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But
there
are
some
of
us
Chronics
that
the
staff
made
a
couple
of
mistakes
on
years
back
,
some
of
us
who
were
Acutes
when
we
came
in
,
and
got
changed
over
.
Ellis
is
a
Chronic
came
in
an
Acute
and
got
fouled
up
bad
when
they
overloaded
him
in
that
filthy
brain-murdering
room
that
the
black
boys
call
the
"
Shock
Shop
.
"
Now
he
's
nailed
against
the
wall
in
the
same
condition
they
lifted
him
off
the
table
for
the
last
time
,
in
the
same
shape
,
arms
out
,
palms
cupped
,
with
the
same
horror
on
his
face
.
He
's
nailed
like
that
on
the
wall
,
like
a
stuffed
trophy
.
They
pull
the
nails
when
it
's
time
to
eat
or
time
to
drive
him
in
to
bed
when
they
want
him
to
move
so
's
I
can
mop
the
puddle
where
he
stands
.
At
the
old
place
he
stood
so
long
in
one
spot
the
piss
ate
the
floor
and
beams
away
under
him
and
he
kept
falling
through
to
the
ward
below
,
giving
them
all
kinds
of
census
headaches
down
there
when
roll
check
came
around
.
Ruckly
is
another
Chronic
came
in
a
few
years
back
as
an
Acute
,
but
him
they
overloaded
in
a
different
way
:
they
made
a
mistake
in
one
of
their
head
installations
.
He
was
being
a
holy
nuisance
all
over
the
place
,
kicking
the
black
boys
and
biting
the
student
nurses
on
the
legs
,
so
they
took
him
away
to
be
fixed
.
They
strapped
him
to
that
table
,
and
the
last
anybody
saw
of
him
for
a
while
was
just
before
they
shut
the
door
on
him
;
he
winked
,
just
before
the
door
closed
,
and
told
the
black
boys
as
they
backed
away
from
him
,
"
You
'll
pay
for
this
,
you
damn
tarbabies
.
"
And
they
brought
him
back
to
the
ward
two
weeks
later
,
bald
and
the
front
of
his
face
an
oily
purple
bruise
and
two
little
button-sized
plugs
stitched
one
above
each
eye
.
You
can
see
by
his
eyes
how
they
burned
him
out
over
there
;
his
eyes
are
all
smoked
up
and
gray
and
deserted
inside
like
blown
fuses
.
All
day
now
he
wo
n't
do
a
thing
but
hold
an
old
photograph
up
in
front
of
that
burned-out
face
,
turning
it
over
and
over
in
his
cold
fingers
,
and
the
picture
wore
gray
as
his
eyes
on
both
sides
with
all
his
handling
till
you
ca
n't
tell
any
more
what
it
used
to
be
.
The
staff
,
now
,
they
consider
Ruckly
one
of
their
failures
,
but
I
'm
not
sure
but
what
he
's
better
off
than
if
the
installation
had
been
perfect
.
The
installations
they
do
nowadays
are
generally
successful
.
The
technicians
got
more
skill
and
experience
.
No
more
of
the
button
holes
in
the
forehead
,
no
cutting
at
all
--
they
go
in
through
the
eye
sockets
.
Sometimes
a
guy
goes
over
for
an
installation
,
leaves
the
ward
mean
and
mad
and
snapping
at
the
whole
world
and
comes
back
a
few
weeks
later
with
black-and-blue
eyes
like
he
'd
been
in
a
fist-fight
,
and
he
's
the
sweetest
,
nicest
,
best-behaved
thing
you
ever
saw
.
He
'll
maybe
even
go
home
in
a
month
or
two
,
a
hat
pulled
low
over
the
face
of
a
sleepwalker
wandering
round
in
a
simple
,
happy
dream
.
A
success
,
they
say
,
but
I
say
he
's
just
another
robot
for
the
Combine
and
might
be
better
off
as
a
failure
,
like
Ruckly
sitting
there
fumbling
and
drooling
over
his
picture
.
He
never
does
much
else
.
The
dwarf
black
boy
gets
a
rise
out
of
him
from
time
to
time
by
leaning
close
and
asking
,
"
Say
,
Ruckly
,
what
you
figure
your
little
wife
is
doing
in
town
tonight
?
"
Ruckly
's
head
comes
up
.
Memory
whispers
someplace
in
that
jumbled
machinery
.
He
turns
red
and
his
veins
clog
up
at
one
end
.
This
puffs
him
up
so
he
can
just
barely
make
a
little
whistling
sound
in
his
throat
.
Bubbles
squeeze
out
the
corner
of
his
mouth
,
he
's
working
his
jaw
so
hard
to
say
something
.
When
he
finally
does
get
to
where
he
can
say
his
few
words
it
's
a
low
,
choking
noise
to
make
your
skin
crawl
--
"
Fffffffuck
da
wife
!
Fffffffuck
da
wife
!
"
and
passes
out
on
the
spot
from
the
effort
.
Ellis
and
Ruckly
are
the
youngest
Chronics
.
Colonel
Matterson
is
the
oldest
,
an
old
,
petrified
cavalry
soldier
from
the
First
War
who
is
given
to
lifting
the
skirts
of
passing
nurses
with
his
cane
,
or
teaching
some
kind
of
history
out
of
the
text
of
his
left
hand
to
anybody
that
'll
listen
.
He
's
the
oldest
on
the
ward
,
but
not
the
one
's
been
here
longest
--
his
wife
brought
him
in
only
a
few
years
back
,
when
she
got
to
where
she
was
n't
up
to
tending
him
any
longer
.
I
'm
the
one
been
here
on
the
ward
the
longest
,
since
the
Second
World
War
.
I
been
here
on
the
ward
longer
'n
anybody
.
Longer
'n
any
of
the
other
patients
.
The
Big
Nurse
has
been
here
longer
'n
me
.
The
Chronics
and
the
Acutes
do
n't
generally
mingle
.
Each
stays
on
his
own
side
of
the
day
room
the
way
the
black
boys
want
it
.
The
black
boys
say
it
's
more
orderly
that
way
and
let
everybody
know
that
's
the
way
they
'd
like
it
to
stay
.
They
move
us
in
after
breakfast
and
look
at
the
grouping
and
nod
.
"
That
's
right
,
gennulmen
,
that
's
the
way
.
Now
you
keep
it
that
way
.
"
Actually
there
is
n't
much
need
for
them
to
say
anything
,
because
,
other
than
me
,
the
Chronics
do
n't
move
around
much
,
and
the
Acutes
say
they
'd
just
as
leave
stay
over
on
their
own
side
,
give
reasons
like
the
Chronic
side
smells
worse
than
a
dirty
diaper
.
But
I
know
it
is
n't
the
stink
that
keeps
them
away
from
the
Chronic
side
so
much
as
they
do
n't
like
to
be
reminded
that
here
's
what
could
happen
to
them
someday
.
The
Big
Nurse
recognizes
this
fear
and
knows
how
to
put
it
to
use
;
she
'll
point
out
to
an
Acute
,
whenever
he
goes
into
a
sulk
,
that
you
boys
be
good
boys
and
cooperate
with
the
staff
policy
which
is
engineered
for
your
cure
,
or
you
'll
end
up
over
on
that
side
.
