Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           "Ohthebitch,thebitch,thebitch,"hewhispersthroughhisteeth.

           McMurphylightsanothercigaretteandoffersittohim;Hardingtakesitwithoutaword.McMurphyisstillwatchingHarding’sfaceinfrontofhimthere,withakindofpuzzledwonder,lookingatitlikeit’sthefirsthumanfaceheeverlaideyeson.HewatcheswhileHarding’stwitchingandjerkingslowsdownandthefacecomesupfromthehands.

           "Youareright,"Hardingsays,"aboutallofit."Helooksupattheotherpatientswhoarewatchinghim."Noone’severdaredcomeoutandsayitbefore,butthere’snotamanamongusthatdoesn’tthinkit,thatdoesn’tfeeljustasyoudoaboutherandthewholebusiness—feelitsomewheredowndeepinhisscaredlittlesoul."

           McMurphyfrownsandasks,"Whataboutthatlittlefartofadoctor?Hemightbealittleslowinthehead,butnotsomuchasnottobeabletoseehowshe’stakenoverandwhatshe’sdoing."

           Hardingtakesalongpulloffthecigaretteandletsthesmokedriftoutwithhistalk."DoctorSpivey...isexactlyliketherestofus,McMurphy,completelyconsciousofhisinadequacy.He’safrightened,desperate,ineffectuallittlerabbit,totallyincapableofrunningthiswardwithoutourMissRatched’shelp,andheknowsit.And,worse,sheknowsheknowsitandremindshimeverychanceshegets.Everytimeshefindshe’smadealittleslipinthebookworkorin,say,thechartingyoucanjustimagineherintheregrindinghisnoseinit."

           "That’sright,"Cheswicksays,comingupbesideMcMurphy,"grindsournosesinourmistakes."

           "Whydon’thefireher?"