Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           "Iwantyoutotellmesomething."Andhestartedtosingalittlesong,ahillbillysong,popularalongtimeago:"‘Oh,doestheSpearmintloseitsflavoronthebedpostovernight?’"

           AtfirstIstartedgettingrealmad.Ithoughthewasmakingfunofmelikeotherpeoplehad.

           "‘Whenyouchewitinthemorning,’"hesanginawhisper,"‘willitbetoohardtobite?’"

           ButthemoreIthoughtaboutitthefunnieritseemedtome.ItriedtostopitbutIcouldfeelIwasabouttolaugh—notatMcMurphy’ssinging,butatmyownself.

           "‘Thisquestion’sgotmegoin’,won’tsomebodysetmeright;doestheSpearmintloseitsflavoronthebedposto-verniiiite?’"

           Heheldoutthatlastnoteandtwiddleditdownmelikeafeather.Icouldn’thelpbutstarttochuckle,andthismademescaredI’dgettolaughingandnotbeabletostop.ButjustthenMcMurphyjumpedoffhisbedandwenttorustlingthroughhisnightstand,andIhushed.Iclenchedmyteeth,wonderingwhattodonow.It’dbeenalongtimesinceI’dletanyonehearmedoanymorethangruntorbellow.Iheardhimshutthebedstand,anditechoedlikeaboilerdoor.Iheardhimsay,"Here,"andsomethinglitonmybed.Little.Justthesizeofalizardorasnake...

           "JuicyFruitisthebestIcandoforyouatthemoment,Chief.PackageIwonoffScanlonpitchin’pennies."Andhegotbackinbed.

           AndbeforeIrealizedwhatIwasdoing,ItoldhimThankyou.

           Hedidn’tsayanythingrightoff.