Пролетая над гнездом кукушки
Chapter 4
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.
