Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           Allthosespindlesreelingandwheelingandshuttlesjumpingaroundandbobbinswringingtheairwithstring,whitewashedwallsandsteel-graymachinesandgirlsinfloweredskirtsskippingbackandforth,andthewholethingwebbedwithflowingwhitelinesstringingthefactorytogether—itallstuckwithmeandeveryonceinawhilesomethingonthewardcallsittomind.

           Yes.ThisiswhatIknow.ThewardisafactoryfortheCombine.It’sforfixingupmistakesmadeintheneighborhoodsandintheschoolsandinthechurches,thehospitalis.Whenacompletedproductgoesbackoutintosociety,allfixedupgoodasnew,betterthannewsometimes,itbringsjoytotheBigNurse’sheart;somethingthatcameinalltwisteddifferentisnowafunctioning,adjustedcomponent,acredittothewholeoutfitandamarveltobehold.Watchhimslidingacrossthelandwithaweldedgrin,fittingintosomenicelittleneighborhoodwherethey’rejustnowdiggingtrenchesalongthestreettolaypipesforcitywater.He’shappywithit.He’sadjustedtosurroundingsfinally....

           "Why,I’veneverseenanythingtobeatthechangeinMaxwellTabersincehe’sgotbackfromthathospital;alittleblackandbluearoundtheeyes,alittleweightlost,and,youknowwhat?he’sanewman.Gad,modernAmericanscience..."

           AndthelightisoninhisbasementwindowwaypastmidnighteverynightastheDelayedReactionElementsthetechniciansinstalledlendnimbleskillstohisfingersashebendsoverthedopedfigureofhiswife,histwolittlegirlsjustfourandsix,theneighborhegoesbowlingwithMondays;headjuststhemlikehewasadjusted.Thisisthewaytheyspreadit.