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The
technician
asks
us
to
take
off
our
shoes
,
and
McMurphy
asks
him
if
we
get
our
pants
slit
and
our
heads
shaved
too
.
The
technician
says
no
such
luck
.
The
metal
door
looks
out
with
its
rivet
eyes
.
The
door
opens
,
sucks
the
first
man
inside
.
The
lifeguard
wo
n't
budge
.
A
beam
like
neon
smoke
comes
out
of
the
black
panel
in
the
room
,
fastens
on
his
cleat-marked
forehead
and
drags
him
in
like
a
dog
on
a
leash
.
The
beam
spins
him
around
three
times
before
the
door
closes
,
and
his
face
is
scrambled
fear
.
"
Hut
one
,
"
he
grunts
.
"
Hut
two
!
Hut
three
!
"
I
hear
them
in
there
pry
up
his
forehead
like
a
manhole
cover
,
clash
and
snarl
of
jammed
cogs
.
Smoke
blows
the
door
open
,
and
a
Gurney
comes
out
with
the
first
man
on
it
,
and
he
rakes
me
with
his
eyes
.
That
face
.
The
Gurney
goes
back
in
and
brings
the
lifeguard
out
.
I
can
hear
the
yell-leaders
spelling
out
his
name
.
The
technician
says
,
"
Next
group
.
"
The
floor
's
cold
,
frosted
,
crackling
.
Up
above
the
light
whines
,
tube
long
and
white
and
icy
.
Can
smell
the
graphite
salve
,
like
the
smell
in
a
garage
.
Can
smell
acid
of
fear
.
There
's
one
window
,
up
high
,
small
,
and
outside
I
see
those
puffy
sparrows
strung
up
on
a
wire
like
brown
beads
.
Their
heads
sunk
in
the
feathers
against
the
cold
.
Something
goes
to
blowing
wind
over
my
hollow
bones
,
higher
and
higher
,
air
raid
!
air
raid
!
"
Do
n't
holler
,
Chief
...
.
"
Air
raid
!
