He laughs again and shakes hands and sits down to arm wrestle every time that black boy gets too near him with the thermometer, till hes met everybody on the Acute side. And when he finishes shaking hands with the last Acute he comes right on over to the Chronics, like we arent no different. You cant tell if hes really this friendly or if hes got some gamblers reason for trying to get acquainted with guys so far gone a lot of them dont even know their names.
Hes there pulling Elliss hand off the wall and shaking it just like he was a politician running for something and Elliss vote was good as anybodys. Buddy, he says to Ellis in a solemn voice, my name is R. P. McMurphy and I dont like to see a full-grown man sloshin around in his own water. Whynt you go get dried up?
Ellis looks down at the puddle around his feet in pure surprise. Why, I thank you, he says and even moves off a few steps toward the latrine before the nails pull his hands back to the wall.
McMurphy comes down the line of Chronics, shakes hands with Colonel Matterson and with Ruckly and with Old Pete. He shakes the hands of Wheelers and Walkers and Vegetables, shakes hands that he has to pick up out of laps like picking up dead birds, mechanical birds, wonders of tiny bones and wires that have run down and fallen. Shakes hands with everybody he comes to except Big George the water freak, who grins and shies back from that unsanitary hand, so McMurphy just salutes him and says to his own right hand as he walks away, Hand, how do you suppose that old fellow knew all the evil you been into?
Nobody can make out what hes driving at, or why hes making such a fuss with meeting everybody, but its bettern mixing jigsaw puzzles. He keeps saying its a necessary thing to get around and meet the men hell be dealing with, part of a gamblers job. But he must know he aint going to be dealing with no eighty-year-old organic who couldnt do any more with a playing card than put it in his mouth and gum it awhile. Yet he looks like hes enjoying himself, like hes the sort of guy that gets a laugh out of people.
Im the last one. Still strapped in the chair in the corner. McMurphy stops when he gets to me and hooks his thumbs in his pockets again and leans back to laugh, like he sees something funnier about me than about anybody else. All of a sudden I was scared he was laughing because he knew the way I was sitting there with my knees pulled up and my arms wrapped around them, staring straight ahead as though I couldnt hear a thing, was all an act.
Hooeee, he said, look what we got here.
I remember all this part real clear. I remember the way he closed one eye and tipped his head back and looked down across that healing wine-colored scar on his nose, laughing at me. I thought at first that he was laughing because of how funny it looked, an Indians face and black, oily Indians hair on somebody like me. I thought maybe he was laughing at how weak I looked. But then when I remember thinking that he was laughing because he wasnt fooled for one minute by my deaf-and-dumb act; it didnt make any difference how cagey the act was, he was onto me and was laughing and winking to let me know it.
Whats your story, Big Chief? You look like Sittin Bull[5] on a sitdown strike. He looked over to the Acutes to see if they might laugh about his joke; when they just sniggered he looked back to me and winked again. Whats your name, Chief?
Billy Bibbit called across the room. His n-n-name is Bromden. Chief Bromden. Everybody calls him Chief Buh-Broom, though, because the aides have him sweeping a l-large part of the time. Theres not m-much else he can do, I guess. Hes deaf. Billy put his chin in hands. If I was d-d-deaf he sighed I would kill myself.
McMurphy kept looking at me. He gets his growth, hell be pretty good-sized, wont he? I wonder how tall he is.
I think somebody m-m-measured him once at s-six feet seven; but even if he is big, hes scared of his own sh-sh-shadow. Just a bi-big deaf Indian.
When I saw him sittin here I thought he looked some Indian. But Bromden aint an Indian name. What tribe is he?
I dont know, Billy said. He was here wh-when I c-came.
I have information from the doctor, Harding said, that he is only half Indian, a Columbia Indian, I believe. Thats a defunct Columbia Gorge tribe. The doctor said his father was the tribal leader, hence this fellows title, Chief. As to the Bromden part of the name, Im afraid my knowledge in Indian lore doesnt cover that.
McMurphy leaned his head down near mine where I had to look at him. Is that right? You deef, Chief?
Hes de-de-deef and dumb.
McMurphy puckered his lips and looked at my face a long time. Then he straightened back up and stuck his hand out. Well, what the hell, he can shake hands cant he? Deef or whatever. By God, Chief, you may be big, but you shake my hand or Ill consider it an insult. And its not a good idea to insult the new bull goose loony of the hospital.
When he said that he looked back over to Harding and Billy and made a face, but he left that hand in front of me, big as a dinner plate.
I remember real clear the way that hand looked: there was carbon under the fingernails where hed worked once in a garage; there was an anchor tattooed back from the knuckles; there was a dirty Band-Aid on the middle knuckle, peeling up at the edge. All the rest of the knuckles were covered with scars and cuts, old and new. I remember the palm was smooth and hard as bone from hefting the wooden handles of axes and hoes, not the hand youd think could deal cards. The palm was callused, and the calluses were cracked, and dirt was worked in the cracks. A road map of his travels up and down the West. That palm made a scuffing sound against my hand. I remember the fingers were thick and strong closing over mine, and my hand commenced to feel peculiar and went to swelling up out there on my stick of an arm, like he was transmitting his own blood into it. It rang with blood and power: it blowed up near as big as his, I remember
Mr. McMurry.
Its the Big Nurse.
Mr. McMurry, could you come here please?
Its the Big Nurse. That black boy with the thermometer has gone and got her. She stands there tapping that thermometer against her wrist watch, eyes whirring while she tries to gauge this new man. Her lips are in that triangle shape, like a dolls lips ready for a fake nipple.
Aide Williams tells me, Mr. McMurry, that youve been somewhat difficult about your admission shower. Is this true? Please understand, I appreciate the way youve taken it upon yourself to orient with the other patients on the ward, but everything in its own good time, Mr. McMurry. Im sorry to interrupt you and Mr. Bromden, but you do understand: everyone must follow the rules.
He tips his head back and gives that wink that she isnt fooling him any more than I did, that hes onto her. He looks up at her with one eye for a minute.
Ya know, maam, he says, ya know that is the ex-act thing somebody always tells me about the rules
He grins. They both smile back and forth at each other, sizing each other up.
just when they figure Im about to do the dead opposite.
Then he lets go my hand.
4
In the glass Station the Big Nurse has opened a package from a foreign address and is sucking into hypodermic needles the grass-and-milk liquid that came in vial in the package. One of the little nurses, a girl with one wandering eye that always keeps looking worried over her shoulder while the other one goes about its usual business, picks up the little tray of filled needles but doesnt carry them away just yet.