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He
'd
shown
us
what
a
little
bravado
and
courage
could
accomplish
,
and
we
thought
he
'd
taught
us
how
to
use
it
.
All
the
way
to
the
coast
we
had
fun
pretending
to
be
brave
.
When
people
at
a
stop
light
would
stare
at
us
and
our
green
uniforms
we
'd
do
just
like
he
did
,
sit
up
straight
and
strong
and
toughlooking
and
put
a
big
grin
on
our
face
and
stare
straight
back
at
them
till
their
motors
died
and
their
windows
sunstreaked
and
they
were
left
sitting
when
the
light
changed
,
upset
bad
by
what
a
tough
bunch
of
monkeys
was
just
now
not
three
feet
from
them
,
and
help
nowhere
in
sight
.
As
McMurphy
led
the
twelve
of
us
toward
the
ocean
.
I
think
McMurphy
knew
better
than
we
did
that
our
tough
looks
were
all
show
,
because
he
still
was
n't
able
to
get
a
real
laugh
out
of
anybody
.
Maybe
he
could
n't
understand
why
we
were
n't
able
to
laugh
yet
,
but
he
knew
you
ca
n't
really
be
strong
until
you
can
see
a
funny
side
to
things
.
In
fact
,
he
worked
so
hard
at
pointing
out
the
funny
side
of
things
that
I
was
wondering
a
little
if
maybe
he
was
blind
to
the
other
side
,
if
maybe
he
was
n't
able
to
see
what
it
was
that
parched
laughter
deep
inside
your
stomach
.
Maybe
the
guys
were
n't
able
to
see
it
either
,
just
feel
the
pressures
of
the
different
beams
and
frequencies
coming
from
all
directions
,
working
to
push
and
bend
you
one
way
or
another
,
feel
the
Combine
at
work
--
but
I
was
able
to
see
it
.
The
way
you
see
the
change
in
a
person
you
've
been
away
from
for
a
long
time
,
where
somebody
who
sees
him
every
day
,
day
in
,
day
out
,
would
n't
notice
because
the
change
is
gradual
.
All
up
the
coast
I
could
see
the
signs
of
what
the
Combine
had
accomplished
since
I
was
last
through
this
country
,
things
like
,
for
example
--
a
train
stopping
at
a
station
and
laying
a
string
of
full-grown
men
in
mirrored
suits
and
machined
hats
,
laying
them
like
a
hatch
of
identical
insects
,
half-life
things
coming
pht-pht-pht
out
of
the
last
car
,
then
hooting
its
electric
whistle
and
moving
on
down
the
spoiled
land
to
deposit
another
hatch
.
Or
things
like
five
thousand
houses
punched
out
identical
by
a
machine
and
strung
across
the
hills
outside
of
town
,
so
fresh
from
the
factory
they
're
still
linked
together
like
sausages
,
a
sign
saying
"
NEST
IN
THE
WEST
HOMES
--
NO
DWN
.
PAYMENT
FOR
VETS
,
"
a
playground
down
the
hill
from
the
houses
,
behind
a
checker-wire
fence
and
another
sign
that
read
"
ST.
LUKE
'S
SCHOOL
FOR
BOYS
"
--
there
were
five
thousand
kids
in
green
corduroy
pants
and
white
shirts
under
green
pullover
sweaters
playing
crack-the-whip
across
an
acre
of
crushed
gravel
.
The
line
popped
and
twisted
and
jerked
like
a
snake
,
and
every
crack
popped
a
little
kid
off
the
end
,
sent
him
rolling
up
against
the
fence
like
a
tumbleweed
.
Every
crack
.
And
it
was
always
the
same
little
kid
,
over
and
over
.
All
that
five
thousand
kids
lived
in
those
five
thousand
houses
,
owned
by
those
guys
that
got
off
the
train
.
The
houses
looked
so
much
alike
that
,
time
and
time
again
,
the
kids
went
home
by
mistake
to
different
houses
and
different
families
.
Nobody
ever
noticed
.
They
ate
and
went
to
bed
.
The
only
one
they
noticed
was
the
little
kid
at
the
end
of
the
whip
.
He
'd
always
be
so
scuffed
and
bruised
that
he
'd
show
up
out
of
place
wherever
he
went
.
He
was
n't
able
to
open
up
and
laugh
either
.
It
's
a
hard
thing
to
laugh
if
you
can
feel
the
pressure
of
those
beams
coming
from
every
new
car
that
passes
,
or
every
new
house
you
pass
.
"
We
can
even
have
a
lobby
in
Washington
,
"
Harding
was
saying
,
"
an
organization
NAAIP
.
Pressure
groups
.
Big
billboards
along
the
highway
showing
a
babbling
schizophrenic
running
a
wrecking
machine
,
bold
,
red
and
green
type
:
'
Hire
the
Insane
.
'
We
've
got
a
rosy
future
,
gentlemen
.
"
