“Of course. I merely thought, understand, I would feel out some of the men first. But certainly, a staff meeting first. Then we’ll continue our plans.”

Everybody knows that’s all there is to the carnival.

The Big Nurse starts to bring things back into hand by rattling the folio she’s holding. “Fine. Then if there is no other new business — and if Mr. Cheswick will be seated — I think we might go right on into the discussion. We have” — she takes her watch from the basket and looks at it — “forty-eight minutes left. So, as I—”

“Oh. Hey, wait. I remember there is some other new business.” McMurphy has his hand up, fingers snapping. She looks at the hand for a long time before she says anything.

“Yes, Mr. McMurphy?”

“Not me, Doctor Spivey has. Doc, tell ‘em what you come up with about the hard-of-hearing guys and the radio.”

The nurse’s head gives one little jerk, barely enough to see, but my heart is suddenly roaring. She puts the folio back in the basket, turns to the doctor.

“Yes,” says the doctor. “I very nearly forgot.” He leans back and crosses his legs and puts his fingertips together; I can see he’s still in good spirits about his carnival. “You see, McMurphy and I were talking about that age-old problem we have on this ward: the mixed population, the young and the old together. It’s not the most ideal surroundings for our Therapeutic Community, but Administration says there’s no helping it with the Geriatric Building overloaded the way it is. I’ll be the first to admit it’s not an absolutely pleasant situation for anyone concerned. In our talk, however, McMurphy and I did happen to come up with an idea which might make things more pleasant for both age groups. McMurphy mentioned that he had noticed some of the old fellows seemed to have difficulty hearing the radio. He suggested the speaker might be turned up louder so the Chronics with auditory weaknesses could hear it. A very humane suggestion, I think.”

McMurphy gives a modest wave of his hand, and the doctor nods at him and goes on.

“But I told him I had received previous complaints from some of the younger men that the radio is already so loud it hinders conversation and reading. McMurphy said he hadn’t thought of this, but mentioned that it did seem a shame that those who wished to read couldn’t get off by themselves where it was quiet and leave the radio for those who wished to listen. I agreed with him that it did seem a shame and was ready to drop the matter when I happened to think of the old tub room where we store the tables during the ward meeting. We don’t use the room at all otherwise; there’s no longer a need for the hydrotherapy it was designed for, now that we have the new drugs. So how would the group like to have that room as a sort of second day room, a game room, shall we say?”

The group isn’t saying. They know whose play it is next. She folds Harding’s folio back up and puts it on her lap and crosses her hands over it, looking around the room just like somebody might dare have something to say. When it’s clear nobody’s going to talk till she does, her head turns again to the doctor. “It sounds like a fine plan, Doctor Spivey, and I appreciate Mr. McMurphy’s interest in the other patients, but I’m terribly afraid we don’t have the personnel to cover a second day room.”

And is so certain that this should be the end of it she starts to open the folio again. But the doctor has thought this through more than she figured.

“I thought of that too, Miss Ratched. But since it will be largely the Chronic patients who remain here in the day room with the speaker — most of whom are restricted to lounges or wheel chairs — one aide and one nurse in here should easily be able to put down any riots or uprisings that might occur, don’t you think?”

She doesn’t answer, and she doesn’t care much for his joking about riots and uprisings either, but her face doesn’t change. The smile stays.

“So the other two aides and nurses can cover the men in the tub room, perhaps even better than here in a larger area. What do you think, men? Is it a workable idea? I’m rather enthused about it myself, and I say we give it a try, see what it’s like for a few days. If it doesn’t work, well, we’ve still got the key to lock it back up, haven’t we?”

“Right!” Cheswick says, socks his fist into his palm. He’s still standing, like he’s afraid to get near that thumb of McMurphy’s again. “Right, Doctor Spivey, if it don’t work, we’ve still got the key to lock it back up. You bet.”

The doctor looks around the room and sees all the other Acutes nodding and smiling and looking so pleased with what he takes to be him and his idea that he blushes like Billy Bibbit and has to polish his glasses a time or two before he can go on. It tickles me to see the little man so happy with himself. He looks at all the guys nodding, and nods himself and says, “Fine, fine,” and settles his hands on his knees. “Very good. Now. If that’s decided — I seem to have forgotten what we were planning to talk about this morning?”

The nurse’s head gives that one little jerk again, and she bends over her basket, picks up a folio. She fumbles with the papers, and it looks like her hands are shaking. She draws out a paper, but once more, before she can start reading out of-it, McMurphy is standing and holding up his hand and shifting from foot to foot, giving a long, thoughtful, “Saaaay,” and her fumbling stops, freezes as though the sound of his voice froze her just like her voice froze that black boy this morning. I get that giddy feeling inside me again when she freezes. I watch her close while McMurphy talks.

“Saaaaay, Doctor, what I been dyin’ to know is what did this dream I dreamt the other night mean? You see, it was like I was me, in the dream, and then again kind of like I wasn’t me — like I was somebody else that looked like me — like — like my daddy! Yeah, that’s who it was. It was my daddy because sometimes when I saw me — him — I saw there was this iron bolt through the jawbone like daddy used to have—”

“Your father has an iron bolt through his jawbone?”

“Well, not any more, but he did once when I was a kid. He went around for about ten months with this big metal bolt going in here and coming out here! God, he was a regular Frankenstein. He’d been clipped on the jaw with a pole ax when he got into some kinda hassle with this pond man at the logging mill — Hey! Let me tell you how that incident came about. …”

Her face is still calm, as though she had a cast made and painted to just the look she wants. Confident, patient, and unruffled. No more little jerk, just that terrible cold face, a calm smile stamped out of red plastic; a clean, smooth forehead, not a line in it to show weakness or worry; flat, wide, painted-on green eyes, painted on with an expression that says I can wait, I might lose a yard now and then but I can wait, and be patient and calm and confident, because I know there’s no real losing for me.

I thought for a minute there I saw her whipped. Maybe I did. But I see now that it don’t make any difference. One by one the patients are sneaking looks at her to see how she’s taking the way McMurphy is dominating the meeting, and they see the same thing. She’s too big to be beaten. She covers one whole side of the room like a Jap statue. There’s no moving her and no help against her. She’s lost a little battle here today, but it’s a minor battle in a big war that she’s been winning and that she’ll go on winning. We mustn’t let McMurphy get our hopes up any different, lure us into making some kind of dumb play. She’ll go on winning, just like the Combine, because she has all the power of the Combine behind her. She don’t lose on her losses, but she wins on ours. To beat her you don’t have to whip her two out of three or three out of five, but every time you meet. As soon as you let down your guard, as soon as you lose once, she’s won for good. And eventually we all got to lose. Nobody can help that.