Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Nobody’dbeblowingahorntoshowtheway,therewasnoropetoholdto,sofixingmyeyesonsomethingwastheonlywayIkeptfromgettinglost.SometimesIgotlostinitanyway,gotintoodeep,tryingtohide,andeverytimeIdid,itseemedlikeIalwaysturnedupatthatsameplace,atthatsamemetaldoorwiththerowofrivetslikeeyesandnonumber,justliketheroombehindthatdoordrewmetoit,nomatterhowhardItriedtostayaway,justlikethecurrentgeneratedbythefiendsinthatroomwasconductedinabeamalongthefogandpulledmebackalongitlikearobot.I’dwanderfordaysinthefog,scaredI’dneverseeanotherthing,thenthere’dbethatdoor,openingtoshowmethemattresspaddingontheothersidetostopoutthesounds,themenstandinginalinelikezombiesamongshinycopperwiresandtubespulsinglight,andthebrightscrapeofarcingelectricity.I’dtakemyplaceinthelineandwaitmyturnatthetable.ThetableshapedlikeÀcross,withshadowsofathousandmurderedmenprintedonit,silhouettewristsandanklesrunningunderleatherstrapssweatedgreenwithuse,asilhouetteneckandheadrunninguptoasilverbandgoesacrosstheforehead.Andatechnicianatthecontrolsbesidethetablelookingupfromhisdialsanddownthelineandpointingatmewitharubberglove."Wait,Iknowthatbigbastardthere—betterrabbit-punchhimorcallforsomemorehelporsomething.He’sanawfulcaseforthrashingaround."