They could sense the change that most of us were only suspecting; these weren’t the same bunch
of weak-knees from a nuthouse that they’d watched take their insults on the dock this morning.
They didn’t exactly apologize to the girl for the things they’d said, but when they asked to see the
fish she’d caught they were just as polite as pie. And when McMurphy and the captain came back
out of the bait shop we all shared a beer together before we drove away.
It was late when we got back to the hospital.
The girl was sleeping against Billy’s chest, and when she raised up his arm’d gone dead holding
her all that way in such an awkward position, and she rubbed it for him. He told her if he had any of
his weekends free he’d ask her for a date, and she said she could come to visit in two weeks if he’d
tell her what time, and Billy looked at McMurphy for an answer. McMurphy put his arms around
both of their shoulders and said, “Let’s make it two o’clock on the nose.”
“Saturday afternoon?” she asked.
He winked at Billy and squeezed the girl’s head in the crook of his arm. “No. Two o’clock
Saturday night. Slip up and knock on that same window you was at this morning. I’ll talk the night
aide into letting you in.”
She giggled and nodded. “You damned McMurphy,” she said.
Some of the Acutes on the ward were still up, standing around the latrine to see if we’d been
drowned or not. They watched us march into the hall, blood-speckled, sunburned, stinking of beer
and fish, toting our salmon like we were conquering heroes. The doctor asked if they’d like to come
out and look at his halibut in the back of his car, and we all started back out except McMurphy. He
said he guessed he was pretty shot and thought he’d hit the hay. When he was gone one of the
Acutes who hadn’t made the trip asked how come McMurphy looked so beat and worn out where
the rest of us looked redcheeked and still full of excitement. Harding passed it off as nothing more
than the loss of his suntan.
“You’ll recall McMurphy came in full steam, from a rigorous life outdoors on a work farm, ruddy
of face and abloom with physical health. We’ve simply been witness to the fading of his magnificent
psychopathic suntan. That’s all. Today he did spend some exhausting hours—in the dimness of the
boat cabin, incidentally—while we were out in the elements, soaking up the Vitamin D. Of course,
that may have exhausted him to some extent, those rigors down below, but think of it, friends. As
for myself, I believe I could have done with a little less Vitamin D and a little more of his kind of
exhaustion. Especially with little Candy as a taskmaster. Am I wrong?”
I didn’t say so, but I was wondering if maybe he wasn’t wrong. I’d noticed McMurphy’s
exhaustion earlier, on the trip home, after he’d insisted on driving past the place where he’d lived
once. We’d just shared the last beer and slung the empty can out the window at a stop sign and were
just leaning back to get the feel of the day, swimming in that kind of tasty drowsiness that comes
over you after a day of going hard at something you enjoy doing—half sunburned and half drunk
and keeping awake only because you wanted to savor the taste as long as you could. I noticed
vaguely that I was getting so’s I could see some good in the life around me. McMurphy was teaching
me. I was feeling better than I’d remembered feeling since I was a kid, when everything was good
and the land was still singing kids’ poetry to me….
….The house drifted past. He yawned and winked. “Taught me to love, bless her sweet ass.”
Then—as he was talking—a set of tail-lights going past lit up McMurphy’s face, and the
windshield reflected an expression that was allowed only because he figured it’d be too dark for
anybody in the car to see, dreadfully tired and strained and frantic, like there wasn’t enough time left
for something he had to do ...
While his relaxed, good-natured voice doled out his life for us to live, a rollicking past full of kid
fun and drinking buddies and loving women and barroom battles over meager honors—for all of us
to dream ourselves into.