Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           McMurphywalksupanddowninfrontofthatbench,runninghishandaroundinthatthickhair.Hewalksallthewaytothebackoftheline,thenallthewaytothefront,totheX-raymachine.Ithissesandspitsathim.

           "You,Billy—youmustbecommitted,forChristsakes!"

           Billy’sgothisbacktous,hischinupontheblackscreen,standingontiptoe.No,hesaysintothemachinery.

           "Thenwhy?Why?You’rejustayoungguy!Yououghtabeoutrunningaroundinaconvertible,bird-dogginggirls.Allofthis"—hesweepshishandaroundhimagain—"whydoyoustandforit?"

           Billydoesn’tsayanything,andMcMurphyturnsfromhimtoanothercoupleofguys.

           "Tellmewhy.Yougripe,youbitchforweeksonendabouthowyoucan’tstandthisplace,can’tstandthenurseoranythingabouther,andallthetimeyouain’tcommitted.Icanunderstanditwithsomeofthoseoldguysontheward.They’renuts.Butyou,you’renotexactlytheeverydaymanonthestreet,butyou’renotnuts."

           Theydon’targuewithhim.HemovesontoSefelt.

           "Sefelt,whataboutyou?There’snothingwrongwithyoubutyouhavefits.Hell,IhadanunclewhothrewconniptionstwiceasbadasyoursandsawvisionsfromtheDeviltoboot,buthedidn’tlockhimselfinthenuthouse.Youcouldgetalongoutsideifyouhadtheguts—"

           "Sure!"It’sBilly,turnedfromthescreen,hisfaceboilingtears."Sure!"hescreamsagain."Ifwehadtheg-guts!Icouldgooutsideto-today,ifIhadtheguts.