Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Yougottounderstandthatassoonasamangoestohelpsomebody,heleaveshimselfwideopen.Hehastobecagey,Billy,youshouldknowthataswellasanyone.WhatcouldIdo?Ican’tfixyourstuttering.Ican’twipetherazorbladescarsoffyourwristsorthecigaretteburnsoffthebackofyourhands.Ican’tgiveyouanewmother.Andasfarasthenurseridingyoulikethis,rubbingyournoseinyourweaknesstillwhatlittledignityyougotleftisgoneandyoushrinkuptonothingfromhumiliation,Ican’tdoanythingaboutthat,either.AtAnzio,Isawabuddyofminetiedtoatreefiftyyardsfromme,screamingforwater,hisfaceblisteredinthesun.Theywantedmetotrytogooutandhelphim.They’dofcutmeinhalffromthatfarmhouseoverthere.

           Putyourfaceaway,Billy.

           Theykeepfilingpast.

           It’slikeeachfacewasasignlikeoneofthose"I’mBlind"signsthedagoaccordionplayersinPortlandhungaroundtheirnecks,onlythesesignssay"I’mtired"or"I’mscared"or"I’mdyingofabumliver"or"I’mallboundupwithmachineryandpeoplepushingmeallatime."Icanreadallthesigns,itdon’tmakeanydifferencehowlittletheprintgets.Someofthefacesarelookingaroundatoneanotherandcouldreadtheotherfellow’siftheywould,butwhat’sthesense?Thefacesblowpastinthefoglikeconfetti.

           I’mfurtheroffthanI’veeverbeen.Thisiswhatit’sliketobedead.Iguessthisiswhatit’sliketobeaVegetable;youloseyourselfinthefog.Youdon’tmove.