoucanhearthatguyupstairsinDisturbedclimbingthewall,givingoutanoccasionalsignal,looloolooo,abored,uninterestedsound,likeababyyellstoyellitselftosleep.
"Thursday,"McMurphysaysagain.
"Looooo,"yellsthatguyupstairs.
"That’sRawler,"Scanlonsays,lookingupattheceiling.Hedon’twanttopayanyattentiontoMcMurphy."RawlertheSquawler.Hecamethroughthiswardafewyearsback.Wouldn’tkeepstilltosuitMissRatched,youremember,Billy?LooloolooallthetimetillIthoughtI’dgonuts.Whattheyshoulddowiththatwholebunchofdingbatsupthereistossacoupleofgrenadesinthedorm.They’renousetoanybody—"
"AndtomorrowisFriday,"McMurphysays.Hewon’tletScanlonchangethesubject.
"Yeah,"Cheswicksays,scowlingaroundtheroom,"tomorrowisFriday."
Hardingturnsapageofhismagazine."AndthatwillmakenearlyaweekourfriendMcMurphyhasbeenwithuswithoutsucceedinginthrowingoverthegovernment,isthatwhatyou’resaying,Cheswickle?Lord,tothinkofthechasmofapathyinwhichwehavefallen—ashame,apitifulshame."
"Thehellwiththat,"McMurphysays."WhatCheswickmeansisthatthefirstSeriesgameisgonnabeplayedonTVtomorrow,andwhatarewegonnabedoin’?Moppingupthisdamnednurseryagain."
"Yeah,"Cheswicksays."Ol’MotherRatched’sTherapeuticNursery."
