Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Igetthefunniestfeelingthatthesunisturnedupbrighterthanbeforeonthethreeofthem.Everythingelselookslikeitusuallydoes—thechickensfussingaroundinthegrassontopofthe‘dobehouses,thegrasshoppersbattingfrombushtobush,thefliesbeingstirredintoblackcloudsaroundthefishracksbythelittlekidswithsageflails,justlikeeveryothersummerday.Exceptthesun,onthesethreestrangers,isallofasuddenwaythehellbrighterthanusualandIcanseethe...seamswherethey’reputtogether.And,almost,seetheapparatusinsidethemtakethewordsIjustsaidandtrytofitthewordsinhereandthere,thisplaceandthat,andwhentheyfindthewordsdon’thaveanyplaceready-madewherethey’llfit,themachinerydisposesofthewordsliketheyweren’tevenspoken.

           Thethreearestockstillwhilethisgoeson.Eventheswing’sstopped,nailedoutataslantbythesun,withthefatmanpetrifiedinitlikearubberdoll.ThenPapa’sguineahenwakesupinthejuniperbranchesandseeswegotstrangersonthepremisesandgoestobarkingatthemlikeadog,andthespellbreaks.

           Thefatmanhollersandjumpsoutoftheswingandsidlesawaythroughthedust,holdinghishatupinfrontofthesunso’shecanseewhat’supthereinthejunipertreemakingsucharacket.Whenheseesit’snothingbutaspeckledchickenhespitsonthegroundandputshishaton.

           "I,myself,sincerelyfeel,"hesays,"thatwhateverofferwemakeonthis...metropoliswillbequitesufficient."

           "Couldbe.