Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Formyself?Guilt.Shame.Fear.Self-belittlement.IdiscoveredatanearlyagethatIwas—shallwebekindandsaydifferent?It’sabetter,moregeneralwordthantheotherone.Iindulgedincertainpracticesthatoursocietyregardsasshameful.AndIgotsick.Itwasn’tthepractices,Idon’tthink,itwasthefeelingthatthegreat,deadly,pointingforefingerofsocietywaspointingatme—andthegreatvoiceofmillionschanting,‘Shame.Shame.Shame.’It’ssociety’swayofdealingwithsomeonedifferent."

           "I’mdifferent,"McMurphysaid."Whydidn’tsomethinglikethathappentome?I’vehadpeoplebuggingmeaboutonethingoranotherasfarbackasIcanrememberbutthat’snotwhat—butitdidn’tdrivemecrazy."

           "No,you’reright.That’snotwhatdroveyoucrazy.Iwasn’tgivingmyreasonasthesolereason.ThoughIusedtothinkatonetime,afewyearsago,myturtleneckyears,thatsociety’schastisingwasthesoleforcethatdroveonealongtheroadtocrazy,butyou’vecausedmetore-appraisemytheory.There’ssomethingelsethatdrivespeople,strongpeoplelikeyou,myfriend,downthatroad."

           "Yeah?NotthatI’madmittingI’mdownthatroad,butwhatisthissomethingelse?"

           "Itisus."Heswepthishandabouthiminasoftwhitecircleandrepeated,"Us."

           McMurphyhalfheartedlysaid,"Bull,"andgrinnedandstoodup,pullingthegirltoherfeet.Hesquintedupatthedimclock."It’snearlyfive.Ineedmealittleshut-eyebeforemybiggetaway.