Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Thedoctor’slyingmadeusfeelworsethanever—notbecauseofthelie,somuch,butbecauseofthetruth.

           Thesecondguycameovertothedoctor,grinning."YousaidyouwantedtheSoo-preme,sir?Youbet.Andhowaboutuscheckingthoseoilfiltersandwindshieldwipes?"Hewasbiggerthanhisfriend.Heleaneddownonthedoctorlikehewassharingasecret."Wouldyoubelieveit:eighty-eightpercentofthecarsshowbythefiguresontheroadtodaythattheyneednewoilfiltersandwindshieldwipes?"

           Hisgrinwascoatedwithcarbonfromyearsoftakingoutsparkplugswithhisteeth.Hekeptleaningdownonthedoctor,makinghimsquirmwiththatgrinandwaitingforhimtoadmithewasoverabarrel."Also,how’syourworkcrewfixedforsunglasses?WegotsomegoodPolaroids."Thedoctorknewhehadhim.Butjusttheinstantheopenedhismouth,abouttogiveinandsayYes,anything,therewasawhirringnoiseandthetopofourcarwasfoldingback.McMurphywasfightingandcursingtheaccordion-pleatedtop,tryingtoforceitbackfasterthanthemachinerycouldhandleit.Everybodycouldseehowmadhewasbythewayhethrashedandbeatatthatslowlyrisingtop;whenhegotitcussedandhammeredandwrestleddownintoplaceheclimbedrightoutoverthegirlandoverthesideofthecarandwalkedupbetweenthedoctorandtheservice-stationguyandlookedupintotheblackmouthwithoneeye.

           "Okaynow,Hank,we’lltakeregular,justlikethedoctorordered.Twotanksofregular.That’sall.Thehellwiththatotherslum.