Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Okay—somethingbigger’natableorachair...Well,ifitwasnightImightthrowthatfatcoonthroughit;he’sheavyenough."

           "Muchtoosoft,"Hardingsays."He’dhitthescreenanditwoulddicehimlikeaneggplant."

           "Howaboutoneofthebeds?"

           "Abedistoobigevenifyoucouldliftit.Itwouldn’tgothroughthewindow."

           "Icouldliftitallright.Well,hell,rightoverthereyouare:thatthingBilly’ssittin’on.Thatbigcontrolpanelwithallthehandlesandcranks.That’shardenough,ain’tit?Anditdamnwellshouldbeheavyenough."

           "Sure,"Fredricksonsays."That’sthesameasyoukickingyourfootthroughthesteeldooratthefront."

           "Whatwouldbewrongwithusingthepanel?Itdon’tlooknaileddown."

           "No,it’snotbolted—there’sprobablynothingholdingitbutafewwires—butlookatit,forChristsakes."

           Everybodylooks.Thepanelissteelandcement,halfthesizeofoneofthetables,probablyweighsfourhundredpounds.

           "Okay,I’mlookingatit.Itdon’tlookanybiggerthanhaybalesI’vebuckedupontotruckbeds."

           "I’mafraid,myfriend,thatthiscontrivancewillweighabitmorethanyourbalesofhay."

           "Aboutaquarter-tonmore,I’dbet,"Fredricksonsays.

           "He’sright,Mack,"Cheswicksays."It’dbeawfulheavy."

           "Hell,areyoubirdstellingmeIcan’tliftthatdinkylittlegizmo?"

           "Myfriend,Idon’trecallanythingaboutpsychopathsbeingabletomovemountainsinadditiontotheirothernoteworthyassets."