Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Six-forty-fivetheshaversbuzzandtheAcuteslineupinalphabeticalorderatthemirrors,A,B,C,D....ThewalkingChronicslikemewalkinwhentheAcutesaredone,thentheWheelersarewheeledin.Thethreeoldguysleft,afilmofyellowmoldontheloosehideundertheirchins,theygetshavedintheirloungechairsinthedayroom,aleatherstrapacrosstheforeheadtokeepthemfromfloppingaroundundertheshaver.

           Somemornings—Mondaysespecially—Ihideandtrytobucktheschedule.OthermorningsIfigureit’scagiertosteprightintoplacebetweenAandCinthealphabetandmovetheroutelikeeverybodyelse,withoutliftingmyfeet—powerfulmagnetsinthefloormaneuverpersonnelthroughthewardlikearcadepuppets....

           Seveno’clockthemesshallopensandtheorderofline-upreverses:theWheelersfirst,thentheWalkers,thentheAcutespickuptrays,cornflakes,baconandeggs,toast—andthismorningacannedpeachonapieceofgreen,tornlettuce.SomeoftheAcutesbringtraystotheWheelers.MostWheelersarejustChronicswithbadlegs,theyfeedthemselves,butthere’sthesethreeofthemgotnoactionfromtheneckdownwhatsoever,notmuchfromtheneckup.ThesearecalledVegetables.Theblackboyspushtheminaftereverybodyelseissatdown,wheelthemagainstawall,andbringthemidenticaltraysofmuddy-lookingfoodwithlittlewhitedietcardsattachedtothetrays.MechanicalSoft,readsthedietcardsforthesetoothlessthree:eggs,ham,toast,bacon,allchewedthirty-twotimesapiecebythestainless-steelmachineinthekitchen.Iseeitpursesectionedlips,likeavacuum-cleanerhose,andspurtaclotofchewed-uphamontoaplatewithabarnyardsound.