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Champeau Russell - One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest

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Champeau Russell One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest

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Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

YOU FEEL THIS BOOK

ALONG YOUR SPINE....

Kansas City Star

Tired of weeding peas at a penal farm, the tough, freewheeling McMurphy feigns insanity for a

chance at the softer life of a mental institution. But he gets more than hes bargained for, much

more. He is committed to the care of Big Nursea full-breasted, stiff-gaited tyrant who rules over

her charges with chilling authority.

Her ward is a citadel of discipline. Strong-arm orderlies stand ready to quell even the feeblest insurrection. Her

patients long ago gave up the struggle to assert themselves. Cowed, docile, they have surrendered completely to her

unbridled authority.

Now, into their ranks charges McMurphy. The gambling Irishman sees at once what Big Nurses

game is. Appalled by the timidity of his fellow patients, he begins his one man campaign to render

her powerless. First in fun, and then in dire earnestness, he sets out to create havoc on her well-run

ward ... to make the gray halls ring with laughter, and anger, and life.

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

one

flew

over

the

cuckoos

nest

by KEN KESEY

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

To Vik Lovell

who told me dragons did not exist,

then led me to their lairs

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

COPYRIGHT 1962 BY KEN KESEY

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced without permission.

For information address The Viking Press, Inc.,

625 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10022.

This is an authorized reprint of a hardcover edition

published by The Viking Press, Inc.

SIGNET TRADEMARK RRG. D.9. PAT. OFF.

AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

REGISTERED TRADEMARKMARCA REGISTRADA

HECHO EN CHICAGO, U.S.A.

SIGNET BOOKS are published by

The New American Library, Inc.,

301 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10019

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

... one flew east, one flew west,

One flew over the cuckoos nest.

Childrens folk rhyme

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

part 1

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

Theyre out there.

Black boys in white suits up before me to commit sex acts in the hall and get it mopped up

before I can catch them.

Theyre mopping when I come out the dorm, all three of them sulky and hating everything, the

time of day, the place theyre at here, the people they got to work around. When they hate like this,

better if they dont see me. I creep along the wall quiet as dust in my canvas shoes, but they got

special sensitive equipment detects my fear and they all look up, all three at once, eyes glittering out

of the black faces like the hard glitter of radio tubes out of the back of an old radio.

Heres the Chief. The soo-pah Chief, fellas. Ol Chief Broom. Here you go, Chief Broom....

Stick a mop in my hand and motion to the spot they aim for me to clean today, and I go. One

swats the backs of my legs with a broom handle to hurry me past.

Haw, you look at im shag it? Big enough to eat apples off my head an he mine me like a baby.

[10] They laugh and then I hear them mumbling behind me, heads close together. Hum of black

machinery, humming hate and death and other hospital secrets. They dont bother not talking out

loud about their hate secrets when Im nearby because they think Im deaf and dumb. Everybody

thinks so. Im cagey enough to fool them that much. If my being half Indian ever helped me in any

way in this dirty life, it helped me being cagey, helped me all these years.

Im mopping near the ward door when a key hits it from the other side and I know its the Big

Nurse by the way the lockworks cleave to the key, soft and swift and familiar she been around locks

so long. She slides through the door with a gust of cold and locks the door behind her and I see her

fingers trail across the polished steeltip of each finger the same color as her lips. Funny orange.

Like the tip of a soldering iron. Color so hot or so cold if she touches you with it you cant tell

which.

Shes carrying her woven wicker bag like the ones the Umpqua tribe sells out along the hot

August highway, a bag shape of a tool box with a hemp handle. Shes had it all the years I been here.

Its a loose weave and I can see inside it; theres no compact or lipstick or woman stuff, shes got

that bag full of thousand parts she aims to use in her duties todaywheels and gears, cogs polished

to a hard glitter, tiny pills that gleam like porcelain, needles, forceps, watchmakers pliers, rolls of

copper wire

She dips a nod at me as she goes past. I let the mop push me back to the wall and smile and try

to foul her equipment up as much as possible by not letting her see my eyesthey cant tell so

much about you if you got your eyes closed.

In my dark I hear her rubber heels hit the tile and the stuff in her wicker bag clash with the jar of

her walking as she passes me in the hall. She walks stiff. When I open my eyes shes down the hall

about to turn into the glass Nurses Station where shell spend the day sitting at her desk and looking

out her window and making notes on what goes on out in front of her in the day room during the

next eight hours. Her face looks pleased and peaceful with the thought.

Then she sights those black boys. Theyre still down there together, mumbling to one another.

They didnt hear her come on the ward. They sense shes glaring down at them now, but its too late.

They should of knew bettern to group up and mumble together when she was due on the ward.

Their faces bob apart, confused. She goes into a crouch and advances on where theyre trapped in a

huddle at the end of the corridor. [11] She knows what they been saying, and I can see shes furious

clean out of control. Shes going to tear the black bastards limb from limb, shes so furious. Shes

swelling up, swells till her backs splitting out the white uniform and shes let her arms section out

long enough to wrap around the three of them five, six times. She looks around her with a swivel of

Ken Kesey one flew over the cuckoos nest

her huge head. Nobody up to see, just old Broom Bromden the half-breed Indian back there hiding

behind his mop and cant talk to call for help. So she really lets herself go and her painted smile

twists, stretches to an open snarl, and she blows up bigger and bigger, big as a tractor, so big I can

smell the machinery inside the way you smell a motor pulling too big a load. I hold my breath and

figure, My God this time theyre gonna do it! This time they let the hate build up too high and

overloaded and theyre gonna tear one another to pieces before they realize what theyre doing!

But just as she starts crooking those sectioned arms around the black boys and they go to ripping

at her underside with the mop handles, all the patients start coming out of the dorms to check on

whats the hullabaloo, and she has to change back before shes caught in the shape of her hideous

real self. By the time the patients get their eyes rubbed to where they can halfway see what the

rackets about, all they see is the head nurse, smiling and calm and cold as usual, telling the black

boys theyd best not stand in a group gossiping when it is Monday morning and there is such a lot to

get done on the first morning of the week....

... mean old Monday morning, you know, boys ...

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