One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey [69]
“After today,” the doctor goes on, “no one can say that this is an ordinary man we’re dealing with. No, certainly not. And he is a disturbing factor, that’s obvious. So—ah—as I see it, our course in this discussion is to decide what action to take in dealing with him. I believe the nurse called this meeting—correct me if I’m off base here, Miss Ratched—to talk the situation out and unify the staff’s opinion of what should be done about Mr. McMurphy?”
He gives her a pleading look, but she still doesn’t say anything. She’s lifted her face toward the ceiling, checking for dirt most likely, and doesn’t appear to have heard a thing he’s been saying.
The doctor turns to the line of residents across the room; all of them got the same leg crossed and coffee cup on the same knee. “You fellows,” the doctor says, “I realize you haven’t had adequate time to arrive at a proper diagnosis of the patient, but you have had a chance at observing him in action. What do you think?”
The question pops their heads up. Cleverly, he’s put them on the carpet too. They all look from him to the Big Nurse. Some way she has regained all her old power in a few short minutes. Just sitting there, smiling up at the ceiling and not saying anything, she has taken control again and made everyone aware that she’s the force in here to be dealt with. If these boys don’t play it just right they’re liable to finish their training up in Portland at the alky hospital. They begin to fidget around like the doctor.
“He’s quite a disturbing influence, all right.” The first boy plays it safe.
They all sip their coffee and think about that. Then the next one says, “And he could constitute an actual danger.”
“That’s true, that’s true,” the doctor says.
The boy thinks he may have found the key and goes on. “Quite a danger, in fact,” he says and moves forward in his chair. “Keep in mind that this man performed violent acts for the sole purpose of getting away from the work farm and into the comparative luxury of this hospital.”
“Planned violent acts,” the first boy says.
And the third boy mutters, “Of course, the very nature of this plan could indicate that he is simply a shrewd con man, and not mentally ill at all.”
He glances around to see how this strikes her and sees she still hasn’t moved or given any sign. But the rest of the staff sits there glaring at him like he’s said some awful vulgar thing. He sees how he’s stepped way out of bounds and tries to bring it on as a joke by giggling and adding, “You know, like ‘He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum’”—but it’s too late. The first resident turns on him after setting down his cup of coffee and reaching in his pocket for a pipe big as your fist.
“Frankly, Alvin,” he says to the third boy, “I’m disappointed in you. Even if one hadn’t read his history all one should need to do is pay attention to his behavior on the ward to realize how absurd the suggestion is. This man is not only very very sick, but I believe he is definitely a Potential Assaultive. I think that is what Miss Ratched was suspecting when she called this meeting. Don’t you recognize the arch type of psychopath? I’ve never heard of a clearer case. This man is a Napoleon, a Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun.”
Another one joins in. He remembers the nurse’s comments about Disturbed. “Robert’s right, Alvin. Didn’t you see the way the man acted out there today? When one of his schemes was thwarted he was up out of his chair, on the verge of violence. You tell us, Doctor Spivey, what do his records say about violence?”
“There is a marked disregard for discipline and authority,” the doctor says.
“Right. His history shows, Alvin, that time and again he has acted out his hostilities against authority figures—in school, in the service, in jail! And I think that his performance