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"
Look
at
me
now
,
"
he
tells
the
guys
and
lifts
a
glass
to
the
light
,
"
getting
my
first
glass
of
orange
juice
in
six
months
.
Hooee
,
that
's
good
.
I
ask
you
,
what
did
I
get
for
breakfast
at
that
work
farm
?
What
was
I
served
?
Well
,
I
can
describe
what
it
looked
like
,
but
I
sure
could
n't
hang
a
name
on
it
;
morning
noon
and
night
it
was
burnt
black
and
had
potatoes
in
it
and
looked
like
roofing
glue
.
I
know
one
thing
;
it
was
n't
orange
juice
.
Look
at
me
now
:
bacon
,
toast
,
butter
,
eggs
--
coffee
the
little
honey
in
the
kitchen
even
asks
me
if
I
like
it
black
or
white
thank
you
--
and
a
great
!
big
!
cold
glass
of
orange
juice
.
Why
,
you
could
n't
pay
me
to
leave
this
place
!
"
He
gets
seconds
on
everything
and
makes
a
date
with
the
girl
pours
coffee
in
the
kitchen
for
when
he
gets
discharged
,
and
he
compliments
the
Negro
cook
on
sunnysiding
the
best
eggs
he
ever
ate
.
There
's
bananas
for
the
corn
flakes
,
and
he
gets
a
handful
,
tells
the
black
boy
that
he
'll
filch
him
one
'
cause
he
looks
so
starved
,
and
the
black
boy
shifts
his
eyes
to
look
down
the
hall
to
where
the
nurse
is
sitting
in
her
glass
case
,
and
says
it
ai
n't
allowed
for
the
help
to
eat
with
the
patients
.
"
Against
ward
policy
?
"
"
Tha
's
right
.
"
"
Tough
luck
"
--
and
peels
three
bananas
right
under
the
black
boy
's
nose
and
eats
one
after
the
other
,
tells
the
boy
that
any
time
you
want
one
snuck
outa
the
mess
hall
for
you
,
Sam
,
you
just
give
the
word
.
When
McMurphy
finishes
his
last
banana
he
slaps
his
belly
and
gets
up
and
heads
for
the
door
,
and
the
big
black
boy
blocks
the
door
and
tells
him
the
rule
that
patients
sit
in
the
mess
hall
till
they
all
leave
at
seven-thirty
.
McMurphy
stares
at
him
like
he
ca
n't
believe
he
's
hearing
right
,
then
turns
and
looks
at
Harding
.
Harding
nods
his
head
,
so
McMurphy
shrugs
and
goes
back
to
his
chair
.
"
I
sure
do
n't
want
to
go
against
that
goddamned
policy
.
"
The
clock
at
the
end
of
the
mess
hall
shows
it
's
a
quarter
after
seven
,
lies
about
how
we
only
been
sitting
here
fifteen
minutes
when
you
can
tell
it
's
been
at
least
an
hour
.
Everybody
is
finished
eating
and
leaned
back
,
watching
the
big
hand
to
move
to
seven-thirty
.
The
black
boys
take
away
the
Vegetables
'
splattered
trays
and
wheel
the
two
old
men
down
to
get
hosed
off
.
In
the
mess
hall
about
half
the
guys
lay
their
heads
on
their
arms
,
figuring
to
get
a
little
sleep
before
the
black
boys
get
back
.
There
's
nothing
else
to
do
,
with
no
cards
or
magazines
or
picture
puzzles
.
Just
sleep
or
watch
the
clock
.
But
McMurphy
ca
n't
keep
still
for
that
;
he
's
got
to
be
up
to
something
.
After
about
two
minutes
of
pushing
food
scraps
around
his
plate
with
his
spoon
,
he
's
ready
for
more
excitement
.
He
hooks
his
thumbs
in
his
pockets
and
tips
back
and
one-eyes
that
clock
up
on
the
wall
.
Then
he
rubs
his
nose
.
"
You
know
--
that
old
clock
up
there
puts
me
in
mind
of
the
targets
at
the
target
range
at
Fort
Riley
.
That
's
where
I
got
my
first
medal
,
a
sharpshooter
medal
.
Dead-Eye
McMurphy
.
Who
wants
to
lay
me
a
pore
little
dollar
that
I
ca
n't
put
this
dab
of
butter
square
in
the
center
of
the
face
of
that
clock
up
there
,
or
at
least
on
the
face
?
"
