Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           NomoreoftheseboyswithoutSeconal.

           Theclampsbitemywristsandankles.

           Thegraphitesalvehasironfilingsinit,templesscratching.

           Hesaidsomethingwhenhewinked.Toldmesomething.

           Manbendsover,bringstwoironstowardtheringonmyhead.

           Themachinehunchesonme.

           AIRRAID.

           Hitatalope,runningalreadydowntheslope.Can’tgetback,can’tgoahead,lookdownthebarrelan’youdeaddeaddead.

           Wecomeupoutathebullreedsrunbesidetherailroadtrack.Ilayaneartothetrack,anditburnsmycheek.

           "Nothin’eitherway,"Isay,"ahundredmiles..."

           "Hump,"Papasays.

           "Didn’tweusedtolistenforbuffalobystickin’aknifeintheground,catchthehandleinourteeth,hearaherdwayoff?"

           "Hump,"hesaysagain,buthe’stickled.Outacrosstheothersideofthetrackafencerowofwheatchatsfromlastwinter.Miceunderthatstuff,thedogsays.

           "Dowegoupthetrackordownthetrack,boy?"

           "Wegoacross,iswhattheol’dogsays."

           "Thatdogdon’theel."

           "He’lldo.There’sbirdsoverthereiswhattheofdogsays."

           "Betterhuntingupthetrackbankiswhatyourol’mansays."

           "Bestrightacrossinthechatsofwheat,thedogtellsme."

           Across—nextthingIknowthere’speoplealloverthetrack,blastingawayatpheasantslikeanything.Seemsourdoggottoofaroutaheadandrunallthebirdsoutathechatstothetrack.

           Doggotthreemice.

           ...man,Man,MAN,MAN...broadandbigwithawinklikeastar.